Sherett stood frozen before the bathroom mirror, water droplets clinging to her skin, her reflection a haunting stranger. Her neck bore angry red bruises, her arms were marred, and her body trembled beneath the weight of memories she had never meant to create. Each mark was a silent scream—a story written in pain across her flesh.
She touched her face, gently as if confirming she was still real, still herself. But something inside her had changed. Cracked. Fallen.
If it had been Nolan…
The thought struck her like a blade. Nolan—her fiancé, her patient, devoted Nolan—who had respected every boundary she drew. If this had happened with him, maybe, maybe she could have processed it. Explained it to herself. But it hadn't.
It wasn't Nolan.
It was a stranger.
Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down before she could stop them. She stumbled to the shower, turned it on blindly, and sank onto the cold tiles beneath the water's steady stream. Her sobs echoed off the bathroom walls, raw and broken.
The world around her had changed. In this world, people glorified modern love, live-in arrangements, blurred lines between passion and commitment. But Sherett… she had never believed in those compromises. She had kept Nolan at arm's length for years, upholding her values, preserving the promise she held sacred.
And now?
Now she felt she had betrayed him.
How would she ever face him again?
Her tears turned into silence. Her silence hardened into resolve.
This man—whoever he was—had to answer for what he did.
Half an hour later, wrapped in a robe and gathering the remnants of her shattered composure, Sherett stepped out of the bathroom. The man—Samuel—was now dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit, his presence sharp and commanding. A sleek watch clung to his wrist, and his hair was styled to effortless perfection. He sat by the window, legs crossed, chin resting on one hand as if deep in contemplation.
For a moment, Sherett paused.
There was something royal about him. A man of wealth, of stature. But then why had he been in her room? Her anger rekindled.
She took a step forward, ready to demand answers, but he turned before she could speak. His gaze landed on her with unsettling calm.
He asked coldly, "Who are you? What's your name?"
Her breath caught.
What?
Her fists clenched.
Before she could reply, he lit a cigarette with an infuriating lack of concern and spoke again, his voice laced with suspicion. "Did John send you? Or maybe Anna? After last night, I wouldn't put it past her."
Shock registered in Sherett's eyes. Her confusion flared into fury as she realized what he was implying.
She stormed toward him, her voice rising, shaking with rage.
"How dare you say something like that? Do I look like some girl who can be bought for a night? You think you can talk to me like this and walk away? I swear, I'll file a complaint with the management. Hell, I'll go to the police if I have to!"
Samuel blinked, a little taken aback. "Your room?" he repeated, looking around.
She narrowed her eyes. "Yes. Room 606."
A pause.
Then he smiled, amused. "No, madam. This is room 609."
Sherett's world tilted.
"What?" she whispered, stunned.
"This is the Royal Suite," Samuel said coolly. "A gift from my friend Victor. Booked for the year."
Panic surged. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for proof—anything to make sense of the madness. Then she saw it: her purse near the door. Rushing to it, she pulled out the room card.
606.
Her chest tightened.
Samuel reached into his coat and pulled out his own card. 609.
The truth crushed her like a stone. The blood drained from her face.
She had entered the wrong room.
A broken sob escaped her lips. She slid to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees, her body shaking uncontrollably.
Samuel watched her in stunned silence. For the first time, realization dawned. She wasn't sent by Anna. She wasn't some escort. She was just a girl… a heartbroken girl who had made a mistake.
And he… he had taken advantage of it.
He glanced at the bed. The red stain screamed louder than either of them could.
Samuel reached for his checkbook, scribbled quickly, and approached her. Quietly, he extended the cheque.
"Look," he said softly. "Whoever you are… I'm sorry. Just take this."
Sherett lifted her tear-stained face. She looked at the paper in his hand—two million rupees. Her eyes froze on the name.
Peter Samuel.
She read it aloud. "Peter Samuel?"
He nodded.
Something inside her snapped.
She stood slowly, trembling but composed. Her voice cracked with restrained fury.
"What does this mean?" she asked, waving the cheque. "You think this makes it okay? You think you can pay me for what happened last night?"
Samuel exhaled, trying to stay composed. "It's not what you think. I just… thought you might need it. For medical care. Precautions. I mean—what if you're pregnant?"
The words landed like a blow.
Sherett stared at him, disgust replacing the sorrow in her eyes.
"You think you can buy my silence with money?" she whispered, voice barely above a growl. "You think twenty lakhs can erase what you did?"
He opened his mouth, but she didn't let him speak.
"You rich people think everything has a price. But some things... some things can't be measured in rupees or cheques!"
She tore the cheque into pieces, her hands shaking, and hurled them at his feet.
"Don't worry about pregnancy," she spat, eyes blazing. "I have enough self-respect—and enough money—to buy a damn pill myself!"