THE CEO UNEXPECTED WIFE

The hotel hallway smelled like lavender and bad decisions.

Amara dragged her suitcase behind her, wincing at the squeaky wheel that echoed off the marble floors. Her best friend's bachelorette party had ended three hours ago, but here she was-still in her rumpled bridesmaid dress, mascara smudged under her eyes, desperately searching for room 712.

Who books a hotel with four different towers? she thought, squinting at the key card in her hand. Sadists. Rich sadists.

The email had said Tower B. But Tower B had two wings. And the signs were confusing. And her phone was dead.

She stopped in front of room 712 and shoved the card into the slot. The light flashed green.

Finally.

Amara pushed the door open, already dreaming of the king-sized bed waiting inside. She kicked off her heels, dropped her suitcase, and-

Froze.

There was a man in the bed.

Not just any man. A shirtless man. With broad shoulders and dark hair and a jawline that looked like it had been sculpted by someone with a grudge against unattractive people.

He was also very much awake. And staring at her.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, his voice low and sharp.

Amara's brain short-circuited. "I this is my room."

"Your room." He sat up, and the sheets pooled around his waist. Of course he had abs. "It says 'Dorian Blackwood' on the reservation."

"Dorian" She blinked. "Wait. The Dorian Blackwood? The CEO of Blackwood Industries?"

His eyes narrowed. "You know who I am."

"Everyone knows who you are. You're on the cover of Forbes every other month." She crossed her arms, trying to ignore how very naked he was under those sheets. "But that doesn't explain why you're in my room."

He reached for his phone on the nightstand, tapped the screen, and turned it toward her. "Reservation confirmation. Room 712. Tower B. Dorian Blackwood."

Amara pulled out her own key card, still clutched in her hand. "Also room 712. Tower B." She grabbed her phone, plugged it into the charger on the wall, and waited for it to power on. When it did, she pulled up her email and showed him. "See? Amara Chen. Same room."

They stared at each other.

"Someone messed up," she said finally.

"Clearly." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and Amara quickly looked away. Too much skin. Way too much skin.

"I'll go to the front desk," she said, already backing toward the door. "Get this sorted. Sorry for the... intrusion."

She grabbed her suitcase and fled.

The front desk was useless.

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Chen," the clerk said, looking genuinely pained. "We're fully booked. There's a convention in town. The earliest I can get you a new room is tomorrow afternoon."

"Tomorrow afternoon?"

"I can offer you a complimentary breakfast and a spa voucher."

Amara wanted to cry. She was exhausted. Her feet hurt. And she'd just walked in on a half-naked billionaire.

She was about to accept defeat and sleep in the lobby when a voice behind her said, "She can stay."

She turned.

Dorian Blackwood stood there, now fully dressed in a crisp black suit. He looked annoyingly composed, like he hadn't just been ambushed by a stranger in his hotel room.

"Excuse me?" Amara said.

"The room has two beds," he said flatly. "I'll be working most of the night anyway. You can take the other one."

"I" She hesitated. "I don't even know you."

"And I don't know you. But I'm not going to let you sleep in a lobby because of a clerical error." He turned and walked back toward the elevator. "Come on. I don't have all night."

Amara stood there, frozen.

The clerk cleared her throat. "Ma'am? The offer seems... generous."

Generous wasn't the word Amara would have used. Insane was closer.

But her feet were killing her. And her phone was at 3%. And the alternative was a stiff lobby couch and a security guard who kept eyeing her like she might steal the decorative plants.

She grabbed her suitcase and followed him.

The room felt smaller the second time.

Amara changed in the bathroom, pulling on a t-shirt and sweatpants she'd packed for the morning. When she came out, Dorian was at the desk, laptop open, phone pressed to his ear.

"No, I don't care what the board thinks," he was saying, his voice clipped. "The deal goes through, or they can find themselves a new CEO."

Amara quietly climbed into the second bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

He glanced at her once, then looked away.

She pretended to sleep.

For the next hour, she listened to him work. He took three more calls. Typed furiously. Ordered someone named "Marcus" to "fix it or I'll fix you."

At some point, she actually did fall asleep.

She woke to darkness and the sound of breathing.

Not her breathing.

She sat up, heart pounding, and saw him standing by the window. His silhouette was sharp against the city lights. He wasn't moving. Just... standing there.

Watching her.

"You're awake," he said.

"No thanks to you." She rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Three a.m."

"And you're just... standing there?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he walked toward the bed her bed and sat on the edge.

Amara's breath caught.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he said something that made her blood run cold.

"I know who you are, Amara Chen."

She froze. "What?"

"Your father. He's Wei Chen. CEO of Chen Holdings."

Her heart stopped. "How"

"He's been trying to destroy my company for three years." Dorian's voice was soft. Dangerous. "And now his daughter shows up in my hotel room at midnight, claiming it was a mistake."

Amara's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"It was a mistake," she said. "I didn't know-"

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I don't care what you believe." She sat up straighter, anger flaring. "I haven't spoken to my father in five years. I don't work for him. I don't take his money. I'm a teacher, for God's sake."

Dorian studied her. In the darkness, his eyes were unreadable.

"A teacher," he repeated.

"Second grade. I live in a one-bedroom apartment in Queens. I drive a Honda with a cracked bumper." She threw off the covers and stood. "And I didn't come here to spy on you. I came here for my best friend's bachelorette party."

Silence.

Then, slowly, Dorian stood too.

"Prove it."

"How?"

He pulled out his phone, typed something, and held it up. "Call your father. Right now. On speaker."

Amara stared at him. "It's three in the morning."

"Call him."

She took the phone with shaking hands. Dialed the number she hadn't dialed in years. Put it on speaker.

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

Then "Amara?"

Her father's voice. Groggy. Confused. And... hopeful.

"Dad," she said, her voice cracking. "I need you to tell this man who I am."

"What? What man? Amara, where are you-"

"Please."

A pause. Then, quietly: "She's my daughter. She's not part of my business. She never was." Another pause. "Is she in trouble?"

Amara hung up.

She handed the phone back to Dorian.

He stared at her for a long, long time.

Then he did something she didn't expect.

He smiled.

"You're interesting," he said. "Amara Chen."

And before she could respond, he turned and walked back to his own bed.

The next morning, Amara woke to an empty room and a note on the pillow beside her.

I've extended your stay. Room's yours for the week. Consider it an apology.

She rolled her eyes. Arrogant. Presumptuous. Ridiculous.

But under the note was something else.

A business card.

And on the back, in sharp black ink:

Call me. We need to talk about your father.

She was still staring at the card when her phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number:

Ms. Chen. This is Marcus, Mr. Blackwood's assistant. He's asked me to inform you that your father has just filed a lawsuit against Blackwood Industries. And that if you're not on a plane to New York by noon, you'll be subpoenaed as a witness.

Have a nice day.