At exactly eight in the morning, like clockwork, Cecilia opened her eyes.
The aftermath of her hangover hit her in full force--a jackhammer to the temples. Then came the other pain--a deep, throbbing ache radiating from her hips down.
What the hell--?
Strange bed. Strange room. And even stranger...her own body felt foreign.
She stared in stunned silence at the messy sheets, then down at herself--completely naked.
Her headache intensified instantly.
What the hell happened last night?
She...She really had a one-night stand with a stranger?!
No. No no no--
Wait--she vaguely remembered seeing someone familiar...
But who?
Cecilia grabbed her pounding head, trying to chase the fragments of memory swirling through the fog. The more she tried, the worse the pain got.
"Ugh, fuck!" she hissed between her teeth, wincing as she tried to shift her position. One of her unfortunate quirks when drinking was not just killer headaches--but complete memory loss.
After lying there for nearly half an hour, and still unable to remember anything, she finally gave up and rolled off the bed with a grunt.
Ding...
The shrill ring of her phone pulled her out of her daze. She glanced at the screen. A number she didn't recognize. Not that she had the energy to crawl across the carpet for it in her half-broken state.
Ding...
Persistent. The phone kept ringing, louder and more demanding.
"What?!" she snapped, sprawled on the floor like a wreck.
There was a slight pause on the other end, as if the person was startled by her tone.
Then a deep male voice replied calmly, "It's me."
Cecilia froze.
Two words. That voice--low, rough, familiar--sent a shock down her spine.
She scrambled upright, pulse roaring in her ears.
"Sorry for waking you so early." Liam's voice was low, almost apologetic. He sat in his car in the parking lot below, staring up at the building.
"Spit it out," she croaked, hating how her traitorous skin prickled.
"The wedding date. It's set." A beat. "he 16th. This month."
"Okay." Her reply was curt, emotionless.
After hanging up, she stared at her reflection in the mirror--disheveled, worn out, and looking every bit like someone who had indulged far too much the night before.
Why did she feel so...wrong?
It wasn't a real marriage. No vows. No promises.
So a one-night stand with another man wouldn't count as cheating, right?
Right. Exactly. She'd done nothing wrong.
Nothing at all.
***
Meanwhile, at SCA Group's branch.
The morning executive meeting had begun like any other--polite small talk over bitter coffee, the usual pre-presentation tension--until the doors burst open.
All eyes snapped to the man striding in----Liam Sinclair
The Sinclair family owned half the global economy.
Not literally, but close enough. With three heirs and one heiress, their influence stretched from Wall Street to Asia.
And Liam Sinclair--the youngest, the wildcard--was now claiming his seat at the head of the table.
He sank into the CEO's chair like it was a throne, propping his chin on one hand. "Carry on,"
His indifferent expression swept across the room like a cold breeze.
Nick distributed folders stamped CONFIDENTIAL.
"Effective immediately, Mr. Sinclair assumes control of SCA's New York division. Press conference scheduled for the 16th. Until then--" A pointed glance at the gawking executives. "--his return stays quiet."
As the executives launched into the formal handover, Liam barely listened.
His mind was elsewhere, playing last night's scene on repeat.
His mind was still in that room, tangled in silk sheets and her.
The way she'd gasped when he pinned her wrists.
Over and over again, he'd lost himself, relentlessly pulling her back under with him.
And then--he remembered the red stain on the sheet.
He hadn't expected it.
Cecilia Martin.
The woman everyone mocked. Arrogant. Outrageous. Unbearably full of herself. Manhattan's favorite party girl, the tabloids' punchline, the woman who'd allegedly slept with half of Wall Street--HAD BEEN A VIRGIN.
And he'd taken her like a man possessed.
Now what?
He felt like he'd committed an unforgivable sin.
"Fuck."
Liam abruptly shot to his feet.
The curse cracked like a gunshot. The VP mid-presentation flinched so hard his glasses slid off.
All eyes turned to Liam.
He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Water."
"Y-Yes! Right away, sir!" The secretary scrambled out of the room.
Liam sank back into his chair, drumming his fingers against the table.
The sound echoed--methodical, steady. Like a countdown none of them could hear, except him.
And in his mind, one question circled endlessly.
What the hell has he done?