Chapter 2: How much for a night?

The wind whipped against Dahlia’s face as she walked, her heels clattering unevenly across the wet pavement. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost one earring, her lipstick was smeared, and her usually immaculate hair was tangled by the night air. She didn’t care.

The velvet box in her pocket burned a hole in her pocket. Every time it brushed against her leg, she felt the betrayal pulse again like a heartbeat. She couldn’t bring herself to throw it away, though it felt like a cruel joke now.

She walked without direction, through streets that shimmered with neon and rain. The city pulsed around her, alive and indifferent. Music leaked from open doorways, laughter spilled out of bars. Every face she passed seemed to belong to someone who still had a reason to smile.

Somewhere between grief and fury, Dahlia realized she was crying. Silent, angry tears that burned her cheeks before the cold wind dried them away. The last time she cried was at her parents funeral , a year ago, and she promised to never shed a tear again.

She had spent a whole year building up her walls and they all came crumbling down tonight, leaving a hollow space in her heart.

She needed to feel something, to fill that void in her heart. She needed to feel alive again, not the mechanic robot she showed everyone.

Dahila turned a corner, and her foot caught the edge of the curb. She stumbled, her palm slapping against the wet glass of a hotel sign. The golden letters shimmered under the city lights-The Meridian Hotel.

Realization hit her hard, that she has stumbled into the busiest part of the city. She knew exactly what happens in this part of town at night. Men in sultry suit lined up across the street, and women in skimpy glittery dresses were sprawled everywhere.

Her phone vibrated once. Tyler’s name lit the screen.

She should probably turn back. Maybe go back to Tyler’s penthouse and actually confront him but instead she stared at it until the light faded, then turned it face-down and kept walking.

The rain thickened, washing the makeup from the corners of her eyes. She didn’t care. For once, she didn’t care about anything. Her blood boiled with revenge, from this moment she was going to start living for herself.

Across the street, beneath the yellow glow of a streetlamp, a man stood with one hand in his pocket, the other shielding a cigarette from the rain. He was tall, his posture lazy but confident, the kind of presence that drew attention even when he wasn’t trying.

She almost didn’t look twice. Then he glanced up.

For a second, their eyes met. Something in his gaze-steady, curious-made her heart lurch. He didn’t smile, not right away, but there was a flicker of warmth that contrasted sharply with his sharp features.

Dahlia hesitated. Her pulse stuttered. Then, without thinking, she crossed the street. She knew what this place was and she knows exactly what he’s offering.

Nate watched her approach, the drizzle catching in her hair like faint silver threads. She didn’t look like here, judging from her polished, expensive suit . Her stride was measured, careful, as if she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing.

She looked tired. Her eyes were red and dull and it was obvious her makeup had been smeared by tears, still there was no denying how beautiful she was. She was petite, with long brown hair and her suit did nothing to hide that she was fleshy in the right places.

When she stopped in front of him, he couldn’t help but smirk a little.

“Hi” she said softly, almost swallowed by the rain. Her hand trembled as she reached into her coat pocket.

She looked him up and down. “How much?” she asked suddenly.

His brows lifted. “How much what?”

“How much for the night?” she said flatly, digging into her purse. She fished out a few bills-hundreds, maybe thousands-she didn’t even count. “No questions, no talking. Just come with me. Please.”

He stared at her, clearly caught off guard. Then, slowly, a smirk curved his lips.

He could have corrected her right then, told her she had the wrong idea. But something about her-this beautiful, heart-sick stranger who looked like she might fall apart if anyone spoke too loudly-stopped him.

She thought he’d mock her. Instead, he pocketed the money and said, “Alright, princess. Your wish.”

Something like relief flickered across her face. “Don’t call me that” she muttered

He caught the faint quiver of her lip, the sheen of tears she hadn’t wiped away. Whatever she was running from, it wasn’t boredom.

“Then what should I call you?” Nate asked, titling his head back lazily.

She hesitated. Her throat tightened. “Nothing.”

“Rough night?”

Her laugh was short, brittle. “You have no idea.”

“Try me.”

“I just…” She looked away, watching a cab spray through a puddle. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

The honesty in her voice hit him harder than he expected.

He nodded once. “All right.”

Her brows knit. “You’re not going to ask why?”

“Would it help if I did?”

She almost smiled at that, a ghost of expression flickering across her face. Then she turned toward the line of hotels a block away. “Come on,” she murmured. “Before I change my mind.”

They walked in silence. Rain softened the world to a hush, the streets gleaming like polished mirrors.

Dahlia kept her eyes ahead, her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets. Every step felt unreal, as if she were watching someone else move through the night. She told herself this was temporary-a single act of rebellion before she rebuilt the walls tomorrow.

Still, part of her trembled. She wasn’t this person. She didn’t do impulsive. But maybe, just once, she wanted to see who she was without all the rules.

Nate watched her from the corner of his eye. The woman’s pace never faltered, but the tension in her shoulders told a different story. He wondered what kind of pain could drive someone like her-a woman who looked carved from self-control-into the rain looking for escape.

She wasn’t like the people he usually met. Too elegant, too distant. Even her sadness had poise.

He found himself smiling, not mockingly but with quiet curiosity. “You know,” he said, “most people introduce themselves before paying me.”

Her head turned slightly. “Do you want me to?”

“Only if you want to.”

She looked ahead again. “No. Tonight I don’t want to be myself.”

He liked that answer. It told him more about her than any name could.

They reached the hotel entrance, the glass doors reflecting twin versions of them—her pale and solemn, him dark-haired and unreadable.

Dahlia hesitated, rain dripping from her lashes. She wasn’t sure what she was doing anymore. Grief and adrenaline tangled inside her chest, equal parts fear and strange relief.

Nate held the door for her, amusement curling at the corner of his mouth.

She stepped inside. Warm air swept over them, smelling faintly of coffee and polished wood. The noise of the street faded.

As the door closed behind them, Dahlia told herself she could still walk away. She wouldn’t. But she could.

Beside her, Nate slipped his hands into his pockets, watching her with the quiet confidence of a man who’d just stumbled upon a mystery worth chasing.

He didn’t know her story yet, but he could feel it pulsing under her calm-grief, pride, loneliness. It intrigued him.

When she glanced at him again, he gave her a small, knowing smile. The kind that said he already understood more than she’d meant to show.

Dahlia looked away quickly, her throat tight, heart hammering in confusion.

What am I doing?

And Nate couldn’t help but think as they crossed the lobby together:

This is going to be interesting.