CHAPTER 3

 “The Stranger In My Room”

Elara's POV

I froze at the door, my heart hammering like it has decided to break today. Lucía. She had the audacity to come here, to knock on my door like we're friends who need to chat about what happened.

"Go away." My voice cracked. I detest that it cracked.

"Please, I just need five minutes of your time. I need to explain."

"Explain what? I saw everything I needed to see."

Then silence, until she broke the silence with a soft apology.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know he was married until tonight. He never wore a ring, he said he was single, honestly, I didn't know."

Lies. All lies. Bryan always wore his ring. I picked it out myself, platinum with our initials engraved inside.

"Leave before I call security."

"Elara, please."

"Leave!"

I hear footsteps retreating down the hallway, then nothing. My legs gave out and I sank to the floor, back against the door, shaking so hard my teeth chatter.

She didn't know. Like it would make it better. Like her ignorance absolves her of crawling into bed with someone else's husband.

And I believed Bryan probably told her everything she wanted to hear. Spun the same stories he told me when we first met. How he was romantic. A real man. A man who believed in real connection.

I didn't know how long I sat there. I couldn't say specifically. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. Time didn’t work right anymore.

Another knock makes me jolt. "I said leave!"

"I'm not whoever you think I am." A man's voice, deep and calm. "I'm a guest. Room 1251. I saw you earlier in the lobby and you looked like you wanted to faint. I wanted to make sure you're okay."

I stand slowly, peer through the peephole. A man stands in the hallway, tall with dark hair, hands in his pockets. He's not looking at the door but down the hall, giving me space even though he was the one who knocked.

"I'm fine."

"You don't have to open the door. I just wanted to check." He paused. "Do you need water? Food? I can have something sent up."

"Why do you care?"

He's quiet for a moment. "Because I can relate to how you felt. So I just felt it's right to check on you."

I love his voice, there's something unique about it, the steadiness of it, makes me unlock the door. Not all the way. Just enough to see him properly.

He's younger than Bryan, maybe early thirties. There's a tiredness around his eyes that matches mine. He didn't look at me like I'm broken. He looked at me like I'm a person.

"I'm Julien," he says. "Julien Álvarez."

"Elara."

"I know. I heard someone calling your name earlier." He leaned against the doorframe but didn't move closer. "Rough night?"

A laugh bubbles out of me, half hysterical. "You could say that."

"Valentine's Day is hell." He says it like a fact, not a suggestion. "Worst holiday ever invented. Just manufactured pressure to prove something that shouldn't need proving."

"You're not romantic then."

"I was once romantic." His smile was sad. "Then I learned that romance and love are different things. Romance is just performance. Love is simply showing up when it's not pretty."

I opened the door wider. I don't know why. Maybe because he's the first person all night who hasn't looked at me with pity or guilt or expectation.

"You want to come in? I don't have anything to offer except hotel coffee and a minibar full of overpriced alcohol."

"Water is fine."

He followed me inside, and I'm suddenly aware that I'm wearing nothing but a hotel robe. It's short, hitting mid-thigh, and when I bend to get water from the mini fridge, I felt the fabric ride up.

When I turn back, Julien's eyes are on my legs. Not staring or predatory. Just looking like I was entertaining his eyes, the same way a man looks at a woman he finds attractive.

Heat floods through me. I felt a little bit embarrassed. And I started feeling something I haven't felt in so long I almost don't recognize it.

Want.

I handed him the water bottle. Our fingers brushed, and I didn't pull away.

"So what brings you to this overpriced hotel on the worst holiday of the year?" I asked.

"Work conference. My flight got delayed, so I'm stuck here another night." He opened the water but didn't drink. "You?"

"An Anniversary trip that turned into a crime scene."

"Ah." He nods like he understands everything. "The woman in the hallway?"

"That was the other woman. My husband's in the penthouse suite, probably still trying to figure out how to spin this as my fault."

"Classic narcissist move."

"You've been there?"

