Chapter 3

Elena woke to the sound of rain tapping against the enormous windows.

For several seconds, she remained perfectly still, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling while her mind struggled to understand why the bed felt so comfortable and why the room smelled faintly of cedar and expensive cologne. Then she remembered the bar, the drinks, the corridor, and a man's voice telling her that she had the wrong room. Her eyes widened. She sat up too quickly, immediately regretted it when the room spun, and pressed a hand against her forehead.

"Please tell me I didn't do anything stupid."

"That depends on your definition of stupid."

The unfamiliar male voice came from near the window.

Elena froze.

A man was sitting in an armchair with one ankle resting over his knee, reading something on his phone. He wore a dark shirt, perfectly fitted trousers, and an expression of complete indifference, as though finding a strange woman asleep in his bed was merely an inconvenience on an otherwise ordinary morning.

Elena pulled the blanket higher.

"Who are you?"

He lowered his phone and looked at her.

"That's what I was going to ask you."

She stared at him, then at the room, then back at him. "This is my room."

"No."

She frowned.

He nodded toward the door. "Your room is next door."

Memory struck her with humiliating clarity.

The wrong key card.

The wrong door.

The handsome stranger.

Her accusing him of stealing her room.

Elena closed her eyes.

"Oh, no."

The man watched her for a moment. "You remember."

"I remember enough to know I should never drink again."

"That would probably be wise."

She opened her eyes and glared at him. "Did we...?"

She couldn't finish the question.

His expression became faintly amused.

"No."

The relief was immediate, but it lasted only a second.

"Then why am I in your bed?"

"Because you collapsed outside my door."

Elena stared at him.

"I collapsed?"

"You were standing there arguing with my door."

"I was arguing with your door?"

"You seemed convinced it was refusing to let you into your room."

She covered her face with both hands.

The man continued, entirely too calmly, "You eventually decided the hallway floor was a suitable place to sleep."

"I hate you."

"You don't know me."

"I've known you for less than a minute and I'm already confident."

For the first time, the corner of his mouth moved.

It wasn't quite a smile.

Elena noticed it anyway.

He stood and walked toward the table, where a glass of water waited. "Drink this before you embarrass yourself again."

She accepted it reluctantly. "You seem very pleased with yourself."

"Not particularly."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"I'm not."

"You were."

"You must still be drunk."

Elena narrowed her eyes.

There was something infuriating about him. He wasn't openly rude, but he had the irritating habit of saying exactly enough to make her feel as though she had lost an argument she hadn't realized they were having.

She drank the water and looked around the room.

Her gaze eventually returned to him.

"What's your name?"

"Lucien."

"Just Lucien?"

"Usually."

She waited.

He didn't elaborate.

Elena sighed. "Fine. I'm Elena."

"I know."

She stiffened. "How?"

"You said your name several times last night."

"Oh."

She looked down at the glass.

Then, because curiosity was stronger than embarrassment, she asked, "Did I tell you anything else?"

"Quite a lot."

Her stomach sank.

"How much?"

Lucien leaned against the table.

"Your husband cheated on you with your stepsister. Your family sided with them. You lost your home. You wanted revenge."

Elena's face heated.

"I told a stranger all that?"

"You also informed me that men were fundamentally disappointing."

She looked at him suspiciously. "Did I say that?"

"You did."

"Well..."

She glanced at him.

"You seem like the exception."

"I wouldn't get comfortable with that conclusion."

Despite herself, Elena smiled.

It disappeared quickly.

She looked toward the window.

The city stretched beneath the rain, beautiful and indifferent. Yesterday morning, she had woken up as Adrian Ashford's wife. By midnight, she had become a woman with nowhere to go.

"I wasn't lying," she said quietly.

Lucien didn't answer.

"When I said I wanted revenge."

His expression remained unreadable.

"I believe you were angry."

"No. I'm serious."

"Anger and seriousness aren't mutually exclusive."

Elena turned toward him. "You think I'm exaggerating."

"I think I know nothing about you."

"Then why did you let me stay?"

"I didn't."

She frowned.

"You did."

"I carried you inside because leaving an unconscious woman in a hotel corridor would have created unnecessary trouble."

"So you did help me."

"I prevented a problem."

"That's a very convenient way of describing it."

"It's an accurate one."

Elena studied him.

There was something strange about him. Most men she knew either tried too hard to impress people or made sure everyone knew how powerful they were. Lucien seemed completely uninterested in either.

She suddenly remembered something.

"Wait."

He looked at her.

"Who are you?"

"I already told you."

"No. I mean who are you?"

Lucien's eyes narrowed slightly.

Elena continued, "You don't look like a hotel guest who accidentally finds drunk women outside his door. You look like someone who owns half the building."

"That's an exaggeration."

"So you own the other half?"

He almost smiled again.

Before he could answer, Elena's phone rang.

She looked down.

Adrian.

Her expression changed immediately.

Lucien noticed.

She didn't answer.

The phone stopped.

A second later, another call came.

This time, she rejected it.

A message appeared.

Come to the family office at ten. We need your signature. Don't make things difficult.

Elena stared at the message until her fingers tightened around the phone.

Lucien glanced at her.

"Problem?"

"My husband."

"Ex-husband."

"Not yet."

"Then why does he sound so confident?"

Elena looked up.

"Because he thinks I've lost."

Lucien said nothing.

She stood carefully, still dizzy but determined not to show it.

"Where are my things?"

"Outside."

"My shoes?"

"Also outside."

"My dignity?"

"That may take longer."

She glared at him.

He looked completely serious.

Elena grabbed her handbag and headed for the door, but stopped before leaving.

"Thank you."

Lucien nodded once.

She hesitated.

"Even though you're annoying."

"I'll survive."

She opened the door.

"Lucien?"

He looked at her.

"If you ever see me drunk again, just leave me on the floor."

"Gladly."

Elena walked out.

Lucien waited until the door closed before looking toward the glass window.

He had seen hundreds of desperate people in his life. Most of them wanted something from him. Money. Protection. Influence.

Elena Ashford had wanted revenge.

That alone wasn't interesting.

What was interesting was that, despite losing everything overnight, she hadn't once asked him for money.

He picked up his phone and made a call.

"Find out what happened to Elena Ashford."

There was a brief silence on the other end.

Lucien's expression remained calm.

"Everything."

He ended the call.

He had no intention of helping her.

Not yet.

First, he wanted to know exactly what kind of woman had collapsed outside his door.