Chapter - 3: Ruthless Desires

Chapter - 3

In a bar that exuded wealth, but not the kind that screamed for attention— it was subtle, dangerous, and dripping with exclusivity. Velvet drapes absorbed the dim golden glow of the chandeliers, casting long, elegant shadows over mahogany tables where only the most notorious figures sat. The air was laced with the aroma of aged whiskey and a faint trace of blood money.

Every detail spoke of power—the crystal glasses filled with top liquor, the silent bartenders who never asked questions, and the hidden security watching every move.

Conversations were hushed, calculated, and filled with the weight of secrets and contracts that determined life or death.

In a scheduled VIP booth, Ibrahim leaned back, his custom-tailored suit crisp against the plush leather.

His men sat around him, their voices low but firm as they discussed their next operation—another target, another flawless execution. He swirled his drink, his sharp gaze scanning the room, ensuring that his den of assassins and untouchable elites, remained the most dangerous presence of them all.

"Shipment is arriving next week," one of his partners murmured, glancing around. "We need a secure place for the handover."

Ibrahim smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before siping. "Let the bastards worry about security. Our concern is money. We pay, we take, and if anyone gets in the way…" he let his sentence trail off, his smirk widening as his men exchanged knowing glances.

"I just hope the shipment is worth this time. They don't break up easily," One of the men almost too eager and excited for the shipment couldn't help but chim in.

"Oh, you bastard… Have some shame, you perverted fellow. I pity those poor things who could actually live to see another day after the things you do to them." Just as the man spoke, the other men in the room blasted him left right and centre.

Hearing all those, the man could only hide his face in embarrassment.

Just then, a group of girls sauntered towards their table, trays of alcohol balanced effortlessly in their hands. Their skimpy outfits barely concealed their curves, shimmering under the dim neon lights. The girls moved seductively with bold red lips and teasing smiles, drawing every man's hungry, lingering gaze toward them.

One of them, a petite woman with striking green eyes, stepped forward, her hands slightly trembling as she poured Ibrahim's drink.

Ibrahim's gaze darkened as he watched her, a sly grin curling his lips. Without warning, he grabbed her wrist, his grip tightening possessively.

She gasped, her breath quickened, "Ex… excuse me, sir" she whispered, attempting to pull away.

Ibrahim's jaw clenched. He yanked her closer, his fingers threading through her hair, pulling her head back roughly. His men chuckled at her helpless whimper.

"You think you can refuse me?" His voice was low, laced with menace. Then, without another word, he turned to his men and smirked. "Excuse me, gentlemen."

"Yes, enjoy brother," one of the men replied.

Dragging the trembling girl by her hair, he stormed towards the private room at the back of the bar, his grip ruthless, his steps unwavering. With a sharp yank, he flung her forward, causing her to stumble onto the plush bed.

The heavy door slammed shut behind them. He loosened the collar of his shirt, his piercing gaze devoured her fear as she crawled backward. A wicked smirk curled his lips.

"Where do you think you're going?" He mocked, unbuttoning his shirt. " You should be grateful I'm even touching you."

He bent towards her, grabbing her chin, he tilted her face up, his fingers digging into her soft skin.

"If you want me to be a little gentle," he whispered, his breath against her cheek, "then be a good girl and make it worth my time."

Tears slipped silently down her face, but he merely chuckled, running his fingers through her hair before fisting it harshly, pulling her closer.

What followed was nothing but his pleasure, his dominance—her silent suffering. She lay beneath him, motionless, her body aching with every forced movement he made.

The room was filled with the sound of his heavy breathing, the rustling of the sheets, and the occasional creak of the bed. Her fingers clutched the fabric beneath her, knuckles turning as she willed herself not to cry.

When he was done, he let out a satisfied sigh, his weight pressing down on her for a moment longer before he finally pulled away. Without a second glance, he pushed her away like a used doll, buttoning his shirt with a satisfied smirk. The dim light caught the sheen of sweat on his forehead, but his eyes gleamed with nothing but triumph.

"Pathetic," he scoffed, glancing at her crumpled form.

A sharp knock on the door interrupted the silence. "Sir, there's an update."

Ibrahim exhaled, lighting a cigar as he strode towards the door. Without sparing the girl another glance, he stepped out, his eyes cold and calculating as he walked away.

