Chapter 2 Fraser Graham, My Antidote

The man before her was Fraser Graham—heir to the Graham Group. If the Larson Group, led by Trevor, was among Havenbrook’s top three financial conglomerates, then the Graham Group was undoubtedly number one. Starting as a banking empire, it had rapidly expanded its investments into real estate, technology, communications, and funds. More than half of Havenbrook’s industries had the Graham family’s mark on them. Behind closed doors, everyone called him Prince Fraser. Summer had met him once before. It was for a project the Stewart family had been competing for, under the Graham Group’s bidding process. She had been one of the project leads. Now, in her barely conscious state, she no longer cared about appearances. Using the last bit of her strength, she reached out and grasped the fabric of his tailored trousers. “Fraser… please… help me.” Fraser’s gaze darkened when he saw who it was. Her blue-and-white dress was torn and filthy, revealing a pair of pale, slender legs. Her delicate feet had been cut, blood staining her soft skin. And when he noticed the unnatural flush on her face, his frown deepened. Without a word, he bent down and scooped her into his arms. A faint scent of cool pine enveloped Summer, making her feel both cold and safe. Fraser placed her in the passenger seat and shut the door. Then, leaning lazily against the car, he slowly rolled up his sleeves and unfastened his watch—a limited-edition piece worth millions. Glancing at the three burly kidnappers who had chased after her, he asked, “Did you drug her?” His voice was low, calm—but chilling to the bone. … Ten minutes later, Fraser slid into the driver’s seat. His black dress shirt, now stained with blood, was stripped off and tossed out the window. Under the dim light, his lean, muscular torso was fully exposed—each ridge of his abs distinct, the smooth lines tapering down to a narrow waist, disappearing beneath his black dress pants. In the passenger seat, Summer had her eyes shut, her forehead damp with sweat. Her lips were slightly parted, teeth sinking into the soft flesh. He studied her for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, pulling out his phone, he made a call. “In half an hour, come to the Westhaven villa. Bring medicine.” On the other end of the line was Xavier Hathaway—Havenbrook’s top private hospital director and Fraser’s longtime friend. Hearing the demand, Xavier groaned in frustration. “My dear Mr. Graham, even if I were a street racer, the drive from Havenbrook to Westhaven takes at least two hours! What do you expect me to do, pull out Doraemon’s magic door?” Fraser’s lips curled into a lazy smirk. “Isn’t that what your private jet is for?” Xavier was stunned. Who the hell is important enough for Fraser to summon me with a plane? I'm like those doctors in movies—the ones who serve the most mysterious and wealthy men. You know, always at their service, ready for anything. Fraser hung up without another word. Gripping the steering wheel, he turned the car around. The Porsche sped down the empty road like a flash of lightning. Soon, they arrived at a luxurious white villa by the sea. Just as Fraser put the car in park, something soft and sweet suddenly pressed against him. Summer, her eyes hazy with desire, felt like she was being consumed by waves of heat. She was burning up. The thin strap of her dress had slipped off her shoulder, revealing the smooth, round curve beneath. Without hesitation, she climbed over the center console and straddled him, her slender fingers roaming across his bare chest. In the confined space of the Porsche, the air grew thick with tension. Fraser’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He caught her by the waist with one hand, his other gripping her delicate chin. He forced her to meet his dark, smoldering eyes. His voice was husky, almost a growl. “Summer, do you even know who I am?” Summer’s mind was muddled, but a shadow of recognition lingered. She laughed—a slow, sultry smile, the corners of her eyes tilting up in a way that was irresistibly seductive. She was like a ripe, juicy peach, begging to be tasted. Hooking her arms around his neck, she nuzzled against him, her soft face rubbing against his skin. “Fraser Graham… I’m so hot. I can’t take it anymore. Help me… please?” With that, her lips brushed against his Adam’s apple, trailing upward before finally pressing against his lips. Her kisses were messy and unpracticed, but they ignited something in him. Fraser’s eyes darkened as he gazed at the flushed woman in his arms. Desire flickered in his stare, a deep storm swirling beneath the surface. His warm palm slid up her smooth back, stroking her slowly and giving off a dangerous yet irresistible vibe. “Summer,” his voice was low and deliberate, “are you sure you won’t regret this?” Summer shook her head, her voice trembling. “No regrets… I just want to make Trevor regret.” Fraser’s brows arched. “Oh? Still thinking about him?” His hands stilled. Summer whimpered at the sudden lack of touch, her body aching, desperate. She looked up at him with misty eyes, lips slightly pouting, her expression heartbreakingly fragile. “No… no one else. There’s no one else anymore.” Trevor no longer existed in her heart. Fraser’s fingers resumed their slow, teasing caress. His voice dropped into a dark whisper. “Beg me.” Summer didn’t know how—she only knew she needed relief. Her eyes pleaded, her entire being trembling with longing. “Fraser, I’m begging you… take me.” Fraser’s lips curled into a wicked smile. As a reward, he gave her a teasing kiss, murmuring against her lips, “So sweet.” Summer instinctively licked her dry lips, her breath warm as she leaned closer, whispering into his ear. “I want to give you my first time.” Fraser’s eyes flashed with something unreadable before a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Alright. I’ll take it.” With that, he flipped the dynamic, seizing control. His strong hand cradled the back of her neck as he crushed his lips against hers. This kiss was nothing like the first—this one was deep, urgent, utterly consuming. He plundered every last bit of sweetness from her lips, leaving her breathless and dazed. Summer felt like she was drowning, sinking deeper into the waves. Her body instinctively pressed against his, craving more. A heated current surged through Fraser’s veins. For once, his usual self-restraint was shattered. Soon, discarded clothing littered the car. Her dress. His pants. And through the fogged-up windows, shadows entwined in passionate chaos. … Hours later, Fraser sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the faint traces of blood on his pants, his eyes dark and unreadable. Lifting Summer into his arms, he draped his suit jacket over her, covering her completely. Carrying her inside the villa, he headed straight to the bedroom. After thoroughly satisfying himself, Fraser was in a rare, patient mood. He carefully cleaned her up, dried her hair, and tucked her beneath the silk sheets. In the living room, Xavier lounged lazily on the sofa, flipping through a magazine. When Fraser finally emerged—shirt replaced with a printed one, two buttons undone at the collar—Xavier’s gaze landed on the lipstick stain at his collarbone. Cherry red. Stark and obvious. He checked the time. It was already 10 p.m. He had been waiting there for five hours. Xavier clicked his tongue. “Fraser, good thing this is a private resort. Otherwise, with how your million-dollar car’s been rocking for hours, people might’ve thought there was an earthquake.”