Chapter 1: A Night of Disaster
The pain throbbed behind her eyes like a drum. She reached out for her alarm clock, but her hands met nothing. No bedside table, no familiar scent of her lavender bedsheets.
This wasn't her room.
The last thing she remembered was storming out of that stupid restaurant. Her best friend's laughter was still echoing in her ears.
She had gone early to the restaurant, excitement dancing over her. Today, she was finally going to confess to her crush.
Her hands nervously clutched at her red dress that made her look like a blooming rose, a bright smile painted on her pink pale lips. She had been preparing for this day for a while now, but she couldn't seem to find her confidence.
Once again, she felt the velvet box containing the watch she'd bought for him. She had saved three months of salary, taking the long walk home under the scorching sun just to be able to afford the watch and dress she was wearing. Tristan had always loved watches. She had noticed him eyeing this particular one last time, so she decided to get it for him.
She finally mustered up her courage and moved to open the door of the private room, but laughter stopped her.
"She's just an adopted daughter of the Jason family. We'll use her to get what we want, then drop her. She's nothing, still working at the Wilson Group, remember?" her friend Kyla said.
Tristan's laughter followed, the man she had loved for ten years.
"Don't worry, I won't touch her. She's not even my type," he said, making her breath hitch.
"Good," her so-called friend purred. "She's always pretending to be pure. I want her broken. Date her, and make sure she's done. She thinks buying me presents makes us friends."
The words played in her head. Her hands shook as she tried to steady herself.
Her best friend, who had promised to help her propose to her crush… tears trailed down her face as she realized that her friend was never truly her friend.
Her chest ached as if someone had reached inside and ripped her heart out.
This wasn't just heartbreak from a man she loved, but also from her best friend.
Her knees weakened. The gift box slipped from her trembling hand, landing soundlessly on the floor.
She wanted to burst in, to scream, to throw the box at their faces, but her pride stopped her. Don't cry. Don't give them the satisfaction.
Her fingers dug into the doorframe until her nails bit into her palm.
She turned away and walked out, head high, though her vision blurred with tears.
A waiter asked softly, "Miss, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she lied, smiling a smile that cracked.
Lisa walked without direction, her heels clicking against the pavement in a rhythm that matched her fragmenting thoughts. The city blurred around her, car horns, voices, the smell of street food, all of it distant, muted, like she was underwater.
She didn't know how long she walked. Her phone buzzed with a messages from Kyla, maybe, pretending to care. She deleted them all.
The confession note she'd written sat open on her screen. "Tristan, I've loved you since…" Delete. Gone.
Ten years. Ten years wasted on a lie.
A memory surfaced, sharp and clear. Last year's company party. She'd been standing alone, as usual, when Kyla had found her.
"You're too boring to do anything wild," Kyla had laughed, tipsy on champagne. "That's why no one takes you seriously. You need to loosen up, Lisa. Live a little."
Lisa had laughed too, taking it as friendly advice.
But it hadn't been advice. It had been an insult. A dismissal.
Pure, boring, desperate, pathetic.
Their words circled in her mind like vultures.
She stopped walking and looked up. She'd wandered into the entertainment district without realizing it. Neon signs blazed against the darkening sky. Music pounded from a club entrance ahead, bass so heavy she could feel it in her chest.
She'd never been to a club. Good girls didn't go to clubs alone. Good girls went home and cried into their pillows and woke up the next day ready to smile and pretend everything was fine.
Good girls got used and broken.
A group of women stumbled out of the club, laughing, arms linked together, alive in a way Lisa had never been.
Kyla's voice echoed, "Too boring to do anything wild."
Something cold and sharp crystallized in Lisa's chest.
"Fine," she said to no one. "I'll stop pretending."
She walked toward the club entrance.
The music hit her like a physical force. Bass thrummed through the floor, up her legs, into her bones. Lights strobed in colors that made the crowd look like they were moving in stop motion. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor, moving as one writhing mass.
Lisa had never felt more out of place.
Or more perfectly invisible.
She made her way to the bar, sliding onto a stool that still held the warmth of its previous occupant. The bartender materialized in front of her, young, pierced, looking at her with barely concealed amusement.
"First time?" he asked.
Was it that obvious?
"Something strong," she said instead of answering.
He slid a glass toward her. She didn't ask what it was, just drank. The alcohol burned down her throat, harsh and unforgiving. She welcomed it.
"Another."
This one went down easier. The world started to soften at the edges, the music becoming less assault and more rhythm. Her hands stopped shaking.
"Another."
A man appeared beside her, leaning close to be heard over the music. "Can I buy you a drink?"
She looked at him. Average face, expensive cologne, predatory smile.
"No."
He blinked, surprised. "Come on, don't be like that…"
"I said no." Her voice came out flat, cold. She didn't recognize it.
He muttered something unflattering and moved away. Two more tried within the next twenty minutes. She dismissed them with the same coldness, this new version of herself that felt nothing.
She ordered another drink.
The alcohol was doing its job now, wrapping her in cotton wool, making her forget why her chest ached. She felt reckless. Dangerous, free in a way she'd never experienced.
Is this what living feels like? she wondered. Or is this what drowning feels like?
Maybe they were the same thing.
That's when she saw him.
He was alone in a corner that somehow seemed darker than the rest of the club, his head buried in his arms, drunk and alone.
He looked up slowly with hazy eyes, handsome even amid the chaos surrounding her.
She didn't think, just moved.
"You look like you're having a worse night than me," she said, sliding into the seat across from him.
"Doubt it," he muttered.
"Want to make it better?" she whispered. "Or worse. I don't really care anymore."
Lisa closed the distance between them and kissed him.
The kiss was wild as fire full of anger, pain, not passion.
He tried to push her away at first but later gave in.
Gradually, they left the bar, kissing and stumbling up the stairs until they reached a private room.
He kissed her rashly, his hands traveling down from her shoulders to her waist, loosening the straps of her dress. She did the same, pulling at his clothes with trembling fingers.
She felt his body, raw and warm against hers. She wanted to stop at that moment, but something, maybe passion, maybe anger pushed her forward.
Finally, she felt him enter her.
Now, as the sun touched her pale skin, she stared at the stranger beside her with trembling lips.
"What… have I done?"