—

The next morning, a sleek black luxury car rolled to a stop outside the hospital, its polished surface reflecting the pale morning light. The door opened with a quiet click, and the same girl stepped out, her face void of emotion.

Dressed in an elegant yet somber outfit, she moved with an air of quiet authority. Her movements were precise and controlled, every step was deliberate, and calculated, as if she had rehearsed this a thousand times.

Without hesitation, she strode through the sterile hallways making her way to the room.

Inside, a man sat upright on the hospital bed, his face and body wrapped with bandages, confusion flickering in his eyes. He turned towards the window, watching the world outside— strangers walking, cars passing, life moving on.

At the sound of the door opening, he looked up desperately, attempting to stand, only to groan shot through his body.

"Don't move," the girl spoke softly, stepping inside. "You'll hurt yourself."

He blinked at her, his brows knitting together. "Who… who are you?"

She sat beside him, sliding a business card onto the nightstand. "I'm Noah. CEO of Walton's business."

His eyes darted between her and the card before his lips parted in uncertainty. "And me? Who am I?"

Noah hesitated for a moment before offering a reassuring smile. "Your name is Austin. You work for me."

The man's forehead creased. "Austin? I don't remember…"

"You got lost a few days ago," she continued smoothly, her voice unwavering. "I found you near the lakeside. You had lost a lot of blood. That's why your memory is… It is a bit fuzzy... unreliable right now."

"Ughh," The man clenched his fists, frustration evident in his expression. "I feel like… there's something missing."

"Relax." She leaned closer, her fingers brushing his wrist gently. " You will soon remember it all. Your memory will return with time."

He searched her eyes as if trying to pull the truth from her gaze. Noah merely smiled, her expression unreadable.

She handed him a bag. "Here are your clothes. Change into them, and we'll go home."

"Home?" The guy frowned. "Which home?"

"Mine," she replied without hesitation. " The doctor said you can be discharged now. You need rest, and your work is also pending." She stood up, her tone was calm. " Change quickly. I will go meet the doctor and get your medicines."

Before he could ask anything else, she turned and left.

The man watched her disappear through the door, then looked down at the clothes in his hands. His fingers tightened around the fabric as a heavy sigh escaped his lips.

"What's going on?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair. His mind was a tangled mess, everything felt blurred and uncertain. "Why is she taking me to her home?"

"Austin?"

—

Meanwhile, in a lavish penthouse, Ibrahim groaned as he woke up, his head pounding like a hammer striking steel. The overwhelming stench of alcohol clung to his sheets, mingling with the faint scent of cologne. His jaw clenched as he turned onto his side, eyes squinting against the harsh morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse.

With a frustrated sigh, he reached out for the half-empty whiskey bottle on his bedside table. Just as his fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, a thought struck him.

There was someone… someone had told him to meet them in the morning.

His hazy mind struggled to recall the details, but the sharp sting of obligation sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins. His eyes snapped open, the realization hitting him hard.

"Shit."

Bolting upright, he threw the bottle aside, hearing it thud onto the plush carpet. His fingers ran through his tousled dark hair. He wasn't the type to forget meetings—especially not ones important enough to leave an imprint on his usually indifferent mind.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he ran towards the bathroom. Just then, one of his men hesitantly entered.

"You useless piece of shit! Why the hell didn't you wake me up early? You know I had a meeting!" he barked, his glare sharp.

The man stammered, "S-Sorry, Sir…"

"Sorry, my ass!" He Snapped. "You're fucking useless! Put my damn clothes on the bed before I step out of the shower."

He had a quick bath and stepped out, water dripping from his hair as he grabbed his clothes. Hastily pulling on his shirt, he glanced at the clock and scowled.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair.

His eyes landed on a wine bottle on the table. Without a second thought, he grabbed it, uncorked it roughly, and took a deep sip. The rich burn of alcohol barely dulled his irritation.

"What a fucking morning," he sneered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

His phone vibrated on the bedside table. Lightning a cigar, he took a deep drag, exhaling smoke as he reached for his phone.

Without even glancing at the caller ID, he answered with a cold, clipped tone.

"Get the car ready," he ordered, his voice sharp. "I've got business to handle."

The voice on the other end hesitated before responding, "Yes, sir."

Ibrahim didn't wait for a response before ending the call. With slow, deliberate movements, he strode towards the mirror, checking himself once before leaving.

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