Billionaire and His Scheming Beauty

Chapter 2: Self-Offering

A woman's languid voice rose from behind him.

Olivier turned around and saw the woman he had just bedded leaning against the bed. At first glance,

she looked like a sensual goddess. On closely examining her features, he found himself wanting to see

more. She was beautiful, mesmerizingly beautiful.

The quilt draped over her chest looked like it would fall away any moment.

Olivier showed no reaction. He strode towards her then stood by the bed, staring at her with an air of

cold pride.

"This is your room?" He asked in a low, indifferent tone.

Fleur smiled sharply and met his gaze. "Yes. It seems I can now sue you for trespassing my suite and

raping me?"

"Miss." Olivier's stare never wavered. "I was not so drunk I couldn't remember you had your arm

around my waist in the first place. How did I rape you if you were the one who offered yourself to me in

the first place?"

"..."

Fleur paused at that, then tried again. "You took my virginity." She lifted the quilt, revealing a patch of

red on the stark white sheets. Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

Olivier remained unmoved. He did not even bother glancing at the blood. "You took mine. I guess we're

even."

Fleur watched, stunned speechless, as Olivier headed for the exit.

As he reached the door, he turned around for a moment, eyes landing straight on the blood-red rose

tattooed on Fleur's arm.

It was so lifelike it looked like it would leap off her skin.

Olivier's brow furrowed, eyes darkening with some realisation.

Fleur snorted with a laugh. "Look at me again and I'll have to charge you."

Olivier’s eyes met hers for a split second.

His eyes were incredibly keen, and behind them laid an incomprehensible depth. A chill shot straight

down Fleur's spine.

......

Olivier's driver was still waiting downstairs when he came down to the lobby. The driver, Raoul, did not

dare leave at his own will when Olivier had yet to return at such late an hour, so Raoul had been

sleeping in the car all this while.

He shot up from his sleep just as the car door opened.

"Mr Martinez." The driver addressed Olivier, discreetly wiping away any traces of saliva.

Olivier grunted in greeting. He sat down at the back, legs splayed as the air conditioner did its magic to

the air in the car. He massaged his temple for a moment before glancing towards the hotel.

Slowly, he massaged upwards along his forehead, finally releasing the tension on a particular wound-

up knot.

After a moment, Olivier finally said, "Drive."

"Yes, sir," the driver said, turning the engine on.

At that very moment, Olivier's phone rang.

"Hello," He answered, voice crisp.

"Young Master, Old madam has just been sent to the hospital, as she was attempting suicide by

slashing her wrists, you..."

Olivier gritted his teeth. "She really doesn't stop, does she? Throwing a suicide tantrum at such an

hour."

"Young Master, it's best if you come back and stay for-"

"I'm not going."

Olivier hung up the phone without delay. His grandmother would only attempt suicide for one thing.

Forced marriage.

She had cried, threw tantrums, and even tried hanging herself several times. This time though, she had

really done it.

Two seconds later, Olivier said, "Stop the car."

The driver stopped.

Olivier looked back at the hotel, gaze serious.

......

Odette called Fleur immediately after the latter stepped out of the shower. It was now one-thirty in the

morning.

"Speak," Fleur said.

"Did it work?"

Fleur replied while changing into her clothes, "What's it to you?"

"Just asking. By the way, I forgot to tell you: Olivier Martinez already has a woman he loves."

Odette's smug giggling was unmistakable from the other side of the phone.

Fleur interrupted her with a short burst of laughter.

"That doesn't matter to me. I love making people like him restless with their hearts."

"..."

The doorbell rang just as Fleur finished talking.

She hung up then went to open the door. Olivier stood outside, his pristine figure resembling a sculpted

work of art, carrying an air of unshakeable rapture.