A familiar stranger

A familiar stranger


Catherina's

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I felt was pain.

A dull ache pressed at the side of my neck, throbbing in rhythm with the pounding in my temples. My head felt heavy, like someone had swung something against it and forgotten to stop.

I groaned softly and tried to sit up. The room swayed.

It took a moment before my vision steadied, before the colors settled into shapes I could recognize.

I wasn’t at the bar.

My breath caught.

The air smelled different — not of whiskey or cigarette smoke, but of dust and something faintly floral. The ceiling above me was cracked, the paint peeling in long, tired strips. A curtain hung half-drawn across a window, thin enough to let in a weak stream of sunlight. There was a chair in the corner, a wooden table with an empty glass on it, and a rug that looked like it had been stepped on too many times.

The walls were the color of old bones.

My stomach twisted.

Maybe my stepfather had found me. Maybe he’d dragged me here, angry that I’d gone out at all. The thought made my chest tighten. I could almost hear his voice — sharp, accusing, telling me I’d embarrassed him again.

Or worse.

My eyes widened. What if it wasn’t him?

What if that old man from the bar had followed me, taken advantage when I’d passed out? The memory of his sour breath and his hand on my wrist made my skin crawl. I shut my eyes, trying to recall how I’d gotten here, but everything after the sixth shot was a blur.

Six shots. That wasn’t enough to knock me out. Not me.

Something was wrong.

I stood, my legs unsteady beneath me, and walked toward the window. Outside, the sun was already high — too high. I’d been out all night.

I pressed a hand against the sill and stared at the rooftops, the narrow street below. My heart sank. Wherever I was, it wasn’t home.

I was screwed.

“Done staring?”

The voice came from behind me — low, amused, and unmistakably familiar.

“Or are you just planning to admire the room until your stepfather comes knocking?”

I turned sharply.

He was leaning against the doorway, arms folded, an almost mocking smile tugging at his mouth. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, his hair slightly damp as if he’d just washed it, but his eyes, those sharp, infuriatingly calm eyes — were on me.

Leonardo.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

He was just standing there, leaning against the doorway like he owned the air in the room. The sunlight from the window caught his face, outlining every sharp edge, every tired shadow under his eyes.

My throat went dry.

Leonardo’s lips curved into something close to a smirk. “So,” he began, voice calm but laced with mockery, “what’s the arrogant billionaire stepdaughter doing in a bar meant for the poor?”

The words landed like a slap. I walked back to the bed, standing upright pushing a strand of hair from my face, and met his gaze head on. “How did I get here?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he closed the door with a soft click and leaned against it, crossing his arms. “You were careless,” he said flatly. “That old man beside you distracted me. Then the woman who spilled her drink—when you turned to face her, they slipped something into your glass. You wore expensive fabric and an attitude. You were an easy target.”

He exhaled through his nose, the faintest scoff escaping him. “I saved you. Again.”

My pulse quickened. I didn’t even know why I was angry — whether it was because he’d been there the whole time, watching me sit among people who didn’t belong anywhere near me, or because some stranger, a woman no less, had dared to rob me.

I clenched my jaw. “Why were you there?” I asked, my voice steady but cold. “I came for you.”

He raised a brow, as if amused. “So I noticed.”

I looked down then and froze. I wasn’t wearing my dress. My eyes widened at the sight of an oversized hoodie and faded jeans. They weren’t mine.

Leonardo must have noticed my stare because he said casually, “Relax. After you passed out, I used my last card to pay for a hotel room. A cheap one, by the way.” His tone dripped with mock sympathy. “You stressed me the hell out. I had to go back to my place to get some clothes for you. Begged a waitress to help you change while I waited outside.”

My face warmed. “So you didn’t—”

He cut me off. “See you naked? No. Your precious modesty is intact.”

I released a slow breath, not sure if I was relieved or embarrassed.

Silence settled between us. The sound of traffic hummed faintly from outside, grounding the moment in an uncomfortable normalcy. Then it hit me again — my stepfather.

He would be furious.

I straightened, suddenly alert. “Where’s my phone?” I demanded.

Leonardo tilted his head. “You’re welcome too, by the way.”

“Leonardo.”

He rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket. “It wouldn’t stop ringing, so I texted your stepfather. Told him you were safe and had your phone number.”

I froze. “You what?”

He shrugged. “The old man worries too much. Thought I’d save him the panic.”

That didn’t sit right with me. Dante didn’t worry. He controlled. But arguing about it now felt useless. I just needed to finish what I’d come for.

“I have an offer,” I said, squaring my shoulders.

He gave a dry laugh. “Of course you do.”

“I’ll pay you fifteen dollars daily,” I continued. “For what I need.”

He looked unimpressed. “Fifteen dollars? That’s cute.”

“I thought you were broke.”

“I’m poor, not desperate.”

His tone was calm, but there was something behind it — quiet pride, maybe resentment. His eyes never left mine.

“Fine,” I said, folding my arms. “What do you want, then?”

He smiled faintly. “Triple it. And if your rich stepfather isn’t bankrupt yet, he can add a bonus.”

The arrogance in his tone almost matched mine. I hated that it didn’t offend me.

“Deal,” I said without hesitation.

That caught him off guard. His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t speak.

“Now,” I said, standing, “where’s my dress?”

He left without a word. I heard the door open, footsteps fade down the corridor, and then return a few minutes later. He handed me the folded gown without looking at me.

I walked past him toward the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The mirror reflected a woman I barely recognized — tired eyes, tangled hair, a faint bruise at the side of my neck.

I turned on the tap, letting the water run cold before stepping under it.

When I came out, dressed again in my black gown, Leonardo was seated on the chair, scrolling through her phone lazily.

He didn’t look up when I said, “I’ll find my way home.”

He nodded once, still looking at the screen.

As I left the room, I realized something strange — for all the anger and humiliation I felt, a small part of me was grateful.

Grateful that, once again, Leonardo had been there to clean my mess.

When I reached the door, I paused and whirled around. I'd forgotten why I was here.

“You will meet my step father tomorrow evening. You're invited to my home. You'll resume work tomorrow,” I said flatly before walking off.