The first thing Liana noticed was the silence.
The air in the suite was still warm from their bodies, heavy with traces of cologne and whiskey and something else she didn't want to name. The sheets beside her were empty, already cool to the touch. She sat up slowly, her head pounding, her body aching in quiet reminders of everything that had happened last night.
Her heart was still racing but it wasn't from fear or regret. Just from the sheer weight of reality pressing in.
He was gone.
Liana pushed her hair out of her face and looked around the room, dazed. The penthouse looked different in daylight. It was less mysterious, less intoxicating. The dim gold lights that had once made everything look dreamlike now revealed the sharp edges of luxury: marble, glass, the faint scent of expensive aftershave still lingering in the air.
A half-empty glass of whiskey sat near the bed. But he wasn't here.
It shouldn't have hurt, but it did. She didn't even know his name. She hadn't asked and he hadn't offered.
Liana exhaled shakily, rubbing her hands together to stop the tremor in her fingers. Her body still felt warm from the night before, but her mind was cold, rational again. She was the kind of woman who never did this. She never lost control, never crossed lines. Yet last night, she hadn't been herself. She had been someone reckless, someone desperate enough to forget the wreckage of her life for a few hours.
Now that person was gone too.
She slid out of bed, pulling the white sheet around her shoulders like a shield, and walked toward the wide glass window. The city of Aurelia sprawled far below, vast and glittering in the pale morning sun. From up here, it looked unreal like a place that belonged to someone else's story. Not the woman who was betrayed, not the woman who had found comfort in a stranger's arms.
Liana closed her eyes, breathing through the dull ache in her chest. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her skin, the rough warmth of his voice when he spoke. She could still remember how, for a few brief moments, she hadn't felt broken.
But the calm didn't last. It never did.
She turned away from the window and began gathering her things, avoiding the mirror. Her denim jacket lay crumpled on the floor, her silk camisole twisted beside it. Everything smelled faintly of him. She picked up her clothes quickly, folding them out of habit even though she'd never see this place again.
When she reached the nightstand, she froze.
Something small gleamed in the soft light.
A watch.
She stared at it for a long moment, unsure if she was imagining it. It was sleek, expensive, unmistakably masculine. The face was black with thin silver hands, the kind of watch that screamed wealth. She reached out and touched it carefully, as if afraid it would vanish.
It didn't.
It was heavy and solid. Real. Not like the rest of last night.
She turned it over in her palm. There was an engraving on the back, neat and discreet.
D. Blackwood.
Her heart stilled. The name looked familiar somehow, though she couldn't place it. Maybe she'd seen it in a magazine or on a billboard somewhere. Maybe it was just the kind of name that sounded powerful, the kind people didn't forget.
For a second, she thought about leaving it there, pretending she'd never seen it, never been here. But her hand wouldn't move. The watch seemed to carry more than just his name; it carried the weight of the night itself, like proof that it hadn't been a fever dream.
Liana closed her fingers around it.
It felt wrong to keep it, but it felt worse to let it go.
She found her phone on the bedside table, its screen lighting up with a dozen missed calls. Michael's name flashed at the top. Her stomach twisted. She turned the phone face-down again and walked into the bathroom.
The mirror met her with the kind of honesty she didn't want. Her eyes were swollen, her hair a mess, the faint marks on her skin a quiet reminder of everything she'd done. She looked like a stranger, a woman who had crossed a line she couldn't uncross.
"Get it together," she whispered to her reflection, her voice hoarse. "You can't fall apart now."
She washed her face with trembling hands and let the cold water numb her cheeks. The shock helped a little. She fixed her face as best as she could, then looked back at the room one last time.
The elevator ride down was quiet. Too quiet. The mirror walls reflected her anxiety back at her from every angle. The concierge didn't look surprised to see her maybe he was used to this kind of scene. Maybe women like her walked out every morning, pretending not to care.
But she cared. Even if she'd never admit it aloud.
Outside, the air was sharp and cold. The morning traffic roared like a distant ocean, drowning her thoughts. She hailed a cab and gave her address automatically, the word catching in her throat.
"Brooklyn Avenue," she said softly. "Number 48."
The driver nodded, not looking at her.
As the car pulled away, Liana looked down at her hand. The watch still rested there, its metal cold against her skin. She ran her thumb over the engraved letters again, tracing them as if they held a secret.
D. Blackwood.
She wondered what the "D" stood for.
David? Daniel? Damien?
She didn't know, and maybe she didn't want to.
But the name felt important like something her heart would remember even if her mind tried to forget.
When she got home, the silence of the apartment hit her harder than the night ever had. The place still looked the same—her engagement ring on the nightstand, the half-packed boxes labeled Wedding décor, the torn engagement photo and the broken glass of the frame. But everything inside her had changed.
She walked around the mess of broken glass and picked up the part of the photo that had his face.
The smile on his face felt like a lie now. It probably always had been.
Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it.
Instead, she walked straight to her dresser and opened the small wooden box where she kept old keepsakes such as notes, jewelry, ticket stubs from concerts she'd once loved. Without thinking too much, she placed the watch inside, right on top.
For a long moment, she just stared at it.
She told herself she'd return it someday, when she had the courage. When the memory didn't sting so much.
But deep down, she knew she wouldn't.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.