Scarlett Hayes had always believed in timing. Good things, she told herself, arrived when they were meant to. Good jobs. Good love. Good days. But on this particular Friday, the universe seemed determined to spit on every optimistic thought she'd ever held.
The human resources office smelled like burnt coffee and paperwork. Scarlett stared at the woman across the desk who had just finished explaining, in the gentlest corporate voice possible, that her position was being eliminated. Eliminated. As if the job was a role in a play that could simply be recast without her.
"We appreciate your contributions, Scarlett," the HR representative said. "It's not personal."
Scarlett nodded, throat tight. Not personal. The two worst words thrown at someone whose world was cracking. She clutched the termination envelope, forcing a smile before turning away. The moment she stepped into the hallway, that fake smile died a fast death.
2 years of proving herself, gone.
Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry in the building. He wouldn't get that satisfaction. He, being the very cause of today's misery. Damon Blackwood. CEO. Billionaire. Sinfully arrogant. The type of man who walked through the office with a loosened tie and a smirk that promised trouble to anyone bold enough to want him. He didn't fire her personally, but everyone knew his signature decided her fate, ever since he became the CEO he had been cutting off staffs who he felt weren't doing perfectly.
Scarlett pushed through the glass doors into the cold air and let out a trembling breath. Today was supposed to be special. Her boyfriend's birthday. She'd woken excited, thinking the universe finally aligned her heart with courage.
Daniel Sullivan had begged her for months — "Scar, let's take that step, you are safe with me." And she always pulled away, paralyzed by fear and insecurities she never confessed. But she loved him. So this morning, she made a choice:
Tonight, she would give him her first night.
Her cheeks warmed remembering how she stood in front of her bedroom mirror, trying on lingerie she never expected to buy. Scripted lines of love and readiness whispering in her head. A start to a future she thought she wanted.
Now? She had nothing to offer except the cake she'd saved money to buy, and her heart which felt increasingly fragile with every step.
Still, she told herself: Daniel will make everything better.
A taxi ride and thirty minutes later, Scarlett arrived at his apartment door, cake box in hand, courage shaking inside her. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open he had given her a key months ago, insisting she should feel at home.
even though he never knew she would be in his house by this time, considering that she didn't tell him about being fired.
She stepped inside and froze.
Moans. Wet, breathless, unmistakable moans.
Scarlett's heart fumbled in her chest. She slowly walked toward the living room, hoping , begging that she misunderstood.
Then she saw them.
Daniel on the couch. A woman straddling him, her bare back arched in pleasure, fingers digging into his shoulders. Daniel's mouth was on her neck, his hands gripping skin he had sworn belonged to Scarlett alone.
The cake slipped from Scarlett's hands, crashing to the floor. The noise snapped Daniel's eyes open. His pleasure-drunk expression turned to horror.
"Scarlett—shit—Scarlett wait!" He shoved the woman aside, reaching out, but Scarlett stumbled backward.
Inside her, everything shattered noiselessly.
She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She just ran.
Outside, the night was loud with city traffic, but all she heard was her heartbeat slamming against bone. She didn't know where her feet were going, only that she needed to move. Escape.
She found herself in front of a bar with blinking neon lights. The Raven's Wing.
Perfect. Birds with broken wings belonged somewhere.
The room inside pulsed with music, a haze of alcohol and perfume. Scarlett slid onto a stool and signaled the bartender with what she hoped was confidence.
"Give me something strong," she said.
And then another. And another.
Time blurred. Her heartache drowned. Each swallow scorched away a memory of Daniel's hands on someone else. She laughed once — a sharp, painful sound — then nearly tipped off her stool.
"Hey," the bartender warned, but Scarlett was already sliding away, her balance wandering like her thoughts.
She stumbled down a dark hallway, past velvet curtains and a golden rope she didn't notice at all. A private chamber. The door was half open, light spilling through like a beckoning secret.
She pushed her way inside.
The room smelled of expensive whiskey and expensive men.
And he was there.
Damon Blackwood.
Sitting lazily on a leather sofa, suit jacket off, shirt unbuttoned enough to tease at a sculpted chest. A glass of amber liquid dangled from his fingers. He looked bored — dangerously bored — eyes half-lidded like a predator waiting for something to entertain him.
Scarlett blinked hard. She tried to focus, but the alcohol turned Damon's edges softer, almost alluring. Her boss. The man whose signature had cut her loose.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly not recognizing her. "who are you ?"
She staggered toward him, vision swimming. The room spun, and he stood quickly, catching her by the waist. His hands were strong. Too strong.
"Oh," she murmured, placing her palms on his chest. His heartbeat thumped against her skin. "You're warm."
"Are you drunk?" His voice was smooth, deep, a dark velvet question.
"Yes," she admitted, smiling crookedly. "Very."
His jaw flexed. "You shouldn't be wandering around like this."
"You shouldn't have fired me," she shot back, poking his chest. "I was good at that job."
He smirked, now recognizing her from her work resume "Is that what this is about? Revenge drinking?"
Scarlett leaned closer, her breath brushing his throat. She felt the danger of being near him and she liked it. "No," she whispered. "This is about… me."
His eyes pinned her there. Curious. Hungry.
"And what do you want?"
She swallowed hard. The question rattled her bones and loosened her lips.
"You," she breathed. "Do you want to sleep with me?"
Damon stilled.
Scarlett's pulse hammered at her skin. Her mind screamed stop, but her heart, her bruised ego, her drunken sorrow — all of it tangled together into a reckless, aching need.
Damon's gaze darkened. His fingers slid from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer until no air fit between them. She gasped, heat flaring through her.
"Careful," he said quietly. "I'm not your boyfriend."
"My boyfriend," she spat, "is currently screwing someone else on a couch."
His expression shifted — not sympathy, but something like satisfaction. "Then you're here to make him jealous?"
She shook her head. "I'm here because… I want to...Just once."
Damon set his drink aside.
"And you choose me?"
"I don't want gentle," she whispered. "I want to forget."
His hand traced up her spine, slow, deliberate, making her shiver. "You have no idea what you're asking."
"Then show me."