Don't Mess With the Adopted Girl

"Are you sure you want to have sex?"

In the penthouse suite of Shadowvale's top hotel, the man narrowed his predatory eyes, staring at the woman hanging on his neck.

Claire Blackwell's eyes were flushed red at the corners. She stood on tiptoes, grabbed the man's shirt collar, and her red lips moved to bite the man's Adam's apple.

"If not for sex, why would I be looking for you?"

She had been drugged with an aphrodisiac by Rowan Blackwell, the biological daughter just found by the Blackwell family, and nearly violated by two notorious playboys.

She had kicked those two bastards in the groin and had her friend find this male escort to be her antidote.

As her clothes were torn, a chill swept across Claire's chest. The moment her back touched the bed, the man's warm lips bit down on her chest.

Claire arched her body, pushing toward the man's mouth, her hands exploring downward.

The man's large hands roamed over her body, his fingertips hot as branding irons, sliding from her collarbone to the small of her back. Every touch ignited layers of flames, making Claire's whole body tremble.

She clung tightly to his shoulders, her red lips panting against his ear, "Don't stop, hurry."

He chuckled low, his palm roughly kneading her full breasts, his thumb deliberately circling her sensitive nipples, making her arch her body as fragmented moans escaped from her throat.

Claire's nails dug into his solid back muscles. Her legs involuntarily wrapped around his waist, feeling that hard heat pressing against her most private place. The drug's effect and desire surged like a tide, making her wish she could melt in his arms.

His hand continued downward, exploring between her wet thighs, teasing gently yet dominantly. Claire screamed and threw her head back, her body spasming as it chased that pleasure.

"Please, go inside." She murmured, her voice hoarse and urgent, completely forgetting last night's hasty choice, left only with primal desire.

The man's Adam's apple bobbed. He leaned down to bite her lips and suddenly filled her. The rhythm swept through like a storm. The two entangled until late into the night, sweat and panting weaving together.

The next morning, before Claire woke up, her phone rang.

She answered with her eyes closed.

"Claire, was last night's male escort good?"

Male escort?

Claire sat bolt upright in bed, startled.

There really was a man in the bed!

It took her a while to remember what happened last night.

"Well, come on, tell me!"

On the other end was her good friend Cordelia Fox, who was always a bit unreliable and loved gossip.

Claire turned to look at the man.

The man had his eyes closed, breathing shallowly, apparently sound asleep.

His features were distinct, the arc of his jawbone and nose bridge clear and sexy.

The arm outside the covers had nice muscle definition, with slender fingers.

"Face is okay, nice hands, average skills, bit old." Claire answered briefly.

"You think a 20-year-old male escort is old?"

Twenty years old?

Claire looked at the man again.

On his handsome chin, a faint stubble had just emerged in the morning. His Adam's apple was like a steep little peak.

Was this man's hormones overly active? His 20-year-old stubble could rival a 30-year-old's.

His Adam's apple was also quite sharp.

But it was pretty sexy.

"Gotta go." Claire was completely naked and had no time for chitchat.

She casually picked up something white to cover the man's eyes and quickly got dressed and left.

The man's skills really weren't good. Her waist hurt now and her legs were weak.

Out of the suite, Claire called Cordelia again, "What happened to those two bastards?"

"Claire, your aim was off yesterday. Those two guys' dicks can supposedly still be used after treatment."

Yesterday, when she woke up, those two men were already stripped down to their underwear, and her drug was starting to take effect. How could she have good aim?

"Did you erase the hotel traces?"

"Don't you trust me to do things?"

"Hanging up."

Those two playboys were both rich second-generation kids with power and influence. Having failed and gotten kicked in the groin, they definitely wouldn't let it go.

Without evidence, they'd go after the real culprit—Rowan.

"Wait, don't you want to know what else that fake bitch Rowan did last night?"

"Last night, Rowan was forced to drink at a bar. Your adoptive mother arrived in time and wanted to call the police. The other party said you paid them to do it."

Claire sneered, "Framing and blaming the victim—Rowan's quite the player."

"Have those guys who forced drinks at the bar last night turn themselves in to the police. Give them more money."

She was the adopted daughter of the Blackwell family.

