CHAPTER 3 ~ The Door That Opened

{Alora’s POV}

The door opened.

For a split second, I thought I was hallucinating— my desperation finally tipping into something unreal. My hand was still raised from pounding when the door pulled inward.

Warm light spilled into the hallway and a man stood in the doorway.

Tall. Barefoot. Broad-shouldered.

A towel was slung low around his hips, while his chest was bare and damp, dark hair clinging slightly to his forehead. His eyes locked onto me instantly— hostile but dull. 

He was drunk. 

“And who the hell are you?” He asked at once and and then his gaze dropped, taking in my shaking hands and the blood smeared across my sleeve.

Behind me, footsteps thundered.

“Leave,” he said flatly now, already stepping back to close the door. “You’re in the wrong—”

A hand suddenly grabbed my arm from behind. I screamed but nothing came out.

Panic exploded then. I twisted violently, the hallway closing in as fingers tightened around my wrist. With this, the man in front of me swore sharply and then moved without hesitation.

He grabbed my other wrist and yanked me inside. The door slammed shut. The lock turned.

Silence crashed down, heavy and sudden.

For a moment, we stood chest to chest. My breath came in shallow gasps while his grip remained firm but not painful.

His reaction had been instinctive and unplanned so now, I could tell he was reassessing what had happened. 

He stepped back and turned his head slightly, listening.

Muffled shouts echoed from the hallway. A fist struck the door once— hard, but he didn’t react.

I did.

I tensed again and my gaze darted between him and the door. Then the noise faded and footsteps retreated.

Only then did he look at me again.

“Who were they?” he asked, holding the edge of the table to steady himself and control his light staggering. 

I lifted my hands, trying to sign through the shaking. >They were his bodyguards. I need to— <

He frowned.

“I don’t understand you.”

I swallowed and tried to speak.

Nothing.

The realization dawned in his eyes.

“You can’t speak,” he said.

I nodded and turned to the side where I saw a notepad. I reached for it and then I found a pen. 

Meanwhile he took a glass of water and then stroked his eyes, seemingly trying to dampen the tipsiness. It didn’t work as his motion spilled water all over the table when he tried to set the cup down.

“I was sent here by my husband. A man drugged me and tried to rape me,” I wrote down on the notepadand turned it to him.

That seemed to grasp his understanding as his hostile expression slipped away. 

“Alright. You may remain here while you contact the authorities.” He said and I nodded swiftly in gratitude— but then that cost me. 

The room tilted due to the motion. Then the drug still in my system pulled at my balance and I swayed before I could stop myself.

With that, the stranger’s hand shot out in order to steady me.

It was a considerate attempt but due to the fact that he was intoxicated himself, we both ended up staggering and falling against the table

I lay slanted below and we landed with him hovering over me, careful not to hit me in any way even though our bodies touched. He steadied us against the table. 

With the proximity, I felt his warmth instantly, and in that moment, my thoughts trailed somewhere else.

As a result of our near-fall, his towel had also loosened a bit and I saw a cut of his groin. He immediately tried to salvage the situation but I stopped him. 

Yes, I stopped him— because something reckless stirred inside me, born from betrayal, adrenaline, and the desperate need to feel in control of something.

My husband had sold me.

Why should I dwell in the hurt and bury myself in it?

Why should I remain faithful to a lie?

Yes, this man was a total stranger, an intoxicated one, but this sloshed stranger had shown me more concern than victor had done in the past three years.

So I think my choices are sensible. 

I held his hands firmer now and leaned closer to him. He stiffened. 

“That’s a bad idea,” he recognized my intentions at once, but then I held his gaze while mouthing slowly…

“I know.”

“No. You don’t know what you're doing.” He said. “You’re intoxicated.” He said, struggling a bit with his speech. 

“So are you.” I said without volume and he understood, reading my lips.

With that, I pulled him closer to me with fervor and that seemed to be breaking through his defense as his gaze momentarily dropped to my breasts. 

Silence stretched between us, thick and charged now. He looked like he was struggling between giving in and pulling away so I helped him decide.

I leaned in and kissed him on the lips without warning. He didn’t react but he looked like he had dropped one option.

I stared between his body and beautiful face now, making my motives clearly known. With that, he exhaled in defeat.

I saw how red his eyes were so I knew his intoxication had played a role in me winning.

“Do not mistake this for anything.” He said and then his lips came crashing on mine. The world narrowed…

The moment grew intense at once as he touched me fervently, his hands traveling the entirety of my upper body, sending tinges racing all around me. 

I clawed him tightly with both my hands, needing something solid to contrast the liquid I was melting into under the heat like his touch, and with that, he lifted me easily, carrying me to the bed and laying me down with deliberate care. 

I rested on the softness but I wanted his hardness as my body ached roughly until he rested his weight on me. 

His touch was commanding and I surrendered to it completely without any hint of regret— maybe because I felt betrayed or maybe because I hadn’t been touched lovingly for more than two years.

Either way, I spread my thighs just as my skirt came off and then I welcomed his length into me.

He stretched me and I gasped, clawing the sheets and throwing my wide-stretched gaze to the ceiling. 

The rest of the night blurred into sensations of warmth, pressure, and the loss of restraint I had been holding onto for far too long.

**

When morning came, it came slowly.

I woke wrapped in warmth, my head resting against a solid chest, and for one terrible second, I thought it was Victor.

Then memory rushed back.

The hotel. The rape attempt. The door. The sex…

I pulled back sharply and realized this wasn’t my home.

The man beside me was still asleep, his arm heavy around my waist. His face in daylight was even more striking and relaxed— but dangerous in its calm.

My realization came in full then but I felt no regret. Only clarity.

I regretted Victor instead.

I slipped out of the bed quietly, and dressed quickly, after which I picked up the pen and notepad on the ground. I wrote down a note. 

“Thank you for helping me.”

Nothing more.

I set it down gently on the nightstand and then I started towards the door, not bothering to stare at the stranger once more since there was no point to it.

Last night was amazing and relieving in so many ways, but now it was time to return to my life, however wretched, and face the man who I thought was the hero all along. 

I reached the door, turned the handle, and I left the world of this stranger, never to cross paths again. 

Or so I thought.