A pair of icy eyes locked onto her from across the room. When she looked up, she saw a pair of cold blue eyes staring at her—calm, unreadable, yet piercing, as if seeing straight through her. A chill runs down her spine, but she refuses to look away.
Gripping the bottle in her hand, she strode towards the stranger.
She poured her heart out to a stranger.
And he listened. Without interrupting.
She talked until she was drunk.
"I thought my life was perfect. I had a dad, a mom, and two siblings. But I was wrong. My dad died, and now I can't seem to figure out who I am anymore. As if that wasn't enough, my mom... she's not even my real mom.
She pauses, gripping the glass in her hands before taking a slow sip, letting the weight of her words settle in the silence.
'Life is...' she trails off, shaking her head with a bitter smile. 'A cruel joke, isn't it?'Claire couldn't stop herself from narrating all that had happened in the past week to this stranger. She only stopped when she was tired of talking.
"I'm leaving now," she slurred, already drunk, swaying slightly as she tried to stand.
A strong hand caught her wrist, steadying her. "You're in no condition to go anywhere," the man said, his deep voice laced with sth that seemed like concern.
She blinked up at him, her vision slightly blurred, but even in her haze, she couldn't ignore how devastatingly handsome he was. His sharp jawline, the way his blue eyes seemed to hold secrets, and the way his touch sent a shiver down her spine—it all made her pulse quicken.
"Then what do you suggest?" she asked, her voice softer now, a hint of recklessness in her tone.
He smirked, leaning in just enough for her to catch the faint scent of his cologne. "I could take you home... or you could stay a little longer."
She knew what he meant. And maybe, just for tonight, she didn't want to be alone.
"One more drink," she whispered, her fingers trailing over his arm.
He nodded, signaling the bartender. But as the glass touched her lips, she realized she didn't care about the drink. What she wanted was the man sitting next to her.
And judging by the way he was looking at her, he wanted the same.
***
Claire stirred as the morning light filtered through the curtains, a dull ache pounding in her head. She could feel pains all over her body.
Blinking against the brightness, she turned her head and froze.
A man lay beside her, half-covered by the sheets, his bare chest rising and falling with steady breaths. His face was relaxed in sleep, but even now, he looked effortlessly handsome. The events of last night came rushing back. Her heart pounded.
Slowly, she sat up, the sheet slipping from her shoulders, revealing bare skin beneath. She swallowed hard, glancing around the room—sleek, modern, definitely not hers.
What had she done?
And more importantly… who exactly had she done it with?
Claire swallowed the lump in her throat, raking a shaky hand through her tousled hair. She needed to leave—now. But before she could move, the man beside her stirred.
A deep, satisfied groan left his lips as he stretched, his muscles flexing beneath the sheets. Dark, intense eyes fluttered open and locked onto hers.
"You're awake," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.
Claire clutched the sheet tighter around her. "Yeah… seems like it."
A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. "Regrets already?"
She parted her lips, then hesitated. Did she regret it? Maybe. Maybe not.
"I—uh—" She exhaled. "Last night was… unexpected."
He chuckled, propping himself up on one elbow. "You seemed pretty sure of yourself then. Quite talkative, too."
Heat rushed to her cheeks. "I was drunk."
"Mm." His gaze flickered over her, unreadable. Then he leaned back, watching her with an easy amusement.
Claire's phone buzzed, but she barely registered it. Her attention was locked on the man in front of her—still wearing that lazy smirk, as if last night had been nothing more than a casual conquest.
"I should go," she muttered, reaching for her clothes scattered across the floor.
Then his next words froze her in place.
"Well, no rush. Last night, you said something about your mother
A sharp pang of remembrance surged through her, making her breath hitch.
She forced her expression to remain neutral. "I don't know what you're talking about."
His smirk faded. He tilted his head, studying her. "Don't you?" His dark eyes held something different now—something almost… knowing.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
She straightened, gripping the sheet like a lifeline. "Who are you?" she demanded.
Sebastian Caldwell."
Claire froze. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she scrambled to gather her clothes, dressing with hurried, trembling hands. Sebastian Caldwell—the grandson of Old Caldwell, founder of Caldwell Corporation. He had just returned from America yesterday.
How had she ended up in his bed?
Sebastian watched her in silence, his gaze unreadable as she stumbled toward the door. Just as she reached for the handle, his deep voice stopped her.
"Wait."
Her breath hitched. Slowly, she turned, her face burning as her eyes flickered to the damning red stains on the sheets. Mortification clawed at her chest, but she pushed it aside. There were more pressing matters.
Sebastian had closed the distance between them. Now, standing before her, his presence was imposing yet oddly steadying.
"I can help you with your mother's case."