[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl Chapter 37: Humiliation Ritual

NOAH

I woke up to the worst hangover of my entire miserable existence.

My skull didn’t just hurt, it felt like so deranged construction crew had gone to town inside my head with sledgehamrs, jackhamrs, maybe even a forklift for variety.

Every pulse of blood was a violent, throbbing reminder that I’d made catastrophic decisions last night.

My tongue tasted like I’d been licking the floor of a dive bar: stale alcohol, acid, humiliation, fernting together into sothing foul enough to qualify as a chemical weapon.

And I was not in my apartnt.

That realization didn’t co in one dramatic bolt of clarity. No, it crawled in slowly, sluggishly, like my brain had to wade through a swamp full of nausea before letting the truth reach .

The bed beneath was far too soft, the kind of softness that promised a price tag ant to personally insult the working class.

The sheets were luxurious, silky, high-thread-count, probably imported, definitely more expensive than my rent, maybe even my student loans.

And the room... oh god. It was huge. Open. Bathed in a flood of unforgiving morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city like it owned it.

My brain struggled to catch up.

Where the fuck was I?

I tried sitting up.

Instant regret.

The whole room whipped into a violent spin, like gravity itself was mocking . My stomach rolled in warning, threatening to hurl what little dignity I had left onto whatever priceless flooring I was desecrating.

I collapsed back into the pillows with a tortured groan, pressing my palms hard into my eyes like that might sohow reboot my brain.

Think, Noah. Think.

Fragnts of last night began bleeding through the haze. Not mories, more like jagged shards of disaster.

The fight with Nick.

My father’s slap.

The word disowned, sharp and final, echoing in my ears like the crack of a gun.

Lila’s voice whining through Nick’s phone.

The club.

Shots.

More shots.

Then even more shots because apparently I hate myself.

And then,

Oh god.

Oh god.

Cassian.

I shot upright, hangover be damned, heart slamming so hard it rattled my ribs. My eyes darted around the room like a hunted animal.

The bar. The Insults. His arms hauling upright. The car ride. The hotel. Being carried.

Oh god.

Oh god.

This wasn’t just a fancy room.

This was a hotel suite.

His hotel suite. The familiarity finally caught up. I’d been here before.

And I was in his bed. In nothing but briefs.

How the hell did I...

My pulse thundered in my ears. "No, no, no..."

Before I could spiral any further, the bathroom door opened with a soft click.

A cloud of steam drifted out first.

I froze... not subtly, not in a cute, startled way, but in the catastrophic, system-shutdown kind of way where every coherent thought just... snapped.

Because Cassian Wolfe, my boss, my torntor, the man who owned far too many pieces of already, was standing there wearing nothing but a towel.

A single white towel slung low around his hips, barely hanging on, like it was one deep breath away from dropping and ruining my life even more than it already was.

Water clung to his skin, catching the light in tiny droplets that slid down the ridges of his abdon, abs cut so sharply they looked carved, the kind of definition you assud only existed after three layers of Photoshop.

But no, they were real. Right there. In front of . Naked except for cotton and audacity.

And then there were the tattoos.

I’d never seen them before, of course I hadn’t. Cassian wore his designer suits like armor, always buttoned to the throat, never a milliter out of place.

But now? The entire map of his body was exposed, inked in sprawling, shadowy patterns.

Dark designs crawled across his torso and shoulders, a mix of vicious elegance , dragons, flas, twisted symbols, jagged lines that wrapped around his arms as though they were binding him. Dangerous.

Violent. Beautiful in a way that felt wrong to look at, like staring directly at a storm.

Even his hair was different. Usually styled back with ruthless precision, not a single strand daring to escape. But the water had undone all of that; it fell forward in wet, ssy bangs, dripping onto his collarbones, softening him just enough to make him look like the kind of man you ran from, or toward, depending on how self-destructive you were feeling that day.

And apparently, my body was in a wildly self-destructive mood, because heat flared hard and fast under the blanket. I didn’t even consciously react; my stupid, treacherous body simply took one look at him and threw every survival instinct out the window.

Cassian noticed. Of course he did. He took the smallest breath, and his eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.

"Good morning." He greeted. "I trust you had a lovely night didn’t you?"

His voice was warm. Smooth. Almost gentle, and that was what truly terrified . Cassian Wolfe did not do gentle. If he sounded calm, sothing was very, very wrong.

I scrambled to tug the blanket higher across my lap. "I, uh, good morning?" It ca out sounding like I’d forgotten how greetings worked.

Whatever fleeting warmth had briefly touched his expression vanished instantly.

His face hardened, eyes turning to ice as he closed the distance between us with long, unhurried strides. He stopped at the foot of the bed, towering over like judgnt itself.

"On your knees."

I stared at him. "What?"

"You heard ." His tone flattened, shifting into that low, commanding register he used when he expected obedience, the very sa voice he’d used in his office when he’d ordered to get on my knees for him.

My stomach plumted. "Cassian, I don’t think..."

"Now."

I dropped to the carpet so fast I barely felt my knees hit the floor, the expensive, plush carpet that still bore a faint stain several feet away, despite whoever had cleaned it overnight.

It clicked instantly.

Oh god. I’d thrown up on his carpet. His ridiculously expensive carpet.

"Do you rember last night?" Cassian asked, voice so calm it made my skin crawl.

"So of it?" I managed, my throat tight.

He stepped closer, shadow falling over like the room had narrowed around us.

"Let’s refresh your mory shall we?" He sounded almost too pleased.

"You ignored my calls. Multiple calls." Every word was a precise strike. "Then you got blackout drunk at a club. You passed out at a bar. I had to co collect you like a misbehaving pet."

I winced.

"You clung to ," he went on, still maddeningly calm. "Cried on my shirt. Wiped your snot on ."

I closed my eyes.

"You announced to half the building," he continued, "that you can’t get hard without thinking about ."

My whole soul left my body.

"And then you cursed out. Called a ’sadistic bastard’ and a ’fucking prick.’ Very creative, by the way."

I wanted to crawl under the floorboards.

"And then," Cassian said, his voice dropping into sothing deep and dangerous, "you kissed ."