Billionaire's Last Chase

Chapter 1: Three Years Asleep

Christmas Day 2013. Rayn City basked in glorious sunshine. The sky, a pristine blue, freshly washed. Hospital windows glared blindingly in the intense light.

"You little minx! Ever since you became a nurse for the Devereaux family, you've been too good for anyone else! Not even answering your phone. I'm not leaving till you explain!"

"Shh... someone's here."

"Pfft, just a vegetable. That count? Now spill, why haven't you been answering?"

"..."

Samantha's eyes fluttered open, mind foggy. A vast hospital room, walls dizzying white. She lay on a bed, transparent fluid dripping steadily through an IV line.

In the corner, a man and woman entangled.

Samantha wanted to close her eyes, avoid intruding, but the woman in pink scrubs had spotted her. Pushing the man away, the nurse stared in horror, shrieking, "Oh my God! You-you-you're awake?!"

Samantha's head throbbed.

Yes, she was awake. No need for dramatics - not like she'd risen from the dead.

"Quick, call the doctor!" The nurse flailed in panic. "No, wait - notify the Devereaux family. We need to send Miss Brown back to their estate."

Devereaux family? What?

Samantha's head hurt too much to think clearly. She vaguely realized she'd been drifting in and out of consciousness lately.

Each time she woke, barely a chance to gather thoughts before sinking back into heavy slumber.

This time, she'd managed to stay awake a bit longer.

In a daze, Samantha was whisked away for exams. Hospital lights streaked past like a carousel... Outside, gently placed in a wheelchair, then lifted into an enormous limo that sped off.

Throughout it all, Samantha remained bewildered, unsure what was happening.

The nurse wheeled her into a magnificent, opulent mansion. Entering the grand foyer, Samantha was awestruck.

Eyes swept over countless rooms branching off a circular hallway. Floor made of some special material, polished to a mirror shine. Intricate reliefs adorned the domed ceiling, brilliant sunlight pouring down, bathing the oversized hall in soft, velvety glow.

Exquisite furniture, famous paintings, rare flowers in every corner, exuding unmistakable wealth and luxury.

"Where... where am I?" Samantha looked around, confused.

Sitting in the wheelchair, back of her hand mottled purple from countless needle marks. Stark white hospital gown emphasized how frail and sickly she appeared, delicate as a wisp of smoke.

"Miss Brown, we've arrived. We'll be taking our leave now."

With that, the group vanished in the blink of an eye.

"Hey, wait! Any one can explain? "

"Hello? Any one here?"

Samantha reached out helplessly, unable to even grasp someone's clothing. Could only sit dumbfounded in her wheelchair.

What did they mean, she'd "arrived"? Where was she? She wanted to go home...

Could someone please explain what was going on?

Samantha bit her pale lip, determined to find answers herself. Turned the wheelchair and moved forward. Reaching the wall, braced herself against it and struggled to her feet, inching along with one hand for support.

Just walking took every ounce of strength she had.

Why was she so weak? What had happened to her body? As if she'd just recovered from a serious illness.

Never mind that for now. First, she needed to find another person.

Had to get to the bottom of this.

"Is anyone there?" Samantha called out, voice raspy and dry.

"Hello? Anyone?"

No one answered.

"Anyone there?" No answer.

Samantha crept along the wall, her hand grazing a door. It swung open...

Still dazed by the grand hall, she remained oddly calm at the lavish scene before her.

A study, like a museum. Shelves packed with books, massive oil paintings adorning walls...

At its heart stood a natural wood desk.

A man sat behind it.

Young and strikingly handsome. Chiseled features, sharp angles. Tousled short hair. Thin lips pressed straight. Eyes black as glacial ice, bone-chilling...

Upright, document in hand. Long, slender fingers - hands exquisite beyond words.

Breathtakingly gorgeous.

Samantha stood transfixed, momentarily stunned.

A young woman in revealing attire emerged from under the desk, adjusting her rumpled clothes and pushing up her chest...

Man, woman, desk.

How... suggestive.

"..."

Samantha was speechless.

She reached to close the door, but the scantily-clad woman spotted her. "Who are you?" she cried. "How dare you barge into Young Master Devereaux's study?"

Why were all the women so easily startled?

Young... Master?

Devereaux family... Young Master Devereaux... who was he?

Samantha glanced at the man. He kept reading, unfazed.

"Sorry, didn't mean to. I'll... find someone else. You two... carry on."

Samantha bowed apologetically and turned to leave.

Surely others were in such a large mansion.

"Think you can come and go as you please in my house?" Andre looked up, cold eyes fixed on the doorway.

Samantha looked back, their eyes meeting.

Only then did she realize how icy human eyes could be. No warmth, no emotion, yet incredibly clear and pure. Their clarity made his indifference painfully apparent.

"This mansion is yours?"

Samantha tried to shake off the chill from that eye contact and asked politely.

"Young Master Devereaux, who's this? So pale and thin, like a ghost," the scantily-clad woman asked possessively, perched on Andre's lap. Her eyes scanned Samantha warily.

Andre let the woman fidget, eyes fixed on Samantha.

Samantha wore a white hospital gown. At 166cm, she looked taller due to her thinness. Oval face, delicate features, complexion pale from bed rest, almost bloodless...

Indeed ghost-like.

"You, out."

Andre stared at Samantha's face, voice icy.

Fine, she'd go.

No big deal. She didn't even want to be here.

Samantha turned to leave when suddenly the scantily-clad woman became intimately acquainted with the floor. Her pride and joy squashed against hardwood.

Samantha winced in sympathy.

"Young Master Devereaux, why push me..." the woman whined.

What was wrong with Young Master Devereaux, throwing her down like that?

"Told you to leave."

Andre leaned back, finally glancing at the floor-bound woman. His voice cold, brooking no argument, exuding intense authority.

Andre leaned back, glancing at the scantily-clad woman on the floor. His voice cold and commanding.

"I..." Tears welled in her eyes, voice trembling. "Yes, Mr. Devereaux. Leaving now."

She stood shakily, covering herself, and walked out. Passing Samantha, she shot her a hateful glare.

As if Samantha was her mortal enemy.

Samantha glared back fiercely. None of her business. What's with that look?

Turning, she saw Andre still seated, expressionless, watching her. His hand rested on his chin, as if waiting...

"Treat your girlfriend like that, you'll never marry," Samantha remarked, entering.

"Girlfriend?" Andre scoffed, lips curling slightly, making his handsome face more striking.

Even his cold laugh was alluring. Any woman would be smitten...

"What's funny?" Samantha asked casually.

"You."

"Am I wrong? Isn't she your girlfriend?"

"..."

The rich were truly incomprehensible.

Samantha approached h