Cela's POV
The bar lights blurred into streaks of neon as the stranger's arm steadied me, his presence the only thing keeping me upright. My heels clicked against the pavement as he led me through the city's cold midnight air.
"Where… where are we going?" I murmured, my head heavy, my body betraying me.
He glanced down at me, those dark eyes gleaming under the streetlights. "Somewhere safer than that alley."
I should have pulled away. I should have told him I didn't even know his name. But instead, I let him guide me, as though his shadow had already wrapped around mine.
The next thing I knew, we were stepping through the glass doors of an exclusive hotel. The kind where the rich and powerful carved out their secrets in silk sheets and whispered lies. The receptionist didn't even question him—one look, one nod, and we were ushered upstairs as if the world belonged to him.
The elevator ride felt endless. The silence heavy. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
When the doors slid open, he walked ahead with quiet authority. I followed, caught between dread and fascination.
The suite door clicked shut behind us, sealing me in with him.
I should have been afraid. Instead, I was trembling with something else—something I couldn't name.
He turned to me, removing his coat with effortless precision, his every movement controlled, deliberate. His presence filled the room, pressing against me until I felt cornered without him even touching me.
"Why… why are you helping me?" My voice was fragile, the words barely leaving my lips.
He studied me for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he stepped closer, each stride pulling the air from my lungs. "Because you looked like you were about to break. And I don't like watching beautiful things shatter."
My chest tightened. Beautiful? No one had ever said it like that before—as if it wasn't about appearance, but about power, about essence.
He lifted his hand slowly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The touch lingered, his thumb grazing my cheek. My skin burned under his fingers, and despite myself, I leaned into the warmth.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice low, dangerous, restrained.
But I didn't.
I couldn't.
Instead, I closed the space between us.
Our lips met.
The kiss was fire and thunder—unyielding, consuming, demanding. His hand cupped the back of my neck, pulling me closer, deeper. Every second stripped away the walls I'd built, every breath drowned the echoes of Zed's betrayal.
I melted into him, my fingers clutching at his shirt as if letting go would mean falling into an abyss.
The world outside ceased to exist. There was only his lips against mine, his breath mingling with mine, the raw urgency between us.
He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me toward the bed. My heart raced, not with fear, but with a dangerous exhilaration.
When my back met the silk sheets, I gasped, my mind spinning. His shadow loomed over me, yet I didn't feel trapped—I felt claimed.
The kiss deepened, slower now, more deliberate. His lips traced from my mouth to my jaw, then lower, igniting sparks along my skin. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment, letting myself drown in the intoxication of him.
Every touch, every whispered breath against my skin erased another scar Zed had left.
And in that hotel room, under the weight of this stranger's gaze, I wasn't the broken fiancée of a cheating man.
I was Cela.
Wanted. Desired. Alive.
The night blurred into shadows and heat, into whispered names and unspoken promises.
And though I knew nothing about him—not even his name—something inside me whispered that this was no accident.
This was fate.
---
The next morning, sunlight poured through the curtains, painting gold across the tangled sheets.
My eyes fluttered open, head heavy, body weak. For a moment, I didn't move. I just lay there, listening to the sound of steady breathing beside me.
Slowly, I turned.
And there he was.
The stranger. The man who had caught me in the storm of my worst night. His face was calm in sleep, but even then, he radiated danger.
I traced his features with my gaze—strong jaw, tousled dark hair, the faint scar near his temple. He was beautiful, but not in a soft way. Beautiful like a blade.
Memories from last night rushed back. His lips, his touch, the way he made me forget everything but him. Heat rose to my cheeks, but beneath it all was something heavier—fear, anticipation, curiosity.
Who was he?
As if he sensed my thoughts, his eyes opened slowly, dark and piercing even in the morning light.
"You're awake," he murmured, his voice rough from sleep.
I swallowed hard. "Yes…"
For a moment, silence hung between us, thick with everything unspoken.
Then he leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear. "You'll know my name soon enough, princess."
A shiver ran down my spine.
Because in that instant, I realized something terrifying.
Whoever this man was, I wasn't walking away from him.
Not now.
Not ever.