"My ex-wife." He took a sip of water. "I caught her with my business partner red-handed in our bed but she defended her mess by telling me I drove her to it by working too much."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Best thing that ever happened to me. Hurt like hell, but it freed me from pretending."

We sat on opposite ends of the bed because there's nowhere else to sit. The room feels smaller with him in it, but not really bad. And it felt like the walls are already closing in. 

"What do you do?" I asked. "For a living"

"Architecture. I design the buildings of the rich." He smiles. "You?"

"I teach literature at a community college. I talk about love stories written by people who understand it better than I do."

"What's your favorite?"

"Used to be Pride and Prejudice. Now I'm thinking of Wuthering Heights. At least that one's honest about how love destroys you."

He laughed. It's a good sound, real and unguarded. "Dark. I like it."

We talk about nothing important. He tells me about a building in Prague he wants to visit. I told him about the time I accidentally taught an entire class the wrong analysis of The Great Gatsby. He didn't ask about Bryan at all nor did he try fixing me. 

He just exists in the space with me, making it feel less empty.

At some point, I notice how he looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention. His eyes trace the curve of my neck, the exposed skin where the robe has loosened around my cleavage. There's heat in his gaze, desire, but also restraint.

"You're staring," I said softly.

"Sorry." But he didn't look away. "You're beautiful. Even now. Especially now, maybe."

"I look like hell."

"You look real." He shifts closer, just inches. "That's rarer than beautiful."

I didn't know who moved first. Maybe both of us. Maybe neither. But suddenly his mouth is on mine, and I'm kissing him back with a desperation that has nothing to do with love and everything to do with wanting to feel something other than broken.

His hands found my waist, pulling me closer. The robe falls open, and I don't stop it. I didn't stop any of it. 

His touch is different from Bryan’s. Certainly present. It looks like I'm the only thing in the world that matters right now.

We fell back onto the bed, and I pulled his shirt over his head. His skin is warm, solid, real. He kisses down my neck, my collarbone, lower, and I arch into him, chasing sensation, chasing oblivion, chasing proof that I'm still alive.

"Is this okay?" he whispers against my skin.

"Yes." More than okay. "Please. I need this."

He took his time, exploring every inch of me like a geologist mapping new locations. When he finally enters me, I gasp from the sweet pain and from how right it feels. How perfect. He moves slowly at first, watching my face, adjusting to what makes me moan, what makes me dig my nails into his shoulders.

"Look at me," he said, and I did. His eyes were dark, focused entirely on me. He was concentrating on me. 

When I come apart, it's violent and cathartic, like releasing something that's been trapped inside me for years. He follows moments later, saying my name like a prayer.

After, we lie tangled together, breathing hard. Reality starts creeping back in, but he doesn't make it weird. He didn't apologize or make promises he can't keep.

He just kissed my forehead and said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For letting me be here."

He got dressed slowly, and I watched him, memorizing the moment. When he's ready to leave, he paused at the door.

"Will you be okay?"

"I think so. Eventually."

He nodded. He didn't even ask for my number nor did he suggest we do this again. All he did was give me a small smile and leave.

The door clicked shut, and I was alone again. But this time, the silence didn't feel suffocating. It felt like a possibility.

I showered, washed away the last few hours, and climbed back into bed. For the first time since arriving at this hotel, I fell asleep deeply, dreamlessly, and peacefully.

The morning light wakes me. I feel different. Well, I haven't healed from the pain yet, but I felt a little bit relieved.

I dressed in casual clothes, jeans and a sweater, and headed down to the hotel café for coffee. I need caffeine and a plan for what comes next.

The café was half full with guests reading newspapers and tapping on laptops. I ordered an espresso and found a table by the window overlooking the city.

"Mind if I join you?"

I looked up. Julien stood there with his own coffee, dressed in a crisp button-down and slacks. He looked different in the daylight. More handsome but his eyes were the same. Just kind and unbothered. 

He smiled like he's genuinely glad to see me. "You look better."

"So do you."

He sat down across from me, and just like that, the morning didn't feel so heavy anymore.