Chapter 3 One More Time, Baby

Fraser shot Xavier a cold, cutting glance. He walked to the liquor cabinet, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, poured himself a full glass, and downed it in one go. The burn of the alcohol finally cleared the lingering heat from the night’s indulgence. Xavier clicked his tongue teasingly. "Well, well… looks like someone finally got lucky. Guess my stash of meds is useless now, huh? So, who’s the woman that managed to tame our untouchable Bossman?" Xavier was dying of curiosity. Fraser was infamous in the business world for being ruthless and cold-hearted. He was decisive, merciless, and always in control. But in their private circle, he was different from other wealthy man like Xavier. Xavier enjoyed unwinding with drinks, actresses, and high-end escorts. If they found someone they liked, a little cash was nothing for a night of pleasure. Fraser played too—but his version of fun was different. Racing, surfing, skydiving, boxing—he only cared about the thrill. Women? Too much trouble. Just as Xavier assumed Fraser wouldn’t answer, Fraser placed his empty glass on the counter. With a casual flick of his fingers, the glass spun in place, casting streaks of reflected light across the surface. His dark eyes remained indifferent as he finally spoke. "Summer Stewart." Xavier froze. He hadn’t expected that. Lately, Summer’s name had been making waves in high society. Not because the Stewart family was particularly prestigious, but because she was Trevor Larson’s fiancée. Trevor and Fraser had always been business rivals. They were both at the top of Havenbrook’s elite, but they moved in entirely different circles. Recently, Trevor had made headlines for throwing a grand wedding for his first love, Peyton. The whole city was gossiping about it, and naturally, his actual fiancée, Summer, had become the laughingstock of high society. Even Xavier had heard about it. He couldn’t help but ask, "Fraser, don’t tell me you did this just to mess with Trevor? If you wanted to get under his skin, wouldn’t Peyton be the better choice? Summer’s completely out of favor these days." Fraser’s sharp gaze flicked toward him. Xavier instantly felt a chill down his spine. Fraser scoffed. "You think Trevor is worth that kind of effort?" Xavier let out an awkward laugh. "Trevor’s not worth your time, sure. But Summer is his fiancée, and you two… well, it’s a little messy." He wasn’t about to say it out loud, but technically speaking, didn’t that make Fraser the homewrecker here? Fraser narrowed his eyes. "You sure have a way with words." Xavier fell silent. Was Fraser actually thinking about cutting his tongue out? "Get lost before I make sure you don’t have a tongue to run anymore." Alright, alright—he’d hit a nerve. If Fraser wanted him gone, he’d take the hint. Except Xavier didn’t just leave. He took off. Moments later, a private jet soared into the sky. … Summer had been put through the wringer for hours. By the time the drug wore off, all that remained was an aching exhaustion that made her feel like her entire body had been taken apart and put back together. Then, suddenly— The deafening roar of a plane engine shook the villa. She stirred, groggy, slowly opening her eyes. As she sat up, the silk blanket slipped from her body, revealing skin covered in scattered, lingering traces of passion. The memories from hours ago rushed back. She had slept with Fraser. And worse—she had been the one to initiate it. Her face burned. She had no idea how to even process what had happened. Then— The bedroom door creaked open. On instinct, Summer immediately lay back down, yanking the blanket over herself, gripping the edges tightly. The sound of steady, unhurried footsteps approached the bed. She held her breath, lashes quivering, toes curling. Even with her eyes shut, she could feel the intensity of Fraser’s gaze sweeping over her body. Just when she thought she might suffocate from the tension— "You’ve already slept with me, Ms. Stewart. Don’t tell me you’re planning to pretend it never happened?" His lazy, deep voice echoed through the room. Summer’s heart pounded. Slowly, carefully, she opened her bright, clear eyes. Fraser stood beside the bed, tall and broad-shouldered, arms crossed. His dark gaze was calm, but piercing. This was the first time Summer had looked at him this closely, this clearly. He wore a patterned shirt, the top few buttons undone, exposing the chiseled line of his collarbone. His posture was relaxed, yet carried an undeniable intensity. His sharp, sculpted features were striking. Deep-set