Chapter 20 ONE NIGHT [FLASHBACK]

Chapter 20 ONE NIGHT [FLASHBACK]
The second drink wasn’t enough.
So I ordered a third.
And when the third started tasting like mineral water with an aftertaste of emotional trauma, I raised my hand again.
“Another,” I muttered. “Don’t get stingy.”
The bartender—thin guy with the face of someone three years deep into regretting his night shift career—shot me a warning look. I spun my glass, watching the ice swirl like it might give me an answer. Or a miracle. Or a black hole big enough to suck me out of this life.
I took a quick sip. My tongue was starting to go numb.
Good. Maybe logic would be next.
Why did I stay with Darius that long?
Why didn’t I leave sooner? When the doors started slamming. When his grip turned into bruises. When his voice dropped a little too low. When his eyes stopped looking like love and started looking like ownership.
And every time I tried to leave, some twisted voice in my head whispered,
“Maybe he’ll change.”
Spoiler: he didn’t.
What he did was get smarter.
Better at flipping the script. Making me believe I was the reason for every outburst. Every slam. Every slap.
"You made me this way."
That’s what he said that night.
Right before his hand left a mark on my cheek.
Right after my tears fell and he just stood there.
Silent.
Was I the monster?
Was it my fault?
My fingers trembled slightly. Nails pressed against the glass. The alcohol burned in my chest. Or maybe it warmed me. Hard to tell anymore.
The music pulsed like a second heartbeat. Lights flashed. The world tilted. Or maybe I did.
And then... I felt it.
Not sound.
A shift in the air. Like my body knew before my brain did.
I turned, too slowly.
And in the blur of red and blue lights dancing across the ceiling... I saw him.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark suit. Sharp jaw. Neatly styled black hair.
And those eyes.
Dark. Piercing.
Familiar in the worst kind of way.
My heart stopped.
Darius?
I swallowed hard, trying to focus. But the alcohol dragged me down. The edges of my vision went soft.
And the silhouette stayed.
Still.
Watching.
I wanted to run.
But I couldn’t.
I froze, one hand clutching the bar, the other gripping my nearly empty glass.
He moved closer.
Slow steps.
But steady.
Every inch of me screamed go.
But my legs didn’t listen.
I blinked fast. Tried to sharpen my focus.
It wasn’t Darius.
The eyes… weren’t his.
They weren’t dead.
They weren’t furious.
This man’s eyes were dark, yes, but alive. Deep. Like he could see through me. Like he knew the pieces I hadn’t shown anyone.
And when he smiled—just a little—it wasn’t smug.
It wasn’t mocking.
It made the air in my lungs feel too thin.
I tried to speak.
But all that came out was a shaky breath.
He leaned one elbow on the bar. Still watching.
But he didn’t say a word.
And me? I just sat there.
With fear that hadn’t quite left.
And curiosity that was spreading like wildfire.
Who was he?
And why, even drunk and fractured… did I feel safe for the first time in forever?
Shit.
I looked down at my glass.
Then back at him.
He hadn’t touched me.
Hadn’t moved any closer.
But his gaze said it all.
If you run, I won’t follow.
But if you stay... I’ll be the reason you do.
And I knew.
I knew even before I learned his name.
This man would change everything.
And I was going to let him.
 ////
There are worse things than waking up naked in a stranger’s bed.
Like waking up naked, sore in places I forgot existed, missing my underwear, and in a five-star hotel room with a city view way too bright for a morning that held too many unanswered questions.
I sat up slowly, expensive sheets slipping off my shoulders.
The marble floor was cold.
The air sharp.
And my body... my body didn’t lie.
I’d had sex.
And not with just anyone.
Because I remembered.
I remembered that body.
The way he touched me like he knew me.
The way his hands traced my waist with just enough pressure to make me arch.
And the way he looked at me.
Like I was the only real thing in his entire dishonest world.
But... there was a problem.
A big one.
I thought it was Darius.
At least... I was sure it was Darius.
Until I started really thinking.
Because the man last night—he was different.
He didn’t yell.
Didn’t grab.
Didn’t slam me like some cheap possession he could toss around.
No.
The man from last night kissed me slowly.
Patiently.
But also like he was starving.
Not for my body.
For me.
My mind. My soul. My breath.
And now I was sitting here, naked in silk sheets, knowing two terrifying things.
One: I didn’t know his name.
Two: I wanted to.
Darius... never touched me like that.
Darius was never like that.
Darius... never touched me like that.
Darius was never like that.
And now I was sitting on this too-soft bed, the silence around me thick as a coffin lid, wondering—
Who the hell just slept with me?
My eyes swept the room.
Luxury wrapped in black and gold. My heels lay overturned on the floor. The black mini dress was crumpled over the back of a chair. In the corner, a half-empty bottle of wine sat beside two glasses. One still had liquid in it. I didn’t know which was mine.
My heart started thudding too fast as I got up and walked to the oversized closet. My hand trembled as I pulled the door open.
On the inside wall, a small plaque was fixed in polished brass:
Solenzara Private Suite — Floor 64
I froze.
Solenzara?
Okay. No need to panic. Maybe this was just a suite rented out by some Bond villain wannabe.
Or worse—Matteo.
Matteo. The bald creep with garlic breath and hands that wandered like they paid rent.
Nausea rose fast and hot.
Please, God. Don’t let it be Matteo.
I rushed back to the bedside table. My eyes scanned the surface, searching for... something. Anything. A clue.
And then I saw it.
A silver crescent moon necklace.
Simple. Slim. Dark silver. I knew that necklace.
Darius used to wear it. Back when he still tried to look like someone with a soul.
Before he turned into something even demons would recommend therapy for.
The necklace was placed neatly on a folded tissue.
Like someone wanted me to see it.
And for the first time since I woke up, I could actually breathe.
Okay.
So it was Darius.
It had to be.
Maybe he went out to grab coffee. Or needed air.
Or maybe he bolted—again—before I could ask why he turned into someone completely different last night.
I looked back at the bed.
The sheets were still warm. But his side was empty.
Gone without a word.
Again.
I let out a dry laugh, dragged in a breath, and dropped back onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling with a pillow under my head and a hundred sharp thoughts circling overhead.
Did I really just have the best night of my life... with the same man who once slammed my phone to the ground because I took too long to answer a text?
Did he change?
Was this some new version of Darius—
One who actually cared.
One who could touch a woman without breaking her.
One who knew when to stop and when to whisper you’re safe.
Or was this just another trap?
My hand drifted to my neck.
My skin was still warm. I could feel faint traces of where he kissed me.
But worse than that...
My heart wasn’t racing from fear.
It was hope.
And I hated that.
I hated that some part of me wanted it to be Darius.
Because if it wasn’t—
If that wasn’t him—
Then I had a much bigger problem than bruises or a one-way ticket to a shady port.
Because that would mean...
I slept with a stranger.
And I didn’t even remember his face.
But my body did.
And my body... liked it.
Shit.