Chapter 150: The Bedroom Swap

Ethan's POV

Someone slipped into my bed while my head pounded with foggy thoughts. Everything felt wrong, as if I'd been drugged and disoriented.

I grabbed a wrist hard enough to hear a yelp of pain.

"Who are you?" My voice sounded unrecognizable - raspy and harsh.

Through dim amber lighting, shadows crossed her face, revealing only a silhouette.

"Ethan, it's me, Sophia. You're hurting me."

Sophia Davis. My grip loosened immediately as my body went rigid with shock. Memories attempted to surface but slipped away quickly. What happened after calling Amanda when my body burned with uncontrollable need?

Had I actually slept with Sophia? My mind provided no confirmation beyond a hazy blur of physical release.

"Did we...?" The question remained unfinished as I gripped the sheets tightly.

Her wide eyes stared back intensely. "You were so rough, Ethan." Her voice broke slightly. "It hurt."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Room spinning as I sat abruptly, feeling trapped and cornered by the situation.

"I know you might not want responsibility," she continued with streaming tears. "I won't force you."

Disgust constricted my throat—at myself, the situation, her pathetic performance. Clearheaded, I never would have touched her. Yet the evidence condemned me: clothes on the floor, my exhausted body, her presence beside me.

The throbbing wouldn't stop despite rubbing my temples. Her sobbing grated against my frayed nerves.

"Stop crying," I snapped.

She quieted with suspicious immediacy, watching through tear-filled eyes.

I rose mechanically and dressed with stiff movements. What could I say? The Blackwood and Davis families had business ties going back generations. This wouldn't simply disappear.

Her eyes followed my every movement as I buttoned my shirt.

"Mr. Blackwood," she broke the silence, eyes downcast in perfect demureness. "This happened unexpectedly. We should both process everything separately."

Something felt distinctly wrong though I couldn't identify what. My pressed lips remained silent.

"I'm leaving now," I stated, grabbing my jacket. "Come to Blackwood Tower if you need anything."

She glanced up with false vulnerability. "Ethan, after becoming intimate, surely I deserve your contact information?"

Without answering, I placed a business card on the table before walking out. The escape couldn't happen quickly enough.

The hallway's brightness assaulted my eyes. Despite my spinning head, the cool air provided slight clarity as memories tried reconstructing themselves—Amanda checking on me, medicine beside the bed, then nothing but darkness.

Amanda didn't answer when I called. Where had she disappeared to?

"Feeling unwell, sir?" A concerned hotel employee inquired as I passed.

"Nothing serious," I muttered while continuing toward the exit.

The charity gala had mostly dispersed by ten. Robert Sterling - Sophia's "father" - stood near the doors as I approached.

His eyebrow raised after giving me a once-over. "Excessive drinking? Not feeling well?"

My body tensed involuntarily. Knowledge of his daughter currently occupying my room remained unmentionable.

"The event's ending, so I'm heading home to rest," I replied.

He nodded once. "Dr. Wright discussed the medical equipment task force earlier. Cornell Research Center might house it. Details Monday at Sterling Tower."

"I'll attend," I acknowledged without processing completely.

Jackson waited outside, rushing forward upon noticing my slight stumble.

"Should I contact Dr. Davis? You seem unwell," he suggested while supporting my arm.

My head shook firmly. "Already tried calling without answer. Any knowledge of her whereabouts?"

His puzzled expression said everything. "Wasn't she accompanying you? Perhaps an emergency arose?"

Frustration mounted as I rubbed my forehead tiredly. "Let's just go home."

Street lights blurred past while my mind fought through lingering dizziness.

Sophia's act felt fundamentally wrong—tears drying too quickly, composure returning too fast. Someone had drugged me with something far stronger than alcohol.

When Amanda finally called back, I felt unexpected relief.

"Hello?" My voice came out rough.

"You okay?" Genuine concern in her tone.

I made a noncommittal sound. "Where did you go?"

Her silence spoke volumes.

"After giving you medicine, you seemed fine, so I left," she finally answered, clearly lying.

A strange hollowness filled my chest. "Where are you now?"

"Left early. Wasn't feeling well."

"Monday. Sterling Tower. Cornell project," I commanded, maintaining my authority despite internal chaos.

"Understood completely."

After ending the call, exhaustion hit as I sank into the car seat, the persistent feeling that something crucial happened tonight lingering.

Mike watched me through the rearview mirror but knew better than to speak.

Sex with Sophia Davis? Completely out of character. Benjamin had groomed me as the Blackwood heir since childhood. I never lose control.

A shadow darkened my face as I drummed my fingers against my thigh.

"Mike. Turn around." My voice turned to cold steel.

Mike immediately changed direction when I declared tonight's events a setup. Darkness flashed across my eyes as I explained my drink had been tampered with, ordering him back to the hotel in clipped, commanding words.

He accelerated as ordered, asking no further questions.

The gala had ended. Only hotel staff remained, pausing as they noticed my return.

The manager rushed over. "Mr. Blackwood, need assistance?"

"Security footage. Now." Each word dropped like ice.

"Sir? Apologies, but—" he stammered, sweat beading on his forehead. His fear was palpable, satisfying. "Guest privacy protocols require authorization."

A dangerous smile crossed my face, the kind that made board members resign on the spot. "Explaining policy to me?"

He laughed nervously, the sound grating against my already frayed nerves. "We have regulations. Please don't—"

"This hotel belongs to Allen Group?" My voice dropped to a lethal whisper. The Blackwood name carried weight that crushed lesser businesses daily. "Get your supervisor. Immediately."

My patience—never abundant—had evaporated completely. These people were insects compared to my influence.

"Perhaps tomorrow? Management has—"

"Misconduct in your establishment. Private or public. Your choice." My eyes never left his, watching him squirm like prey.

Before he could continue his pathetic excuses, Melissa Allen appeared. "Mr. Blackwood, issue with our services?"

Recognition hit instantly. Allen family history with the Sterlings ran deep. Melissa's desperate pursuit of Robert Sterling, offering business mergers and marriage proposals that fell on deaf ears. A social climber with delusions of grandeur.

"Tonight's security footage," I demanded, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Of course. Lost something?" Her tone was honey over steel.

I stared through her, past her insignificance. My blood ran cold with suspicion. "My team handles it."

On cue, thirty men in black suits flooded the lobby. Power made visible—a reminder of who truly controlled this interaction.

"Fully prepared. Please proceed." Melissa stepped aside, calculating her survival. Smart woman.

The Allen hotels were beneath Blackwood Group. She knew better than to challenge me openly. Her ambition had limits—self-preservation being primary.

The manager fidgeted, sweat staining his collar. "Ms. Allen, policy states—"

Melissa's eyes flashed with warning. "CEO of Blackwood Group. Death wish?"

The manager fell silent, properly chastised.

In security, I reviewed footage, rage building with each passing second. The betrayal crystallized in my mind. Amanda had visited me, administered medication when my consciousness slipped. But footage showed only Sophia entering room 303. Someone was manipulating events, manipulating me.

"Sir, found something?" Mike asked, tension evident in his posture.

"Replay corridor footage."

The video showed me entering, then Sophia's arrival. Nothing else. The absence screamed conspiracy louder than any evidence could.

My fists clenched until knuckles whitened. Sophia Davis had compromised me. No one had ever succeeded in catching a Blackwood unaware. The humiliation burned hotter than my anger.

"Download everything for analysis," I ordered, keeping my voice steady despite the storm inside.

A security team member approached, nervousness evident despite professional demeanor. "Sir, room 303. Found something."