Chapter 3
Beneath His Gaze
Mary's POV
Morning came too soon. The cold sting of the air conditioner brushed against my bare skin, dragging me out of sleep. I stirred, reaching for the covers, but the second I moved, reality crashed over me like a tidal wave.
I was naked.
Stark naked.
"Shit."
I bolted upright, clutching the duvet to my chest as my eyes darted around the unfamiliar room. The luxury, the soft sheets, the lingering scent of cologne mixed with something undeniably masculine, it all screamed of last night.
My stomach clenched, churned hardly.
Memories surfaced like fragments of a dream.
Hot, wandering hands.
Dark, piercing blue eyes.
The way he touched me, possessive, sensual, intense, like he was branding himself into my soul.
I swallowed hard, pressing a hand to my forehead. "God, Mary. What the hell did you do?"
Wrapping the duvet around my body, I scanned the room. There was no sign of him. No discarded shirt, no lingering heat in the sheets. It was as if he had vanished without a trace into the thin air. .
"Good," I muttered, though the ache in my chest told a different story.
A flash of last night's passion hit me, the way he whispered my name like it belonged to him, the way his lips traced my skin, the raw hunger in his touch.
Heat coiled deep in my stomach.
I shook my head violently. "Get it together, Mary."
Forcing myself to move, I stumbled into the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and got dressed quickly. But the haze of last night still clung to me, refusing to let go.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Twelve missed calls.
Stella. Dad. My PA.
A text from Stella caught my eye:
> Hey bitch, I'm already gone. Hope you enjoyed your hot night with Mr. Mysterious! 😘
Attached was a photo.
My breath hitched.
Him.
Smoldering blue eyes. Dark, tousled hair. That signature smirk that had drawn me in like a moth to a flame.
I clenched my jaw. "Stella, I swear, I'll kill you."
Yet, I couldn't look away.
His face was seared into my mind, along with the memory of his hands, his lips, his dick...
A crisp white card slipped from my bag and fluttered to the floor.
I picked it up, reading the words written in neat, bold handwriting.
> I really enjoyed last night.
Love, Andrew.
I scoffed. "Love?"
If he enjoyed it so much, why did he leave before I woke up? Why did he run off like he was scared?
I crumpled the note, shoving it into my bag with more force than necessary.
*******
By the time I got home, my father was waiting for me in the living room, worry etched into every line of his face, deeply.
"Baby, where have you been?"
"I'm sorry, Dad. I got caught up in something."
His sharp eyes studied me, suspicion flickering behind them before he let out a huge sigh.
"Any chance a rich man caught your attention at the party?"
I forced a laugh. "Nothing like that. Besides, it's too early to tell."
He patted my shoulder. "Well, if there is, don't let him go. Do whatever it takes to make it serious, You are not getting any younger."
I stiffened. If only he knew.
The weight of last night settled over me as I collapsed into bed. Sleep came fast, but it didn't last.
My phone's sharp ringtone jerked me awake.
I groaned, reaching for it. "What is it?"
My PA's panicked voice filled the line.
"Ma'am, we have a crisis! Our biggest buyer just pulled out. If we don't secure another investor, we'll be bankrupt within twenty-four hours."
The sleepiness evaporated instantly.
"What?"
"We need a deal, now."
I hung up, my chest tightening.
This wasn't just my company. It was my father's legacy.
And it was crumbling fastly, except if I do something.
Minutes later, I called Dad.
"Yes, I know," he said, his voice calm but edged with unease. "We have a meeting tonight with the De La Cruz family."
My blood ran cold. "De La Cruz? As in the mafia family?"
"Yes."
I gripped the phone tighter. "Dad, they're dangerous."
"We don't have a choice, Mary." His voice was firm. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."
The weight of his words settled over me like a lead blanket.
"The meeting's at 9 p.m. Don't be late."
"And look nice".
********
I dressed carefully, following my father's strange instructions to "look nice."
A sleek red dress hugged my figure, its slit adding just enough allure. My dark curls cascaded down my back, and a touch of red lipstick completed the look.
By the time I arrived at the VIP section of the bar, my nerves were raw.
My father sat across from a man wearing a red mask.
I swallowed hard. "That must be him."
The second I stepped closer, the man spoke.
"Finally."
Something about his voice struck me.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
"Sorry. Traffic," I forced a polite smile, my stomach twisting.
"Traffic indeed," he replied, his British accent cutting through the air.
My father chuckled, trying to ease the tension. "You know how women can be."
"Indeed." His gaze sharpened beneath the mask. "But since we're going to be partners, there's no need to hide my face."
My breath hitched as he reached for the mask.
With one swift motion, he pulled it off.
The world tilted.
I went still, my mind froze.
Staring back at me was the last man I ever expected to see again.
Andrew.
The stranger I had spent a passionate night with.
The one I thought I'd left behind.
His piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, unreadable yet full of something dark.
And that smirk was latched onto his face.