For: All my Game Night friends.

UNCOVERING LILY

A BILLIONAIRE ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

Will one night be enough to win her trust to save her?

A Kidnapped College Student

While studying abroad, I was drugged, kidnapped, and imprisoned . . . in a

Hong Kong brothel. After several failed attempts to escape, I know my time is running out. My innocence is about to be sold to the highest bidder.

A Billionaire CEO

My plan was to meet an investor at the upscale brothel, and immediately return to Boston. That was until I uncovered Lily. I recognized her instantly, but she had no memory of me.

Now I only have one night to claim her and rescue her from her captors.

Will one night be enough for him to win her trust, to rescue her?

1

LILY

Mid-April – Hong Kong

The sounds of partying and sex have finally ended, and the house has

grown silent. Sneaking out should be easy.

Grasping the door handle with a shaking hand I whisper to myself,

“It’s now or never.”

The knob turns, and the door thankfully opens—my captors haven’t locked

me in the small prison-like room. Two days ago, at least I think it was, I woke up disoriented from whatever drugs they had injected me and with the worst hangover I have ever experienced. Last year’s tequila-fueled New Year’s doesn’t even compare!

The small room swam in front of my eyes, and I was too dizzy to comprehend what was really going on. I only knew one thing: I had been kidnapped. I have since been able to deduce that I’m most likely not in Paris.

They aren’t speaking French, rather what I assume is Chinese Mandarin, so I have not understood a fucking word they’ve said to me through the drugged-induced haze.

Last semester I should have taken Mandarin instead of fucking French. It would’ve been a hell of a lot more useful! Who needs to speak French anyway?

Most of the French I met in Paris spoke at least some English, and many of those were eager to practice their English with me.

Once the fog started lifting from my mind, I drank every drop of water they gave me to try and flush out whatever drug they’d injected me with. I also exaggerated the effects, making them think the drugs were still having an effect on me. By last night I felt almost human again.

Now it’s time for my escape.

From looking out the small window, I know that I am being held on the third

floor of a large residential home. I feel pretty confident in my abilities since I have had plenty of practice sneaking in and out of my house in high school. I have been eagerly waiting until the house quiets. Hopefully, everyone is asleep.

I’m still wearing the same black dress I was kidnapped in, but my shoes have

gone missing, so I tiptoe out of the room barefoot. The long hallway has several doors on either side, and in the darkness, I can make out a staircase on the far end. Slowly I make my way down the hall, keeping in the shadows and using the rug running its length to muffle my footsteps. I inch my way toward the stairs and slowly descend to the landing, leaning my weight onto the railing so my steps are lighter on the treads, until I enter another long hallway.

This one is brighter, and it’s not long before I come to another railing overlooking the open entryway. There I see the early morning sun coming through the windows. The large front door is in sight! My heart is pounding in my chest so loud I can almost hear it.

I move slowly toward the staircase but freeze when I see a large man dressed

in a suit walking to the door and standing by it like a sentry. After several eternity-like seconds, he touches his ear almost as if someone is speaking to him and moves off down an adjacent hallway until I can no longer see him. I quickly hurry down the stairs. Throwing open the door, I bolt outside and down the cement steps, ignoring my feet protesting the cold and rough terrain.

I make it down the driveway and come to a decorative gate. I attempt to push

it open, only to find it locked. Fuck. I am forced to crouch down in order to crawl under. I wince as I scrap my palms against the icy broken concrete. My dress’s flimsy material barely covers my knees and I can feel it beginning to tear.

Once on the other side, I attempt to stand only to snag my dress on one of the gate’s unwelcoming spikes. Panicking, I tug myself loose, ripping a hole in the

back of my dress.

Shaking and sweating, but not wanting to risk being caught, I continue to run down the busy sidewalk.

I don’t get too far when I freeze in my tracks. A black car has pulled up in

front of me and several large men in black suits get out. I turn to run the opposite direction, only to run directly into more men.

One of the men picks me up and carries me over his shoulder. I kick, scream,

and fight as they drag me back to the house. The street is busy, and pedestrians pass by, but no one attempts to stop them.

They take me through the back door and into what I now know is the holding

room for any drunk or abusive clients. They are careful not to hit my face as they beat me with wooden canes, and laugh at my expense as I curl into a tight ball, protecting myself.

I am then forced into my now familiar closet, with only a pillow and blanket.

I can barely move or breathe.

I’m stuck. Trapped.

Beaten.

But not raped. Yet.

The following morning, I am dragged out of my closet and taken to see the