Bedded and DeceivedA Billionaire Revenge Romance Novel - Marian Tee Page 0,2

hadn't really given much thought to their identities. All I knew - and cared about - was that they got their hands dirty (and maybe even bloody) for the right cause, unlike...

Don't think about him.

Just don't.

But the moment he entered my head, I couldn't help wondering nervously if—-

"It's alright, Ms. Baskerville." It was the American once again, but unlike his casual tone earlier, he now sounded quite sober. "We know everything about your father—-"

I couldn't help paling at the words, and I had this crazy urge to bolt and never look back. It was the same old feeling, every time someone would tell me they knew the truth about him. Most people would probably love hearing stories about their dads, but when yours was a conscienceless crook who...

"And we also know what you've chosen to sacrifice."

The words made me jerk in my seat.

They know about what I did, too?

My old best friend came flying back to say hello at the realization. I called it GPS...short for guilt, pain, and shame. And GPS...it always had me glaring down at my lap. Glaring as hard as I could without blinking—-

One.

Two.

Three.

Personal record, I thought numbly. It usually took me ten seconds before the urge to bawl my eyes out would recede, but the fact that I was trapped in a secret underground base with five of the world's most infamous and dangerous vigilantes probably had a lot to do with my new record.

Voice #2 had gone on to enumerate my job duties when I was finally able to regain my composure and lift my gaze back to them. What they expected me to do was reasonable and probably wouldn't always be legitimate, but it didn't matter. Like them, I was also willing to get my hands dirty for the right cause.

Voice #4 asked if I had any questions, and I shook my head. All of this was a mere formality as far as I was concerned. I had always wished that there was something I could do to make up for my father's sins, but I had never really thought it was possible...until now.

Afterwards, the group asked me to sign a contract that had more pages than the Bible, but I didn't give a damn. I affixed my signature on each page without hesitation, and it was only when I put the pen down that I heard the American drawl, "Before we end..."

I straightened in my seat, feeling that I was about to be asked something crucial—-

"Will do you us a favor by picking a number between one and five?"

I blinked. "Excuse me?" Was this a trick question?

"We've assigned ourselves a number each," Voice #1 explained, "and you'll be working directly under the person whose number you've chosen."

Voice #1 didn't seem to be the type to lie about things, but...what if this really was a trick question? What if the number I chose would indicate how many people I'd have to kill or kidnap or whatever as some sort of initiation rite?

It was possible...right?

Unable to get the thought out of my mind, I decided to play it safe and heard myself say, "One—-"

And almost right after, I heard a new voice mutter, "Fuck."

I barely kept my jaw from dropping.

Another moment passed, and then the same voice said yet again: "Fuck."

Chapter Two

It was still twenty minutes before eight, but I already had everything ready for my boss. Financial statements filed on the left, contracts requiring his signature were placed next to his keyboard, and in my hand was his favorite coffee: dark roast Arabica, zero sugar, and 25% almond milk.

I had just come out of his office, intending to wait for him by reception, when I saw the glass doors slide open.

Oh!

I straightened up and pinned a smile on my lips, but it turned out to be a waste of effort as the billionaire simply strode past me like I was as invisible as air.

Day 94, I thought glumly while hurrying after my boss, and Dmitry Adrianov still hates me.

I nearly bumped into his back in my haste, and I could only bite back a cry as a scalding-hot drop of coffee spilled on my hand. Shit. But with the billionaire already turning around, I forced myself to ignore the pain while carefully placing the cup of coffee on the glossy black surface of his oversized desk.

"Good morning, Mr. Adrianov."

The billionaire's lip only curled in response, and although I knew I should be used to it by now, his rather blatant hostility still stung.