Chapter 2: What the Actual Hell?

Chapter 2: What the Actual Hell?

"Wh-where are you taking me to?" I asked him, my voice slurring. 

He held my hand firmly as we went up a staircase, and walked down a dark hall. 

I should’ve stopped; I didn’t even know his name. But there was something about him, something that made it impossible to resist. He opened a door at the end of the hallway and stepped aside, motioning for me to enter.

I nodded without a word and walked into the room. 

The room was spacious, with sleek leather couches, a glass coffee table, and a small bar in the corner. The first thing I noticed was that it smelled faintly of expensive cologne and leather—his scent, I realized.

I turned to face him as he closed the door behind us. He stood there for a moment, watching me with those piercing blue eyes. 

“This room. Is it yours?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light even as my heart pounded in my chest.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he just stepped closer.

I swallowed hard. “You know, I should probably go. My friend will be—”

Before I could finish, he was in front of me. His hands brushed my waist and he pulled me close. His touch felt electric, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

“Why did you follow a complete stranger into a dark room, Ciara?” he asked. "Aren't you scared that I could hurt you?" He stroked my hair as he spoke. 

My heart skipped a beat as I jerked my head backwards and blinked up at him. I was startled by the question but I was even more confused that he knew my name.  

"You're the one who couldn't look away from me earlier!,” I shot back.

His lips curved into a faint smirk. “You are the kind of woman that's hard to ignore. But, It's such a pity that I can't mark you."

My cheeks burned. “What do you mean? Can't mark me?"

He didn’t respond. Instead, his hand slid up to my cheek, and his thumb brushed against my skin. There was something about the way he looked at me, and within seconds I leaned into his touch without meaning to. 

“I can't mark you." He repeated, "You're human,” he said, and then his lips were on mine again.

This kiss was different—slower, deeper, like he was trying to unravel me piece by piece. A soft moan escaped my lips as his hands cupped my bóóbs through my shirt. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was him. All I knew was that I didn’t want this moment to end.

This was so wrong. I shouldn't be kissing this stranger in a dark room. I knew I had to leave, but I stood, rooted to the same spot, kissing him in the semi dark room.  

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was him. All I knew was that I didn’t want this moment to end. I tried to pull back, to catch my breath, but he wasn’t having it. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer. And soon, his lips trailed down my neck.

A part of me wanted to push him, to demand answers. But another part—a louder part—didn’t care.

So, I let it go and I closed my eyes as he pulled me close to him, leading me to the small bed in the corner of the room. 

~~~~

(7 AM. Next morning)

A pounding headache was the first thing I felt before I even opened my eyes. There was a deep, throbbing ache right between my temples, and my mouth felt like sandpaper. My body was stiff, while my limbs tangled in something soft but unfamiliar.

Hold on..

My eyes snapped open, and panic gripped my chest. My eyes scanned the room. Velvet couches lined the walls, a glass coffee table sat in the center, and an empty bottle of champagne stood beside it.

 Where was I? How did I get here? I wondered. 

The faint scent of leather and cologne hung low in the air, mixing with something darker—something familiar.

Him.

Memories from last night slammed into me all at once. The club. The way he stared at me like he already knew me. The dance. His hands on my waist. His lips on mine. The way I followed him upstairs without a second thought.

I sat up too fast, and the room spun. I pressed a hand to my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried to steady myself. My dress was still on, though slightly wrinkled. My heels lay discarded on the floor. 

But he—whoever the hell he was—was gone.

I let out a slow breath.

He left without any note or goodbye.

Just gone.

A bitter taste filled my mouth, but I wasn’t sure if it was the remnants of alcohol or the shame creeping in.

I didn’t even know his damn name. What the hell was wrong with me? I let out a low groan, shoving my hand through my messy hair. 

 What the hell had I been thinking? I wasn’t the type to have reckless one-night stands, let alone with some mysterious stranger who barely spoke a word to me. And yet, I had let him kiss me, touch me and even take me somewhere private.

And now, I was alone.

I pushed the blanket off my legs and swung them over the edge of the couch. My feet hit the cool floor, grounding me as I forced myself to move. 

Damn it! I needed to get out of here.

I ignored the way my legs wobbled and grabbed my purse and slipped on my heels, heading for the door. The lounge was eerily quiet, the heavy bass from the club downstairs now a distant thump. My fingers wrapped around the doorknob, and I pulled it open, stepping into the dimly lit hallway.

I walked quickly, trying not to let the embarrassment sink in any deeper. If I could just make it outside and call a cab, I could forget this ever happened.

Almost there...

I turned a corner, moving toward the neon exit sign—

And slammed straight into a wall of muscle.

"Shit—sorry," I muttered, stumbling back.

A strong hand shot out, steadying me before I could fall. My head snapped up, and the apology died on my tongue.

It was him. My breath hitched.

Only... it wasn’t.

He looked exactly like the man from last night—same sharp jawline, same piercing blue eyes, same dark, slicked-back hair. But something was off. His suit was slightly different, and his presence was less intense. And most importantly, his eyes weren’t filled with the same hunger that had locked onto me the night before. 

He frowned. “Are you okay, Miss?”

My heart pounded against my ribs. “What the hell?”

His brows pulled together. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know me,” I snapped. “You disappeared in the middle of the night, and now you’re just—” I waved a hand at him, “Standing here like we never met?”

His frown deepened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Are you serious? We were together last night. Right upstairs.” I jabbed a finger in the direction of the VIP lounge. “You kissed me. You—” I stopped, heat rushing to my face. “You know what you did.”

A slow exhale left his lips. He studied me carefully, as if assessing whether I was insane. “I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”

Anger swept through me. “Bullshit.”

His jaw ticked. “I assure you, I’ve never seen you before.”

Oh, this was rich. I could still feel his damn lips on mine, and now he was going to stand here and pretend like none of it ever happened?

I crossed my arms. “So, what? You have a twin or something? Huh?" 

Silence.

Something shifted in his expression—just for a second—before his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen before answering.

“What?” He snapped. 

I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he was standing right in front of me, and I caught enough to make me pause.

“…Yes, I know. I’m handling it… No, I haven’t found one yet.” He mumbled. 

There was a beat of silence, then his jaw tightened.

“I don’t need a damn reminder, Alaric.”

He ended the call with a sigh and slipped the phone back into his pocket. When his eyes met mine again, something had changed. 

A smirk formed on his lips as he jerked his head backwards and ran his eyes over my figure. 

“What’s your name?” he asked.

I hesitated. “You knew my name last night. Can you just stop this pretense?" 

“Just answer Me." 

I lifted my chin. “Ciara.”

He repeated it under his breath, as if testing the way it felt in his mouth. Then, to my utter confusion, his lips curved up into a cocky grin.

“What’s so funny?” I asked warily.

“Nothing.” He slid his hands into his pockets, eying me, “Since you’re so convinced we know each other, why don’t we make it real?”

I blinked. “What the hell does that mean?”

Instead of answering, he pulled out a sleek black checkbook from his inside pocket. He flipped it open, grabbed a pen, and started writing.

My stomach twisted. “What are you doing?”

When he finished, he tore the check from the book and held it out to me. “Marry me.”

I stared at the check.  There was a number written on it. An amount, rather.

My heart nearly stopped as I blinked up at the stranger before me. 

What. The. Actual. Hell?