(Lyra’s POV)

The music thumped in my chest like a second heartbeat, loud and insistent, but my mind wasn’t in the rhythm anymore. It was still caught on him—the stranger at the bar. His voice, his eyes, the way he had looked at me like he was pulling apart layers I didn’t even know I carried.

I didn’t want Zyra to notice how unsettled I was,

“I just need some air,” I told Zyra, pressing a hand to my temple.

The flashing lights, the sweat, the press of bodies—it all blurred together. My chest tightened, and the dizziness came quick, heavy, like the ground itself was tilting. I could barely hear Zyra’s worried voice over the pounding bass.

“I’ll be fine,” I managed, though my throat was dry. “Just—just five minutes outside.”

I didn’t wait for her reply. I slipped through the crowd, brushing past strangers, ignoring the curious looks. Every breath burned in my lungs, my pulse racing too fast. The cool night air should have cleared my head, but the dizziness only deepened. My vision wavered, sharp then blurry, the world tilting in strange angles.

The last thing I remembered was leaning against the wall outside, trying to steady myself. And then—darkness.

When I opened my eyes again, sunlight was spilling through wide windows.

For a moment, I didn’t move. My lashes fluttered, and I stared at the unfamiliar ceiling above me. White. Smooth. Expensive. The sheets beneath me were soft—too soft, like silk sliding against my skin.

Confusion hit me in waves.

I wasn’t in my apartment. I wasn’t in my bed.

Slowly, my body stiff with dread, I turned my head.

And my breath stopped.

He was there.

The stranger from the club. The one with the eyes that had pierced straight through me.

He wasn’t watching me now. He was asleep. Lying on his side, the sunlight painting gold against his dark hair. The sharp lines of his face were softer in sleep, but his presence filled the room even in silence.

My heart pounded so loudly I was afraid it would wake him.

What the hell happened?

I pushed myself upright carefully, the sheets tangling around me. I was not in the dress from last night, but a shirt,though the straps hung loose against my shoulders. Relief flickered, quickly chased by unease.

Did we—?

My stomach twisted. No. No, I couldn’t think about that. I couldn’t process it.

I had to leave.

Sliding one leg out of bed, then the other, I tried to move without a sound. My bare feet hit the cold wooden floor, the silence of the room pressing in. It was too large, too perfect—floor-to-ceiling windows, sleek furniture, everything screaming wealth and power. This wasn’t just a hotel room. It felt… personal. Private.

His private suite?

A shiver ran down my spine.

I glanced back at him, my breath caught in my throat. Even in sleep, he looked untouchable. Dangerous. Like someone who didn’t belong in the same world as me.

I didn’t know how I’d ended up here. I didn’t know why I was in his bed.

But I knew one thing for sure.

I couldn’t stay.

Carefully, I bent to pick up my heels from the floor. My clutch sat on a nearby chair, like someone had placed it there neatly. My phone was inside when I checked—a small relief.

One step. Then another.

I moved toward the door, each creak of the floorboards sounding like a gunshot in the quiet.

Almost there. Just a few more steps and I’d be free.

But my chest ached. My mind raced with questions I didn’t want answers to. Did he carry me here? Did he touch me? Why couldn’t I remember?

Why did part of me feel like I knew him, even though I didn’t?

My hand trembled as it touched the doorknob.

I should leave. Walk away. Pretend this night never happened. That was the smart thing. The safe thing.

But my body hesitated, rooted by something I couldn’t name.

I turned back one last time.

He shifted in his sleep, the faintest frown tugging at his brow, like he was caught in some nightmare. His lips moved, forming words I couldn’t hear.

And then, soft but unmistakable, I caught it:

“Lyra…”

My blood ran cold.

He had said my name.

He knew me.

But how?

I shook the thought away and reached for the doorknob. My hands were trembling. I just needed to get out—slip away, disappear, never let this night follow me into the daylight.

Because one thing was suddenly, terrifyingly clear—

This wasn’t a coincidence.