The hotel room wasn't just luxurious. It was a quiet, deliberate display of power. It was the kind of place people came to hide their sins behind expensive silence. Everything about it felt distant from reality. The city lights stretched endlessly below, but up here, it was another world. Cold. Detached. Safe in a way that shouldn't have felt safe at all.
Liana stood still for a moment, trying to catch her breath. The room was beautiful, but it didn't move her. It only reminded her of how empty she felt inside. She should've been intimidated by the space, the view, the man standing a few feet away but instead, she felt strangely steady. Like she'd already lost everything there was to lose.
He closed the door behind them with a quiet click. The sound felt final. Like the rest of the world had been cut off. No more lies. No more pretending. Just two strangers with too much pain and nowhere else to put it.
He didn't speak. Neither did she. The air between them was thick and charged like the seconds before a storm breaks.
When he moved, it was deliberate. Slow enough for her to stop him if she wanted to, but she didn't. He reached for her jacket again, his fingers brushing the damp fabric at her shoulders before easing it down her arms. The denim fell to the floor with a soft thud. His touch lingered light and barely there but it sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the cold.
Liana looked up at him, heart pounding in her chest. His face was close now, his eyes unreadable, watching her like he was waiting for her to change her mind. She didn't. She couldn't.
When he leaned in, she met him halfway.
The first kiss wasn't soft. It wasn't even careful. It was hungry. Pain and confusion and the desperate need to forget. His mouth was warm, firm, and she tasted the faint bitterness of alcohol and something she couldn't name.
He pressed closer, his hand finding the side of her neck, thumb brushing against her jaw as he deepened the kiss. She let out a quiet sound she didn't recognize. Half gasp, half release and her fingers found the edge of his shirt, gripping the crisp fabric like an anchor.
The tension broke all at once. The distance between them vanished.
He backed her toward the wall without thinking, his hand sliding into her hair, pulling her closer as if space itself had become unbearable. She kissed him back harder, every movement fueled by anger, grief, and raw need. There was no tenderness here just two people trying to erase themselves in each other.
When she finally pulled back, her breathing was uneven, her lips swollen. His forehead rested against hers, both of them too breathless to speak.
"This doesn't fix anything," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"I know," he said, his tone low and rough. "But it helps us forget."
He kissed her again before she could respond slower this time, deeper, like he was memorizing her. The kind of kiss that left everything else behind.
Liana's hands moved of their own accord, unbuttoning his shirt one by one. The skin beneath was warm and solid, the pulse at his throat steady against her fingers. For once, she didn't think she just felt.
The rest blurred together the sound of fabric hitting the floor, the soft drag of his breath against her ear, the way their movements fell into rhythm, urgent and unspoken. Every touch was a question neither of them wanted answered.
By the time they finally found the bed, the anger had melted into something quieter. Not peace, exactly but release.
When it was over, the silence felt almost heavy. The storm had passed. All that was left was the sound of their breathing and the faint hum of the city below.
Liana lay against his chest, her heart still racing, her mind still spinning. The steady beat beneath her ear was the only thing keeping her tethered.
She traced her fingers along the faint scar on his shoulder a mark that shouldn't have meant anything but somehow did. A small imperfection in someone who looked like he'd been built without flaws.
"You have a lovely darkness," she murmured, eyes half-closed.
He brushed a hand down her hair and pressed a slow kiss to her forehead. "And you," he said quietly, "have a defiant light that deserved better than a night like this."
The words settled between them, heavy but honest. He was a stranger, and yet, somehow, he saw her. Really saw her.
As her eyes drifted shut, she let herself believe just for tonight that maybe this was what freedom felt like.