"Champagne, ma'am?"
This time, she didn't hesitate. She took the glass and downed it in one long sip.
Then came another.
And another.
The sharp taste didn't hurt as much with each sip. The sting on her tongue slowly faded, just like the pain in her chest. One glass turned into another, and soon, she lost count.
The music became a soft noise in the background, just a beat she could barely feel. The people around her turned into a blur of laughter and shiny clothes, their faces fading like drawings smudged by rain.
"Rough night?"
She turned to the man beside her.
He was handsome. Sharp jawline, dark eyes, loose tie like he'd given up on perfection for the night. He looked expensive and exhausted.
"You have no idea," she said.
He raised his glass. "To terrible nights." He mumbled.
"… And stupid people." Kathy added.
They clinked glasses.
They we're both silent for a few seconds, before she turned to him. "Client trouble?" she asked, raising her half-empty glass, the bubbles tickling her nose.
"Something like that," he said with a shrug, spinning the drink in his hand like it held all the answers. "You?"
"Fiancé trouble," she muttered, biting the rim of her glass before tipping it back. "Caught him with my coworker… no, scratch that, coworkers."
He winced. "Oof."
"In our bed."
His brows lifted. "Double oof."
Kathy let out a laugh, sharp, sudden, and a little too loud. It escaped her before she could stop it. "Yeah, that's the polite way of putting it." She murmured.
She shook her head and set her glass down, watching the golden liquid swirl like it held the rest of her broken pride. "You ever walk into your room thinking your biggest problem is a missed client… and then boom. Surprise! Your coworkers are doing more than helping with the pitch?"
He chuckled, leaning a little closer. "That sounds… traumatic."
"Oh, it was. The bed I paid for, the rent I split, the sheets I washed, because of course he 'forgot.'" She used air quotes, sarcasm dripping from her words. "All of it, just so he could play team-building exercises with my so-called friends."
"Ouch," he said, smiling into his drink. "That's rough."
She snorted. "Rough is being told it's not what it looks like while she's still naked." She added.
He blinked. "Damn. That's bold." He said in a tipsy voice.
Kathy got the impression that this stranger she was pouring her heart to didn't like talking.
"I know, right?" she sighed. "If I wasn't so shocked, I'd have clapped."
Another laugh bubbled out of her, this one softer, more tired. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just how numb she felt inside, but it felt weirdly easy talking to him.
Some stranger at a bar on a floating palace of rich people and bad decisions. But right now? He was better company than anyone else she knew.
One drink became five. Their jokes got louder. Their hands touched more. The room spun in a warm haze.
Then Kathy said it.
"Let's get married."
He blinked. "What?"
Kathy didn't know why she had suggested that, but she was too drunk to care. "You hate your client, I hate my ex. Let's get married and piss them both off."
He stared at her. Then grinned.
"Why the hell not?"
The next morning, Kathy's head throbbed.
She groaned, rolling over, and realized quickly, this wasn't her room. She obviously wouldn't have gone back to the room she shared with Charles, but this room screamed luxury.
The sheets were too soft. The pillows too plush. Her dress was on the floor, and she was completely, unmistakably, naked under the covers.
Panic surged.
She sat up too fast, the headache pounding harder. "Oh god…" Kathy whispered, already realizing what had happened between her and the stranger from the bar.
The room was empty.
No sign of the man.
She scrambled out of bed, grabbing her clothes and throwing them on. Her reflection in the mirror was a disaster. Hair wild, mascara smudged.
She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to look like she hadn't made the worst mistake of her life.
Then she saw it.
A golden band.
On her ring finger.
Her blood turned to ice.
"Let's get married!" The memory slammed into her. Her voice, slurred, laughing. His voice agreeing.
Her breath caught.
"Oh, fuck," she whispered, staring at her hand. "Don't tell me I got married."
She yanked at the ring, twisting, pulling, even trying to bite it off with her teeth, but it didn't budge. It was tight. Too tight. Great! She had gone and got herself tightly bound.
Her heart pounded in her chest like a warning bell. She tried again, but it didn't move.
"No, no, no," she muttered, stumbling toward the door. She needed answers. She needed air. She needed a damn crowbar.
She flung the door open and stepped out into the quiet hallway of the ship's top deck, sunlight stabbing her eyes like needles. She squinted, steadying herself against the wall. The hallway spun, but she forced herself forward.
A maid passed by with a cart of towels and shot her a polite smile. Kathy gave a tight nod and tried to hide her left hand. God forbid she ended up in the ship's newsletter as "Mrs. Mystery."
As she took the elevator down, the events of last night slammed back in flashes. The bar. The toasts. The eyes. That smile. She couldn't even remember getting married or the man's full face. That was how drunk she had been.
"Let's get married."
Why the hell had she said that?
She groaned. "Drunk Kathy, you are no longer allowed to make decisions."
She made it back to her room, the one she was supposed to share with Logan. Of course, she wasn't planning to stay there. She just needed to grab her bags, take the next ferry off this floating circus, and find a jeweler willing to cut the ring off before her hand turned blue.
The door beeped as she entered.
Empty.
No sign of Logan, thank God.
Coward.
She threw her suitcase open and started shoving her clothes in, not caring if they wrinkled, not caring if her shoes crushed her serums. She just needed to be gone.
But then she spotted the cruise itinerary on the dresser, the bold black font practically mocking her: Farewell Gala: Tonight at 7:00 PM.
Right. The same farewell gala she was supposed to attend with Logan. The same one where she was meant to impress billionaires, smile like her world hadn't just exploded.
She was about to crumple it and toss it, when the door behind her clicked again.
She froze.
She turned, heart racing.
It wasn't Logan.
A woman stepped in wearing the cruise ship's housekeeping uniform, holding a cart with fresh sheets and towels.
"Oh!" the cleaner blinked. "I'm so sorry, miss. I thought the room was empty. The guest already checked out this morning."
Kathy blinked. "Checked out?"
"Yes," the woman nodded politely. "The man staying here left a few hours ago. Told the front desk to forward anything left behind to his apartment in New York."
Kathy's chest tightened.
No note. No goodbye. Just gone. What had she been expecting from a cheater.
"Right," she said, voice flat. "Thanks. I'll just grab the rest of my things and be out."
The cleaner nodded and stepped back, pulling the door shut behind her.
Kathy stood there, alone.
Of course he left. Logan always did the easy thing. That was his gift, slipping out of responsibility like it was a coat he didn't feel like wearing anymore. At least he had told them where to send her things just incase she didn't come back for it.
She turned to the mirror above the desk and caught sight of her reflection. Mascara smudged. Dress crumpled. Eyes tired. And that stupid gold ring still on her finger.
She held her hand up, staring at it like it might start talking.
Married.
Not to Logan. To someone else. Some stranger with tired eyes and a crooked smile who made her laugh when she should've been crying.
Her lips twitched.
God.
She was going to need years of therapy for this.