Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 311 The first thing I registered as I started to come back to consciousness was the crushing headache, like someone was repeatedly hammering the inside of my skull. Then came the dizziness. It was a sickening, rolling sensation, as if the world were spinning in slow, uneven circles, paired with a desperate urge to vomit that intensified every time I tried to move even slightly. I tried to orient myself, blinking several times to focus my vision, which felt blurry around the edges. Where was I?

The last clear memory I had was being at the Rosemont party, talking to Tori, feeling progressively worse... and then nothing. A complete blank. The gap in my memory scared me almost as much as my physical condition. I slowly looked around, every movement of my head sending fresh waves of pain through my skull. I was in a room. A hotel room, from what I could make out through my hazy vision. The curtains were closed, blocking out any natural light that might've helped me tell what time it was.

A single bedside lamp cast a dim glow, creating unsettling shadows that flickered at the edges of my compromised sight. Had I come upstairs with Nate? If that were the case, where was he now? And why did I feel like I'd been hit by a truck? I didn't remember drinking that much at the party. One glass of wine. That was it. Nowhere near enough to leave me this weak and disoriented. I forced my foggy mind to retrace the night. I remembered talking to that Eisenwald man... Klaus. Klaus Reinhardt. He'd offered me wine. We'd talked.

out," the voice said into a phone, chewing audibly between words. My blood ran cold. Where was the refined Eisenwald accent? The voice I heard now was completely different-rougher, with an accent that definitely wasn't Eisenwald. It was as if Klaus Reinhardt had been replaced by

like a punch to the stomach. The urge to vomit surged violently-no longer from the headache or dizziness, but from pure terror. I had to get out. I had to get out now, before he finished his call and decided it was time for that so-called " dessert." But my body refused to cooperate with the frantic commands my mind was screaming

my arm felt useless, limp and unreliable, like it belonged to someone else. I tried to lift it slowly. It trembled, then nearly collapsed back onto the mattress. It was as if my muscles had forgotten how to function. On the second attempt, I managed to extend my fingers toward the phone, but my 1/3 aim was completely off,

third careful, focused try, my fingers brushed the cool surface of the device and closed around it like a lifeline. Nate. I needed Nate. I needed someone to know where I was. I needed help. I needed someone to come get me out of this nightmare

what little coordination I had left, typed the only word I could manage. "What are you doing?" The voice was suddenly much closer. He turned abruptly, cutting off his phone call, and now he was staring at me with an expression that mixed irritation with