Chapter 1 – The Wrong Bed
The sheets were too warm. Too soft. Too unfamiliar.
Aria's lashes fluttered against the brightness sneaking through the sheer curtains. She'd never seen curtains like these before—pale ivory, faintly embroidered, expensive. For a heartbeat, she thought she was still dreaming. The room was far too spacious, the scent too rich, the silence too heavy.
A hotel?
Her hand shifted against the sheets and grazed warmth—hard, living muscle.
Her entire body went rigid.
Slowly, as if she could rewind time by moving gently enough, she turned her head.
And her heart plummeted to the floor.
A man lay there. Half-covered in white sheets, his chest bare, rising and falling with steady breaths. Even asleep, his jaw looked like it had been carved by shadows and light. Dark lashes rested against high cheekbones. The faintest crease between his brows hinted at power even in rest.
No. No, no, no. This isn't real.
Panic clawed at her throat. She pressed a trembling hand to her lips, desperate to smother the sound threatening to escape. Her gaze flicked downward—clothes gone, skin bare beneath the blanket clutched to her chest.
"Oh God," she whispered, breath shaking.
Last night was a blur. She remembered the wine, her friend's teasing laughter daring her to loosen up, the dizzy spin of lights. Stumbling into a cab. After that… heat. Hands. A kiss that burned like fire.
And now—this.
Her gaze flicked back to him.
Even asleep, he radiated authority. His dark hair was tousled, strands falling across his forehead, but nothing could soften the dangerous sharpness of his features. A man like this didn't belong in her world. He belonged on the cover of business magazines, in glass towers she would never set foot in.
She swallowed hard. Just get up. Get out before he wakes. Pretend this never happened.
Aria shifted carefully, clutching the blanket around her as she slid one leg over the edge of the bed. The cool marble floor sent a shiver up her spine. Her dress was crumpled on the carpet near an armchair—like a crime scene clue. She reached for it with shaking fingers.
"Going somewhere?"
The voice was low. Smooth. Dangerous.
Aria froze mid-reach. Her breath caught, her lungs refusing to work. Slowly, she turned.
His eyes were open now—dark, sharp, pinning her in place. The weight of his gaze was suffocating, burning.
No. No, no, no.
She yanked the blanket tighter around herself. "I—I didn't mean—"
He sat up, unhurried, powerful. Sheets slid down broad shoulders carved like stone, revealing a torso that made her pulse skip painfully. He leaned back on one arm, casual, predatory, as if he'd seen this all before.
"You didn't mean what?" he asked, voice velvet with steel. "To drink? To climb into my bed? Or to make me lose an entire night's sleep because of you?"
Heat flared in her cheeks. "I don't even know how I—"
His smirk was slow, deliberate. "You seemed to know well enough last night."
Her knees threatened to give out. "This was a mistake."
"Was it?" He rose from the bed with the kind of grace that came from control—control of his body, of the room, of her very breathing. Standing now, he was taller than she imagined, broad-shouldered and commanding. The air itself seemed to bend around him.
She stumbled back, her shoulder bumping into the wall. "Don't come closer."
He tilted his head, studying her like prey. "Why? Afraid of remembering?"
Yes. The answer screamed inside her, but she bit her lip, refusing to say it aloud.
"Look…" She tightened her grip on the blanket. "Whatever happened last night—it meant nothing. I'll go, and you'll never see me again."
Something flashed in his eyes—amusement, dark and knowing. He stepped closer, ignoring her plea, until he stood just a breath away. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the faint scent of spice and expensive cologne making her dizzy.
"Never see me again?" His voice dropped, dangerous and intimate. "You really don't know who I am, do you?"
Her pulse stuttered. "W-what?"
He leaned in, lips brushing dangerously close to her ear. "Leo Blackwell."
Her blood ran cold.
She jerked back to stare at him. No… it can't be.
Leo Blackwell. The city's most ruthless CEO. A man who controlled empires with a single decision. The name that made investors tremble and politicians bow. She had read about him in magazines, seen his face on screens.
And now… she had slept with him.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
He smirked at her silence, his gaze dark with possession. "Now you know."
Aria shook her head frantically, panic clawing at her chest. "No… this… this can't…"
"Can't what?" He brushed a finger along her jaw, tilting her face up until she had no choice but to meet his eyes. "Can't be undone? You're right."
She shoved his hand away, adrenaline surging. "Stay away from me."
For the first time, he chuckled—low, dangerous, a sound that vibrated down her spine. "Stay away? After what happened between us?"
"Nothing happened!" she snapped, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
His gaze flicked briefly to her trembling hands clutching the blanket, then back to her flushed face. His smile was razor-sharp. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."
Tears of frustration stung her eyes. She grabbed her dress, clutching it to her chest, and backed toward the door. "I'll forget this ever happened."
"Will you?" His voice was quiet now, almost a purr. "Because I won't."
Her hand fumbled with the doorknob, her chest heaving. She yanked it open, stepping into the hallway as if chased by flames.
Behind her, his words followed like a curse.
"You can run, Aria… but you're already mine."