He carefully repositioned her arm around his chest, guiding it with the lightest touch so as not to disturb her slumber—her fingers settling naturally against his skin, warm and trusting. The simple act felt intimate, almost sacred in the quiet dark, and he lingered for a moment, savoring the way her body molded to his without resistance.
As he eased his head back onto the pillow, the soft give of it cradling him like an old friend, his mind wandered once more into the quiet storm of questions. What was it about her—Novaria, with her fierce spirit and soft edges—that stirred this unnatural calm within him? Why did her nearness make him feel safe, protected in a way he'd long forgotten was possible, as if the weight of his burdens had been lifted by invisible hands? What magic did she weave that banished his worries to the fringes, leaving only this serene void where fear had reigned moments before?
He felt the familiar pull of sleep tugging at him again, heavy and insistent, his eyelids growing leaden. A weak yawn escaped his lips, stretching his jaw as exhaustion reclaimed its hold.
He would think about it all in the morning, dissect the enigma of her under the harsh light of day, when reason could reclaim its throne.
'Right now, he had to...' The thought trailed off unfinished, dissolving into the ether as his mind finally surrendered. His breathing deepened, syncing with hers in the enveloping darkness, and he drifted into a dreamless slumber, the nightmares held at bay by the steady anchor of her embrace.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Novaria groaned softly as she squinted open one eye, the haze of sleep clinging to her like a stubborn fog. Her gaze lifted to the ceiling above the bed, where an ornate chandelier dangled in elegant suspension—crystal prisms catching the faint morning light filtering through the curtains, casting subtle rainbows across the room.
She blinked twice, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand to ensure she wasn't still dreaming. 'When and how did Suzette or Carter get a chandelier installed in their room without telling me?' The thought puzzled her, a lazy irritation bubbling up. 'I'm going to question them about it,' she decided, 'right after I'm not too lazy to drag myself out of this bed.'
Still lost in her drowsy line of thoughts, another oddity pierced the quiet: the sound of someone snoring nearby. It was faint yet grumpy, a low rumble that carried an edge of irritation, almost as if the sleeper were arguing with whatever haunted his dreams.
'Huh?' Her brow furrowed. 'Did Carter sleep with us last night? Where's Suzette then?' The three of them usually piled into bed together on nights like this—tangled limbs and shared warmth a comforting ritual in their cramped apartment. 'Wait. Wait a minute.'
The pieces didn't fit. With a jolt, she forced her eyes open wide, her vision sharpening as she took in the room properly for the first time. There, against the far wall by the ceiling-to-floor windows that overlooked a sprawling cityscape she didn't recognize, stood a magnificent dressing drawer—polished mahogany with intricate gold inlays, far too opulent and expansive for their modest space. This wasn't her room. This wasn't home at all.
Her heartbeat stuttered to a halt for what felt like an eternity, a frozen moment where the world narrowed to the pounding in her ears.
She didn't have a chandelier like that—elegant and dripping with crystals, suspended like a frozen waterfall above her bed.
She didn't have a window that massive either, stretching from ceiling to floor and framing a skyline of towering spires and distant lights that screamed luxury, not the cramped view of her house's alley.
And that dressing drawer? Polished wood gleaming under the soft morning glow, drawers deep enough to swallow her entire wardrobe—it was certainly not hers, too grand.
Her gaze traveled slowly to the cream-polished walls, smooth and pristine, absorbing the light in a way her scuffed, off-white ones never could. Her heart rose and fell in erratic thumps, each beat a hammer against her ribs. 'No, my walls weren't painted cream either.'
The impossibilities stacked up like accusations: Suzette and Carter couldn't have pulled off a full-room makeover overnight, not with their chaotic schedules and zero budget for extravagance.
'So where the hell am I?' Panic clawed up her throat, sharp and insistent, turning the luxurious room into a gilded trap.
Frightened, she whipped her head to take a closer look at the man sprawled beside her, the source of that grumpy snore that had jolted her awake. Her jaw dropped, slack with shock, as recognition—and horror—slammed into her.
Dark hair tousled against the pillow, framing a face that was all sharp angles and quiet intensity: lush pink lips slightly parted in sleep, a pointed nose that gave him an aristocratic edge, and perfectly arched brows furrowed even in repose, as if guarding secrets in his dreams. Her eyes drifted lower, snagging on his hand resting loosely on the sheets—long fingers, strong and veined, adorned with a simple silver ring on the right hand's ring finger, glinting ominously in the light.
Her eyes widened in dawning realization, a cold wave of dread crashing over her. 'This guy has a fiancée?!' The thought exploded in her mind like a grenade, horror twisting her gut as flashes of the night before replayed: the raw passion, the bite that still tingled on her neck, the way she'd given herself completely to this stranger.
She sprang up from the bed in a frantic scramble, sheets tangling around her legs like restraints, but the sudden movement sent a vicious throb through her skull, her head threatening to split in two as if the hangover from hell had decided to join the party. She clutched at her temples, swaying on the edge of the mattress, the room spinning in a blur of cream walls.
She wanted nothing more than to lay back down and nurse the migraine pounding behind her eyes after waking up the second time. But a fierce urgency gripped her—'she had to get out of there. How had she let this happen?'
The words Suzette had said echoed mockingly in her mind: "Get your mind off Hunter's cock." She had meant it figuratively, but she had taken it to heart in a way she hadn't intended.
Embarrassed and flushed, she pulled the duvet up to check beneath it—she was completely naked. The reality hit her hard. She had barely begun to heal from the anger, heartbreak, and bitterness caused by Hunter and her family. Now, here she was, in another man's bed, a man who was engaged, and she had given him her virginity.
For the record, her relationship with Hunter had only reached third base—oral sex and mutual pleasuring—but this was different. This was crossing a line she hadn't planned on crossing.
Carefully, she tiptoed across the room, each step sending sharp pangs of pain through her. 'Seriously, how big was he that her pussy still hurt?' she wondered, wincing with every movement.
After a few agonizing moments, she managed to slip into her dress. The only problem was that she couldn't find her panties anywhere. She searched the room briefly but finally gave up.
Grabbing her wallet, she quietly slipped out of the room, never once looking back.
Despite the undeniable attraction—he was her type although she made a firm decision: she wouldn't stoop to being the other woman. She wouldn't be Navira, hooking up with someone else's man. This was her line, and she wouldn't dare cross it.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
7:10 A.M.
Zion stirred awake, but sleep felt like a distant memory, slipping through his fingers no matter how much he tossed and turned, flipping from one side of the massive bed to the other. He just wanted to sink back into that oblivion, to chase away the nagging pull of consciousness. A sliver of sunlight had snuck through the heavy curtains, beaming right onto his face like an unwelcome alarm, telling him it was full-on daybreak out there. But damn, it seemed like he'd only just closed his eyes a minute ago—exhaustion from the night before still clinging to him like a second skin.
His mind wandered, unbidden, back to the chaos of the previous evening. He could picture it all so clearly: getting dressed up for that wedding party, the one for the sister of that intriguing stranger he'd met. He'd found himself seated right next to her at the reception, close enough to catch the faint scent of vanilla on her skin. Then came the piano—God, the way her fingers danced over the keys, free-spirited and masterful, like she was pouring her soul into every note. It had swept him away, mind and feet included, leaving him dizzy with something he couldn't quite name. Before he knew it, he was rushing over to her, snatching the bottle from her hands mid-laugh, and bundling her into his car without a second thought.