Since Rowan was found, she resented Claire for taking her place.

She repeatedly fabricated lies, portraying herself as the victim, and Claire's adoptive parents became convinced that Claire couldn't tolerate Rowan.

This time was perfect to let that blind couple see what kind of person their biological daughter really was.

Laughter came from the other end of the phone, "The police are taking statements from those idiots right now. Should I follow the police to your house to pick you up?"

"You just want to watch the drama, right? No need."

"Then I'll wait for you at Crystalbrook."

"Okay."

Just as Claire walked out the hotel entrance, the man in the suite woke up.

He removed what was covering his face.

Pure cotton, pure white underwear!

His underwear!

The man's face instantly darkened.

He found his phone and made a call.

"Find out about a woman for me!"

On the other end: Spread the word—Valdoria's richest man, the celibate Vincent Thorne, finally lost his virginity!

"Yes, Mr. Thorne!"

......

The Blackwell Mansion.

Claire had just stepped onto the first step of the villa entrance when a red suitcase flew out from inside.

"Get out!" Her adoptive mother Brooke Sinclair stood at the door, glaring at Claire like she was looking at an enemy.

"You, an orphan from an orphanage, lived as a rich young lady in my Blackwell family while my biological daughter Rowan suffered outside. Finally we found her, and you actually had someone defile Rowan. You're so shameless!"

Claire stood detached, her eyes indifferent, showing no extra emotion, offering no explanation.

The Blackwell family adopted Claire from the orphanage—it was Grandma's decision.

Brooke and her husband Henry Blackwell hadn't mistreated her, but they hadn't cared about her either.

For example, they didn't know her birthday, how she was doing in school, or what she did during vacations.

She was still staying with the Blackwell family because of her older brother Nathaniel Blackwell.

He was currently being treated abroad, and she wanted to wait for Nathaniel to return before leaving.

"Mom, don't be angry. The Taylor family says they want Claire imprisoned for life. She's already pitiful enough."

Rowan held Brooke's arm, her tone sickeningly kind.

The Taylor family was the family of one of the playboys whose groin Claire had kicked yesterday.

"She's pitiful?" Brooke got even angrier, glaring viciously at Claire.

"Which one is easy to mess with, the Taylor family or the Davis family? She put both families' heirs in the hospital. She's clearly creating enemies for the Blackwell family, trying to destroy us!"

"Claire, that we're not calling the police about you hurting Rowan is our greatest mercy. Leave. From now on, everything about you has nothing to do with my Blackwell family." Henry appeared at some point.

His face was stern, as if he was utterly disappointed in her.

"Here's ten thousand dollars for rent. You were named Garcia at the orphanage—change your name back."

Henry handed over a stack of money, looking cold, like he was giving charity to a beggar.

Claire didn't even glance at the money. Instead, she looked at the man she'd called Dad for eighteen years and smiled.

When she smiled, her bright eyes curved beautifully, dazzlingly so, except for a trace of sarcasm at the corner of her lips.

Henry frowned.

"You don't need to be merciful. Call the police if you should." Claire's voice was cold. She didn't explain a single word about their accusations.

She took out her phone, pretending to call the police.

Actually, she was going to call Cordelia to ask when the police would arrive.

Seeing this, Rowan rushed down the steps and grabbed Claire's hand holding the phone.

"Claire, are you stupid? Calling the police will only make things worse for you, don't you know?"

Claire sneered, "Why do you look a bit guilty?"

Rowan's face stiffened.

"Stop talking nonsense. Take your things and leave quickly. Don't wait for the police to come to the Blackwell family to arrest you. Bad luck." Brooke impatiently urged.

Just then, a servant came running in, "Mr. Blackwell, Mrs. Blackwell, people from the police station are here."

Claire turned around and saw several uniformed police officers walking into the courtyard.

Brooke and Henry frowned simultaneously.

"Oh my God, the Taylor family actually called the police to arrest Claire?" Rowan's eyes flashed with schadenfreude, yet she put on a worried expression.

"Claire, don't be scared. I'll visit you often, and I'll beg Dad to help you out so you can be comfortable in prison—"

Before Rowan could finish, she was interrupted by a police officer's loud voice.

"Which one is Rowan?"