eyes. A straight, defined nose. Every angle was as if carved by the hands of a master. Trevor had always had a cold, detached air about him. Fraser? The corners of his eyes had a sharp, almost mischievous tilt. When he smiled, there was a trace of danger—subtle, but undeniable. Summer tightened her grip on the blanket and hesitated. "Fraser, I… I didn’t mean to. I was drugged, that’s the only reason I—" She trailed off, flustered. "What… what do I owe you?" She never expected to sleep with the Havenbrook’s Bossman. Even she was at a loss for words. Fraser arched a brow at her. Her long, wavy hair cascaded around her delicate face, her clear eyes carrying a trace of distress. She was undeniably beautiful—her soft, fair skin covered in the marks he had left behind. Fraser’s gaze darkened. He leaned back slightly, his voice slow and amused. "And how exactly do you plan to compensate me?" Summer hesitated. "I… I could buy you dinner?" Fraser scoffed. "Do I look like I need you to buy me food?" Right. That was stupid. Money? The Graham family was Havenbrook’s wealthiest—tens of billions in assets. He wouldn’t even glance at her pathetic bank account. Summer looked up hesitantly. "Then… could you give me a hint?" This was her first time sleeping with someone. What was she supposed to do afterward? If it had been anyone else, she would felt down and extremely regretful. But this was Fraser Graham. And she had been the one who threw herself at him. Technically… wasn’t she the one who got the better end of the deal? Fraser suddenly leaned in, tilting her chin up with his fingers. Their gazes locked. His lips curved slightly. "Summer, I satisfied you. As compensation—" He paused, voice dark and teasing. "Now it’s your turn to satisfy me." Summer’s mind went blank. Under the effects of the drug, she had been bold, reckless—completely unrestrained. But now? She was sober. And she absolutely could not handle this. But Fraser wasn’t giving her time to think. His arm slid around her waist, effortlessly pulling her onto his lap. He didn’t hesitate—lowering his head, his lips crashing down on hers. His desire was written in his breath, his touch, his gaze. Her thin silk robe had already been loose. As it slipped further down her shoulder, exposing delicate, fair skin— Fraser’s lips trailed over her delicate brows, her soft red lips, and her fair cheeks. Finally, he took her petite earlobe between his teeth, licking and teasing it with slow, deliberate pressure. Fraser’s breath was hot against her ear, sending a shiver through her body. Summer’s breath hitched, and an involuntary sound slipped past her lips—soft, sweet, nothing like her usual voice. She hadn’t even been drinking, yet the lingering taste of alcohol on Fraser’s lips, mixed with the clean, masculine scent of his shower gel, was intoxicating. For a moment, she lost herself in it. Then, a memory surfaced. Trevor’s last birthday. She had spent weeks preparing. She had baked him a chocolate cake from scratch. And that night, she had planned to give him something even more precious—herself. She had picked out a stunning black slip dress, low-cut and dangerously short. She had waited. But as always, Peyton had fallen "ill." And just as expected, Trevor never showed up. She had spent the entire night alone, staring at that carefully made cake, tears falling onto the table. That dress—meant to be worn for him—became nothing more than a cruel joke. She had thrown it into the back of her closet, never wanting to see it again. The thought made her chest ache. For how foolishly, desperately she had loved him. Suddenly, a sharp sting on her earlobe jolted her back to reality. Her eyes flew open. Fraser’s lips left her ear as he propped himself up, hovering over her. His deep gaze locked onto hers. “Distracted?” That single word sent a chill down her spine. She had been thinking about Trevor. While she was with Fraser. Any man would be furious if he knew. Fraser’s voice was unreadable. “Ms. Stewart, it seems I’m not quite captivating enough to keep you focused.” Summer’s heart clenched in panic. She had heard the rumors. Fraser Graham—Havenbrook’s bossman. Cold, ruthless, and utterly unforgiving. She had no doubt that if she angered him, he wouldn’t let it slide. Her instinct kicked in. “I… I didn’t mean to.” Fraser’s lips curled slightly. His smirk was almost lazy, but something about it felt dangerous. “That’s alright.” Summer exhaled, relieved. For now. Then, flipping her over, he pressed her against him, his voice low and commanding against her ear. "This time, you take the lead."