Chapter 2 : Shadows of the Pain

The first thing I felt was pain.

Not sharp or sudden but deep and dull, like my body was protesting the night before. The second thing was light. Blinding, merciless light seeping through the half-drawn curtains of a room that definitely wasn’t mine.

I groaned, pressing a hand against my temple. My mouth was dry, my head spinning. The scent of something masculine,a crisp cologne mixed with faint smoke lingered in the air, wrapping around me like a memory I shouldn’t have.

Then the sheets shifted beside me.

My heart stopped.

Slowly, carefully, I turned my head.

He was there half-asleep, the morning sun cutting along the hard lines of his face. Broad shoulders. A strong jaw darkened by stubble. His hand rested lazily against the sheet, veins tracing up his forearm, elegant and powerful.

For a long moment, I couldn’t breathe.

The flashes from last night came in fragments,the taste of whiskey, his voice low against my ear,the way my body reacted to his touches and the way he looked at me like he was trying to memorize my pain. The way I had let him.

Oh God.

I sat up too quickly, clutching the sheet to my chest, panic rising in my throat. My dress was nowhere in sight only a neatly folded shirt placed on the chair, clearly his.

What have I done?

The words echoed in my mind over and over as I looked around the sleek and expensiveroom, everything in shades of black and grey. Even the air felt rich here. It wasn’t just a hotel. It was his place.

“Leaving already?”

His voice. Smooth. Deep. The kind that slid beneath your skin and stayed there.

I froze. He was awake now, eyes open, watching me with a calm intensity that made my pulse stumble. His gaze wasn’t predatory or smug, it was assessing, curious, as though he was trying to understand something about me.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I managed, my voice raw.

He tilted his head slightly. “Maybe. But you are.”

“I was drunk.”

A ghost of a smile curved his lips. “You were hurting.”

That made me flinch. “You don’t know me.”

He sat up then, the sheet falling around his waist, revealing a body sculpted in quiet power. “Maybe not. But I know that look in your eyes. It’s the kind that comes from betrayal.”

I stared at him, too stunned to respond.

“Don’t worry,” he said after a pause, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand. “You were safe last night. Nothing happened that you didn’t want.”

I hated how his voice made my heart trip, how something about him felt both dangerous and comforting.

“Thank you,” I whispered, clutching the sheet tighter.

He watched me for a moment longer, then rose from the bed with effortless grace. He moved like a man who owned the world not arrogant, but certain.

“Your dress is in the closet,” he said, slipping into a crisp black shirt. “You can leave whenever you’re ready.”

That should have been it. Simple. But when he turned, I caught a glimpse of a scar at the base of his neck thin, silver, like an old wound that never really healed. It shouldn’t have fascinated me, but it did.

“Who are you?” I asked quietly.

He met my eyes in the mirror. “No one important.”

The lie was smooth. Too smooth.

He looked like someone used to secrets, the kind of man who could walk into a room and make everyone else fade into the background.

I wanted to ask more, but something in his gaze stopped me a silent warning that told me not to dig deeper.

When I finally dressed and turned toward the door, he was already on the phone, his tone cold and commanding.

“Yes. Move the meeting to nine. Tell them if they’re late, they shouldn’t bother showing up.”

That authoritative voice stirred something in the back of my mind. I had heard that tone before, though I couldn’t place where.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, hanging up. “Ariana.”

I froze. “How do you know my name?”

He smiled faintly. “You told me last night. Don’t worry I’m good at remembering details.”

Something in the way he said it sent a shiver down my spine.

“Goodbye,” I whispered.

“Goodbye for now,” he corrected softly.

Outside, the city was just waking up horns blaring, streets glistening from last night’s rain. I wrapped my coat tighter, my heart a tangled mess of guilt and confusion.

I told myself it was just one night. That I’d forget him. That none of it mattered.

But fate doesn’t forget the choices you make in your weakest moments.

Two Weeks Later

A sudden and relentless nausea hit me,At first I thought it was stress. Then the test proved otherwise.

Two pink lines.

My world tilted.

I sat there on the cold bathroom floor, the test clutched in shaking hands, tears burning my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not after everything.

My phone buzzed with a message from Shawn, a cruel reminder of the man who had broken me.

Shawn: Please sign the papers, Ariana. Let’s not make this harder than it is.

I laughed bitterly and broken. Harder? He had no idea what hard was.

There was a firm and precise knock on the door, like whoever it was already knew I’d open.

When I did, my breath caught.

He stood there. The man from that night.

The stranger with the sharp eyes and quiet power.

Except this time, he wasn’t a stranger. The papers in his hand, the name engraved on the silver watch at his wrist Slade Knight.

And I finally understood why his face looked familiar.

He wasn’t just anyone. He was Slade Knight the billionaire CEO of Knight Industries, the man the business world whispered about, the man Shawn’s company had been desperate to partner with before everything fell apart.

“What are you doing here?” I managed, my voice trembling.

His gaze dropped to my shaking hands and then to the test still clutched between them. His jaw tightened, but his eyes softened just enough to make my heart stumble.

“Because, Ariana,” he said quietly, stepping inside, “we need to talk.”