From the tangle of sheets, a slender, pale arm slipped out, the faint red marks on it glaring in the morning light.
Sophia sat up clutching the blanket, her delicate face dazed and confused.
Where was she? How had she ended up here?
Then she looked down—her bare body making her gasp in shock. Her clothes… where were they?
She turned her head, only to find herself staring at a face chiseled like it had been carved from stone.
Her breath caught. Her eyes fell to the man's lips, and in an instant, flashes of last night came crashing back.
Heart pounding, she buried her head beneath the blanket like an ostrich, silently screaming into the fabric.
Oh God… she had actually taken advantage of the man who had saved her life.
The drug Olivia had slipped her had been too strong. Thinking he couldn't move beyond his wheelchair, she had thrown herself at him, reckless and desperate. But at some point, they'd ended up in bed instead.
The thought alone made her cheeks blaze red. She inhaled deeply, trying to erase the memory.
Embarrassment quickly gave way to panic. What if he woke up and held her accountable? What if he demanded she pay for what she had done?
The only plan that made sense was to leave.
She lifted the blanket and swung her legs over the bed—only for her knees to buckle, nearly sending her crashing to the floor. Catching herself with her arms, she froze, terrified of waking him.
Every move after that, she made with exaggerated care. But once she stood, she realized her original clothes were nothing but shredded scraps. There was no way she could walk out wearing them.
Sophia glared at the man on the bed. Really? You couldn't just undress me—you had to tear everything apart too?
Her gaze darted around until it landed on the wardrobe. She crept over, opened it, and found it filled with rows of perfectly pressed designer suits.
She pulled out one of his crisp white shirts and slipped it on. It hung loose on her frame, but on her it looked just enough like a dress.
When she turned back, he was still asleep. Relief softened her chest. She bowed her head slightly and whispered, "Thank you."
If not for him, she would have been dragged back to the Morgan family—or worse, handed over to Mr. Mars. Whatever mistakes had led here, in the end, he had protected her. That much she couldn't deny.
Still, gratitude didn't change her reality: she was broke.
Her eyes caught on the wallet left carelessly on the coffee table. Her stomach twisted. She looked, looked away, then looked back again. Finally, with small hesitant steps, she gave in and reached for it.
Inside were cards and only a small stack of cash—six hundred dollars. Guiltily, she plucked out the bills and placed the wallet back exactly where she'd found it.
I'm sorry, savior. Consider this helping me one last time. I really need it.
Before leaving, her gaze fell on a pen and sticky notes on the desk. She scribbled a quick message:
To my savior—Forgive me for taking six hundred dollars without asking. I swear, one day, I'll repay this debt a hundredfold.
She slid the note under his phone, then tiptoed to the door. Hand on the knob, she paused, glanced back at him one last time, then turned away and slipped out without another sound.
The moment she slipped out of the hotel, the man who had seemed fast asleep opened his eyes.
Because of last night's reckless indulgence, Lucas's brows furrowed. He had broken his own rule—for a woman.
"You…" he muttered, reaching out.
But the space beside him was already empty, the sheets cold.
His gaze darkened, a shadow falling over his sharp features. A humorless smile tugged at his lips. She dared to run after sleeping with me?
Throwing on his robe, he rose from the bed and reached for his phone—only to notice a note tucked beneath it.
He picked it up.
The woman had left this?
Not only had she disappeared without a word, she'd also taken every dollar from his wallet. This was her idea of gratitude?
The scribbled IOU on a sticky note was worthless, little more than trash. And yet, against his own logic, Lucas slid the note into his wallet.
His expression hardened as he dialed a number. "Alex, a woman walked out of my room this morning. Find out who she is."
On the other end, his assistant, Alex Taylor, froze. "Sir—yes, Mr. Hilton. I'll look into it right away."
When the call ended, Alex was still reeling. A woman? In Mr. Hilton's room?
That could only mean… they had actually…?
His curiosity burned. Who on earth was this woman who had managed to topple Mr. Hilton's iron defenses?
...
All night, Sophia's trail had remained cold.
Mr. Mars was livid, jabbing a finger in Andrew Morgan's face. "You dare play games with me? Forget your company ever doing business with me again!"
Andrew had never suffered such humiliation, but with Morgan Group desperate for capital to survive, he could only force a smile through clenched teeth. "Mr. Mars, please, calm down. This was mishandled, yes, but I never expected that girl to run."
He quickly added, "However, I've arranged something else—two young women. Twins. I guarantee they'll meet your expectations."
Mr. Mars's rage stalled, replaced by a leering grin. "Now you're speaking my language. Where are they?"
"This way, please," Andrew said smoothly, though inside he cursed every word.
Meanwhile, Olivia was seething. "Where the hell is that bitch hiding? It's impossible she just vanished!"
Her gaze darted upward, suspicion flaring. "Did she go to the top floor?"
Ethan stepped in front of her. "Olivia, the man upstairs is not someone we can afford to provoke. And besides, with his personality, he'd never cover for Sophia. She must have hidden somewhere else."
Olivia kicked a vase in frustration. Damn it—Sophia had slipped away.
...
Taking advantage of the fact that the Morgan family was still occupied at the hotel, Sophia slipped back to the Morgan estate. She needed to retrieve a few things.
The servants had no idea what had happened at the hotel, but she couldn't risk being seen by them either. She crept in through the small garden gate, and since the owners were away, the servants were slacking off in their rooms. No one noticed her as she made her way back to her bedroom.
From her closet, Sophia pulled out a small safe. Inside were her most important belongings—her identification documents, bank cards, and one precious photo of her mother.
Because her stepmother despised everything connected to her mom, there had never been much left of her in this house. After her mother's death, her stepmother had even ordered the rest of her things to be burned. This photo was the only piece Sophia had managed to save when she was little, sneaking it away when no one was looking. On countless lonely nights, she had clung to it as she fell asleep.
Her fingers trembled as she traced the photo. Her eyes stung. Mom…
In her heart, Sophia swore—one day, Andrew Morgan would pay in blood for what he had done.
Just as she was about to leave, voices drifted from outside her door.