3. Caught Naked.

Chapter 3

Layla’s POV

“We’re here,” the man said, pulling the heavy sedan up to the sleek, covered awning of a towering glass building.

The hotel was the kind of place I had only ever looked at from the outside, a massive fortress of marble and soft gold lighting where the air itself probably cost more than my monthly rent.

The moment the car stopped, two valets in perfectly tailored charcoal suits hurried forward.

One opened my door, offering an umbrella over my head, while the other bowed his head toward the driver's side with a level of deference that made my chest tighten with a sudden, sharp spike of anxiety.

“Welcome back, sir,” the valet murmured, his voice low and practiced.

The stranger didn’t even acknowledge the greeting with more than a short, distracted nod.

He walked around the hood of the car, his expensive leather shoes clicking against the wet pavement, and immediately took my arm to guide me inside.

His hand was large, the heat of his palm bleeding through the damp fabric of my sleeve, anchoring me against the cold shivering that still wracked my body.

The lobby was vast, quiet, and smelled of white tea and expensive polish.

No one at the front desk stopped him.

As we walked past the reception desk, the concierge simply offered a deep, respectful nod.

Who the hell is this man?

I wondered, my eyes tracking the sharp line of his profile, the absolute certainty in the way he moved.

He stopped just before the bank of private elevators, turning his full attention back to me.

He unbuttoned his damp suit jacket, shaking off a few stray droplets of rain, before reaching into his leather wallet.

He pulled out a sleek, unbranded black key card and pressed it directly into my palm.

“Room 4001. It’s the penthouse suite at the very top,” he said, his deep voice carrying a steady, comforting weight that cut through the haze in my head.

“Go up, take off those wet clothes, and get into the shower before you catch pneumonia. I’m going to run to the boutique downstairs and grab you something clean and dry to wear.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I whispered, looking down at the heavy plastic card in my hand.

“I can just wait until my clothes dry. You’ve already done too much.”

“I told you, I’m taking accountability,” he replied, a faint, serious shadow passing over his dark eyes.

“I’m not leaving you shivering in a wet dress. Go on. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

I stepped into the elevator alone, the heavy brass doors sliding shut with a muted, expensive click.

I leaned my head back against the mirrored wall, watching my reflection blur.

My face was pale, my eyes ringed with a pathetic, puffy red from the tears I’d shed in Wyatt’s living room.

I looked at my hands, still trembling slightly, and tried to remember the last time anyone had done something so simple, practical, and entirely selfless for me.

Wyatt always made sure I knew the cost of his kindness since I became this. Every favor came with a hidden invoice, a mental tally he’d throw back in my face the next time I wasn’t thin enough or perfect enough for his standards.

But this man, a complete stranger whose name I hadn't even thought to ask, had just handed me the keys to a penthouse without expecting a single thing in return.

The doors chimed open to a secluded, carpeted hallway.

Room 4001 wasn’t just a standard hotel room,it was a sprawling penthouse suite with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rain-slicked city grid.

Stripping out of the soaked clothes felt like shedding a layer of my own humiliation.

I stepped into the glass shower enclosure, turning the handle until the water blasted out in a scalding, heavy fog.

Standing under the stream, I closed my eyes and let the heat beat down on my face, my shoulders, and the full curves of my body that had caused so much wreckage tonight.

Chubby cheeks. It disgusts me. I didn’t sign up for this version of you.

Wyatt’s voice echoed again, compounding the raw ache in my chest.

“Fuck you, Wyatt” I muttered under my breath.

I rubbed the hotel’s expensive, scented soap over my skin, my fingers moving over the fullness of my hips and the soft weight of my thighs.

I had spent a year hiding this body under oversized sweaters, apologizing for the space I took up, and letting a boy make me feel like a subhuman burden just because a life-saving medication had changed my silhouette.

Suddenly, a loud, piercing ring cut through the sound of the rushing water.

“Shit, that scared me”

I blinked the water from my eyes, listening closely. It was the phone out in the main bedroom suite.

My heart hitched. It was almost midnight, and the only person who would be calling me with that kind of persistence was my mother.

She was probably wondering why I wasn't home yet, or checking to see if I was still staying over at Audrey’s place.

Knowing the stranger had said he would be at least fifteen minutes, and figuring he had to actually browse a late-night boutique for clothes, I assumed I had plenty of time.

“He shouldn't come back anytime soon” I muttered to myself.

Still dripping wet and completely covered in a slick, white lather of soap, I slid the glass door open and stepped out onto the heated tile.

I hurried out into the main bedroom, my bare feet leaving wet prints on the dark hardwood floor as I lunged toward the nightstand where I'd left my purse.

The heavy click of the suite’s main door opening made me freeze mid-stride.

My breath trapped itself entirely in my throat.

I turned my head slowly, my hands hovering in the air just inches away from my bag, completely and utterly exposed.

The man walked in, carrying two sleek, expensive-looking shopping bags.

The moment his boots cleared the threshold, his gaze locked onto me, and he came to a dead, sudden halt.

The silence in the room became thick enough to suffocate. I couldn't move.

I couldn't even find the voice to scream or scramble for a towel.

I just stood there, completely naked.

What the hell!