EMILY’S POV.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, far too bright for how heavy I felt inside.

My eyelids fluttered open against the pale, unfamiliar sheets, and for one blissful moment, I didn’t remember what happened last night.

The sheets beneath me were impossibly soft, ivory against my bare skin.

Then the memories hit.

Last night.

The club.

The stranger.

His hands on me. His mouth. The way I’d clung to him like he could anchor me in the middle of everything falling apart.

My heart stuttered. I turned slowly, half-expecting to find him there beside me. But the other side of the bed was cold. Already empty. The imprint of his body is long gone.

I sat up, wrapping the sheet around myself.

I scanned the room: modern, elegant, personal. A hotel suite, expensive and quiet, its silence louder than any scream.

On the armchair, I saw my dress. Not crumpled. Not carelessly discarded.

But folded neatly with a handwritten note resting on top.

“Don’t worry, take your time. No one's going to disturb you.”

No name. No number.

Just a hotel room. A memory. And a stranger I hadn’t planned to fall into.

I got dressed, and as I left the suite behind, a part of me ached. Not because I wanted more, but because for a few short hours, I’d felt something close to peace.

The city air hit my face like ice when I stepped out of the hotel.

The morning rush had already started, taxis honking, people with coffee cups and tight schedules brushing past.

I didn’t remember how I got back to Racheal’s. I just walked.

Eventually, I found myself at Racheal’s apartment, letting myself in with the key she’d given me.

The moment I closed the door behind me, the scent of lavender, old books, and buttered toast wrapped around me like a whisper of safety. Her place had always felt like home.

I dropped my heels by the door, padded into the living room, and collapsed onto the couch.

Racheal was still asleep. I didn’t blame her, it was early, and I had told her I wasn’t coming home last night.

I curled up on her worn blue couch and pulled the throw blanket over my knees. My phone was still in my clutch. I hadn’t checked it since I left the club.

A single notification blinked across the screen.

News Alert: Lauren Blackwood, CEO of Blackwood International spotted Leaving Astoria Grand Hotel Amid Engagement Rumors.

I stared at the headline.

It didn’t land right, didn’t sink in.

Not until the photo loaded.

My heart stopped.

It was him.

The stranger from the bar. The man who’d touched me like I mattered. The man I’d given myself to, not knowing. God,

My hands trembled as I scrolled down. The article blurred, words crashing into each other.

Lauren Blackwood, billionaire CEO of Blackwood International, recently confirmed his engagement to heiress Genevieve Ashcroft… But he was spotted leaving the Astoria Grand Hotels this morning.

I dropped the phone like it burned.

No.

No, no, no.

This couldn’t be happening. Not him. Not him.

He wasn’t supposed to be real.

He was supposed to be a one-night mistake. A stranger. A man I could forget.

But now I knew his name. Knew the empire he owned. Knew he was engaged.

And worse, he was the man Ryan had begged me to seduce for his promotion.

I almost laughed. A bitter, broken sound that cracked in my throat.

The irony was too cruel.

I hadn’t slept with Lauren Blackwood for Ryan’s promotion.

I’d slept with him because of Ryan.

Because Ryan had shattered me. Because I needed to feel like I mattered to someone. Even if it was for a night.

And now?

Now I was the betrayal.

To Genevieve. To myself.

Tears stung my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall.

I stood up. Paced the living room. I tried to breathe.

I wasn’t the girl who made mistakes. I wasn’t reckless, I wasn’t selfish.

But I had been last night.

And worse than anything, I didn’t regret it.

Because in that room, in his arms, I hadn’t felt cheap or hollow. I hadn’t felt broken.

I had felt wanted.

Not because I owed him. Not because he needed something from me. But because, for a few breathless hours, I was just… me.

And now I didn’t know what to do with that.

What did this mean? Would he recognize me?

Had he known who I was last night?

No. He couldn’t have. He’d never asked my name. I hadn’t asked his.

We’d both been strangers chasing silence.

But now…

Now everything was different.

Racheal stirred down the hall, her bedroom door creaking open.

“Emily?” she called groggily. “You home?”

I sank back onto the couch, heart pounding, the news headline still playing in my head like a cruel joke.

She appeared around the corner, hair mussed, sweater hanging off one shoulder. Her face shifted the moment she saw mine.

“Hey.” She crossed the room and sat beside me, sleep forgotten. “You okay?”

I didn’t answer. Just handed her my phone.

She read the headline, her eyes widening with each word. Then looked at me.

“No.” Her voice dropped. “Emily. That’s him?”

I nodded once, barely able to breathe.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “That’s Lauren Blackwood? Ryan’s boss?”

I nodded again. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Racheal let out a low curse and grabbed my hands. “Did you know?”

“No.” The word was ragged. “I didn’t know, Racheal. I swear. I didn’t know who he was. I just thought he was a stranger. At the bar, he was kind. He didn’t ask anything from me. He didn’t take anything. He just, he just was.”

Racheal stared at me, shocked and quiet. She reached for my hand and squeezed it tight. “Tell me everything.”

So I did.

I told her about the club. The whiskey.

The stranger who didn’t ask for anything, who gave more than he took. I told her about the hotel, the kiss, the way he held me when I fell apart.

“I thought he was no one,” I whispered. “I wanted him to be no one.”

“And he was…” She hesitated. “Good to you?”

I nodded again, tears burning the edges of my vision. “Too good.”

She sat with it for a moment, then pulled me into her arms.

“This isn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it is,” I said. “I ran from Ryan, and I ran straight into a bigger mess.

I’m the scandal now, Racheal. He’s engaged. His fiancée. God, she’s probably going to see the pictures. What if she already has?”

“He didn’t tell you who he was,” she pointed out. “He didn’t even give you his name. That’s on him, not you.”

“But I should’ve known. I should’ve..”

“You were hurting,” she cut in gently. “You were broken. You needed to feel something that didn’t twist the knife. And you found someone who made you feel human again. Don’t apologize for that.”

“What if he finds out who I am?” I asked softly. “What if he realizes I’m Ryan’s ex?”

Racheal pulled back and looked at me. “Do you want him to?”

“No,” I said quickly. Then paused. “I don’t know.”

I didn’t want anything from him. Not now.

“I slept with a stranger to forget the man I thought I loved,” I whispered. “And now that stranger is everything I was supposed to avoid.”

We sat there in silence, the weight of it settling around us.

I didn’t know what would happen now.

Would I see him again?

Would he care?

Did he feel it, whatever that night had been?

Or had I been just a moment of escape for a man with too many secrets?

I didn’t know.

All I knew was that everything I’d tried to run from had followed me anyway.

And this time, it had a name.

Lauren Blackwood.

And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run from it, or go back to it.