Chapter three

Reyna’s POV

My head was still pounding when I finally peeled myself off the bed. The sunlight cut sharp slants through the curtains, catching on the glass chandelier above me. Everything in the room screamed wealth, the kind I’d always longed for.

And yet, all I wanted was to get out.

I scrambled for my clothes which were scattered across the floor . My bra tangled in the leg of my jeans and my blouse somewhere at the other side. Heat crept up my neck as I shoved everything back on, tugging the fabric over my skin in the wish that it could erase the memories of the night before. I had been drunk, grieving, reckless. And now, all I wanted was escape before I had to face the pieces of my life again.

I picked up my phone from the bed where it had slipped during the night. No notifications. Not a single one. Not from Jeremy-of course not. Not from Celine . Nothing.

The silence cut deeper than the hangover.

I sighed, rubbing my temple. It was Friday. Which meant I was on the night shift later at the hospital. If I hurried home now, I could get at least some rest before facing patients, Celine, and whatever godforsaken awkwardness the universe had decided to heap onto me.

Just as I bent to grab my shoes, the bathroom door opened.

I froze.

He walked out with nothing but a towel slung low across his waist, water still dripping down his chest. For a second-just one traitorous second-I forgot how to breathe.

He was… overwhelming. His body was all controlled power: broad shoulders, a chest carved with lean muscle, the kind of thighs that spoke of strength without excess. His skin gleamed, droplets running down in slow, deliberate trails. He held the towel casually, like modesty was an afterthought.

And those eyes-the same dark, intense eyes from the pub-landed on me.

“You’re up,” he said, his voice warm but edged with something unreadable.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around my phone. “I was just leaving.”

He didn’t stop me. Not immediately. Instead, he crossed the room, opened the drawer of a sleek mahogany dresser, and pulled out a wallet. My stomach dropped when he slid out a bill,no, two bills and placed them on the nightstand.

Two hundred dollars.

“I can double it,” he said, his tone calm, almost businesslike. “If you stay an extra hour.”

The words sliced through me like glass.

For a heartbeat, I just stared at him. Did he…? No. Surely not. But his meaning was clear, hanging heavy in the air. My face burned as shame clawed at me.

Did he see me as a prostitute? A transaction? Something to buy and extend for convenience?

And even if I were… two hundred dollars? Was that all I was worth?

The fury rose hot in my chest, boiling over the remnants of tequila still fogging my mind. I wanted to slap him, scream at him, throw that money in his smug face. If I didn’t know anything else about myself, I knew one thing: I wasn’t for sale. Jeremy used to tell me, whenever he held me close after a night together, that no one had ever made him feel the way I did. That I was skilled, passionate, unforgettable.

And yet here I was, being offered bills like a stranger off the street.

My hand twitched with the impulse to lash out, but then reality crashed back in.

Going home meant facing my empty apartment. Facing the silence. Facing the image of Jeremy and Celine, their bodies entwined like I never mattered.

And as much as it hurt to admit it, the thought of stepping back into that reality felt heavier than staying here. After all , if they weren’t bothered hurting me, why did I have to care about them.

So, I sat back down on the soft bed.

He watched me, something flickering across his face,satisfaction? Relief? Or maybe curiosity. He came closer, the towel shifting dangerously at his hips, and gently plucked the phone from my hand, setting it on the bedside table.

No more barriers.

When his mouth found mine, there was no hesitation. His kiss was fierce, commanding, as though he wasn’t asking but claiming. And I let him. God help me, I let him.

It was nothing like Jeremy. Nothing like the half-truths and practiced charm I’d mistaken for love. This was raw. Hungry. Consuming. Every touch was fire, every breath stolen from me before I could think. His hands were rough but careful, sliding over me like he was both taking and memorizing.

“I don’t know why,” he murmured against my skin, his voice low and unsteady, “but I feel like I can trust you.”

The words sank into me, confusing and comforting all at once. Trust. After last night’s betrayal, the word itself felt dangerous. No that was the last mistake I’d make ever again, I only needed him to forget my reality, I thought.

His hand stroked my tits gently and pushed me further onto the bed,my skirt billowed waist high.I quivered, excited as he passed his hand through my blouse to undress me. I helped him out by pulling his towel off his waist onto the floor. I could see his hard swollen cock. From how large and erect it was , I thought for a while all the blood in him was rushing there. I could see the veins,red and popping.He pulled off my panties and tossed them aside. He kept kissing me from lips down to my neck and I couldn’t lie, he was far better than Jeremy , I could tell already.He spread both of my thighs, my pussy open as wide as he wanted . He kissed downward along my body. I felt his fingers running smoothly in and out of me. I couldn’t speak a word, I only moaned, eyes totally shut. The sweetness of the activity and the thought of what I’d seen earlier kept me going.He pushed his cock down, nosing its tip into my pussy entrance, all wet.I moaned harder as he entered till I could feel the entire length of his cock.He pulled out and soon he was going back and forth. I could feel the thrust,skin to skin as his balls hit rhythmically against my asshole. Obviously he had his condoms on, I couldn’t risk that.

We lost ourselves in each other, again and again, until the world outside those silk sheets didn’t exist. Until my body was trembling, my mind blank, and for a brief, selfish moment, the pain of Jeremy and Celine didn’t exist either.

When it was over, I dragged myself into the bathroom. The shower was all glass and chrome, the water pressure perfect, the kind of luxury I could only dream of. I scrubbed myself until my skin tingled, as if I could wash away not just the sweat and touch but the shame and confusion burning inside me.

When I returned, he was already dressed,dark slacks, crisp shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal strong forearms. He looked every inch the man I had glimpsed at the pub: powerful, untouchable, too big for the space I occupied in the world.

“I’ll have you dropped off,” he said simply, his tone softer now.

I nodded, reaching for my phone where it rested on the bedside table. I saw a photograph.

Inside it, the same man stood smiling, his arm wrapped around a beautiful woman holding a baby boy. His wife. His son. His family.The woman had eyes I could recognize but just wasn’t sure. “I don’t want to talk about them”,he said as I turned ready to ask where they were.

Of course. Of course. How foolish of me to think I was going to fall in love again , no , not another mistake.

He must have seen my face change, because he didn’t say a word. Just slipped a card from his pocket and placed it into my hand before leading me downstairs.

That was when I saw the rest of the house. Marble floors, high ceilings, curtains that fell in rich folds, a living room lined with art and leather couches. A massive TV mounted against the wall, the glow of money everywhere I turned.

Outside, a sleek black car waited. He opened the door for me himself, not his driver, and when we reached my apartment, he stopped the car and looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read.

“Call me if you ever need anything,Reyna Martinez right?” I nodded, stretching my hand for the card.”Text me” he said and his car drove away. I wondered how he knew my name, perhaps he had seen my hospital card from my bag the night before.

I glanced down at the card. Heavy, embossed, professional. And my stomach dropped to the floor when I read the name.

Dr. Marcus Fernandez Hesse.

Jeremy’s surname.