The stranger's bed.

Ariana's POV

The first thing I felt was pain—sharp and pounding right behind my eyes. My head was heavy, my mouth dry, my stomach turning like I'd swallowed glass.

I groaned and rolled onto my back, the sheets cool against my skin.

Skin.

That's when I realized I wasn't wearing anything.

My eyes snapped open. The room wasn't mine. The ceiling was high, painted white, and the walls were covered in expensive-looking art. A faint smell of cologne and something smoky hung in the air.

Flashes from last night hit me like a punch.

"Fuck," I muttered, crying to stop myself from crying.

The fact that they didn't come after me was what made it hurt more. I'd walked out of that club feeling like my chest was hollow. My head had been buzzing from the drinks, from anger, from humiliation. I'd been ready to scream at anyone who crossed my path.

I gave everything to Jerry. I was even ready to give him my life. We have been dating since high school. I gave him my time, despite my father's disapproval.

Jerry was nothing but a privileged asshole. His father never liked sports. His father was a white supremacist that wanted his son to always be the one and Jerry wasn't doing so well at anything his father wanted. So that was what brought us together.

From a private tutorial together to a high school couple and I wanted it to stay that way so I gave up my scholarship program so we could attend the same school.

Jerry tried his best but his grade wasn't just "havard material" unlike me that was already doing so well with my grade, so I gave him all the credit for a work I did so he could get a scholarship and now see what he used to repay me.

I stood, wiping my tears. I knew he was using me to get what he wanted but I was just too stupid to believe it.

Jerry was one of the boys every girl wanted in high school and college and I was… I was just there. Never had any attention of my own except the ugly nerd attention.

I guess my low self-esteem led me here.

I closed my eyes, trying to remember clearly what happened the previous night. I remember leaving the club to our hotel where we had earlier booked. I also remember emptying the bottles of wine from the shelf I don't remember having in the room.

I stood up looking around. This was definitely not the room we booked.

My eyes widened in shock as the bathroom door opened.

I sat up fast, clutching the sheet to my chest, watching the man walk out of the bathroom.

He was fully dressed—black shirt, dark trousers, jacket tailored perfectly to his shoulders. His hair was slightly damp, combed back, his jaw shadowed with a neat stubble.

He was, without question, the most handsome man I'd ever seen up close. But there was something about him—something cold in the way he moved—that made my skin prickle.

That was when the memories came back… and I didn't like it.

I slept with a stranger.

He didn't look at me right away. He was frowning, muttering under his breath. "Madame really needs to fix her standards. I don't pay for sloppiness."

I blinked. "What?"

That's when his eyes met mine. His gaze was sharp enough to pierce through my soul. He looked at me over like I was some object left in his room by mistake.

"I said," he drawled, "Madame needs to stop sending me drunk bitches. If I wanted a mess, I'd go to a bar myself."

The words hit me like a slap. "Excuse me?"

He ignored my tone and kept going. "You're not getting the full amount. My secretary will leave five thousand for you downstairs. You can take it or not—it's up to you."

I stared at him, my cheeks burning. "I'm not—" I broke off, my voice shaking. "I'm not a prostitute."

He gave a humorless laugh, like I'd just told him the most ridiculous thing he'd heard all week. "You were naked in my bed. Forgive me for assuming."

My fists clenched around the sheet. "I was drunk, and I made a mistake. That doesn't mean you get to call me names."

He arched a brow, his voice calm but sharp. "Mistake? You seemed pretty eager last night."

"I thought this was my room," I defended.

"You thought this was your room?" He scoffed. "That's the most ridiculous lie I have heard in ages. But seriously, does this look like a room you can afford?"

Shame and anger twisted together inside me. "You know what, I don't have to deal with this. I have had enough of men treating me like trash."

"Classic talk for the likes of you," he muttered.

My mouth fell open in disbelief. If he wasn't too handsome I would have punched him right in the face.

"Go. To. Hell." I eyed. "And keep your money. I don't need it."

That made him laugh—low and mocking. "Oh, that's rich. You're telling me you don't need five thousand dollars? So you are worse than a whore." His smirk deepened. "Something tells me your boss wouldn't be so proud to hear that you turned down her biggest client's generosity because he told you the truth."

I felt like I couldn't breathe. "You don't know anything about me."

"I don't need to," he said smoothly, straightening his cuffs. "I've seen enough."

That was it. He has really crossed the line.

"For the last time, I'm not a hooker. And who the hell do you think you are?" I spat.

His eyes locked on mine, and for a second, I wished I hadn't asked. There was pride there—pride and something darker.

"Someone you shouldn't have messed with," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "And if you have any sense, you'll make sure I never see you again."

He stepped past me, the scent of his cologne brushing over my skin like a reminder of everything I wanted to forget. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me in silence.

I stayed still for a long moment, the sheet clutched around me, my still mind spinning.

I cursed under my breath. Again. And again.

My hands were shaking as I scrambled to find my clothes. My underwear was tangled in the edge of the rug, my dress crumpled near the foot of the bed. My heels were tossed in separate corners of the room.

I pulled everything on as fast as I could. I didn't even look in the mirror. I didn't want to see myself like this. And above all. I had a plane to catch.