_Chapter 002

Valerie's POV

~~~~~

Three weeks ago, I had a husband, a child, and a future.

Tonight… I have tequila.

“Girl, isn't there some kind of rule against drinking weeks after birth?” The worry from my friend's voice was almost imperceptible to me as I down what might be my fourth glass of tequila.

Or at least, I think it's my fourth one. Pretty sure I lost count somewhere around the second.

"You’re not about to cry in my club after these drinks, are you?” He mutters from behind the counter.

I nearly snort out my drink. “I came here to get wasted, not heal.”

That’s Carlos—a good friend who shares my questionable taste in men, and is dangerously good at mixing drinks.

Dropping the glass, I squint hard at him—the tousled black hair and bushy brows that make his pointed gaze seem more serious than it should be.

He's giving me a pitiful look like I'm a charity case.

“Relax,” I wave dismissively after taking a heavy breath. “You know I've got the metabolism of an Atlanta stripper on a busy Saturday.”

Carlos lowers his head in a laugh. “Oh my God. That white-collar job of yours makes me forget how much of a funny hoe you are sometimes.”

I blow raspberries, pressing my back against the counter until the music switches to Doja Cat's ‘Been like this’ and I get the sudden urge to sway my hips.

"Oh, okay, sister!” Carlos snaps his fingers but I barely hear him.

I pack up my hair, eyes shutting as I make my way to the dance floor for the umpteenth time tonight. People cheer around me.

This past three weeks, I’ve been cooped up in my house under the excuse of maternity leave. The truth is, I can’t stand the thought of going out there and seeing Draven—or Naomi.

Tonight, I managed to come out after Carlos literally came to my house to pull me out. The handless red dress I have on was also picked out by him—a relic I got for his cousin's wedding two years ago.

As I open my eyes again, my vision is a bit woozy. Okay, scratch that… I might be tipsy as fuck right now. But I don't care, squeezing past the sea of bodies as the music reaches the bridge.

I notice like one or two guys giving me looks I knew all too well. On a normal day, I might've made a beeline back to Carlos. Tonight, I'm keen on doing something I'll regret in the morning.

My teeth catch my bottom lip between them as I roll my waist close to a random blonde. He's tall, handsome… overall perfect for a casual dance.

It doesn't take a few seconds for his hands to trail down to my waist. I flinch at first but then fling my head back, raising an arm as I rock my body on his. My fingers tangle through his hair as he guides my movements, his hot breath hitting my neck.

“Well, hello to you too.” He murmurs, the familiar scent of whiskey following his voice. “You don't seem like the kind of girl to be dancing so intimately with a guy who hasn't even gotten you a drink.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “Well,” I make a mental note to tug at his ego. “What can I say? I saw a hot guy like you and a single babe like me just wanted to… have a little fun.”

Our movements are slower now, enough for my eyes to slide back to the counter. Carlos gives me an ear-to-ear grin like a proud uncle, although half his attention is split on talking to some hot jock sitting at the counter.

So much for resenting men.

“A little fun?” The guy lets out a short chuckle. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

For Christ's sake.

Does a girl have to spell it out?

I slip out of his grip before I can think, brushing aside strands of my hair without looking back. “Never mind.” I slur the words, already lumbering away.

Someone walks past me with two vodka soda cans and I grab one, popping it open and downing it before any logical bone in my body can activate.

“Hey!” The guy shouts but I don't turn for a second. That's until I feel a vice-like grip around my wrist that makes me gasp.

He yanks me back to him, what was left of the vodka slipping out of my hand in the process. My heart is in my throat as I stare at the stupid grin on his face.

“Come on, mamacita,” he cooes. “You're just going to leave a guy like that after getting him all riled up?”

I cringe hard. “There's this magical thing called ‘no’.” I try pulling my wrist out of his grip. “Just stop already. I'm not interested. Let… let go of me.”

But he doesn't, dragging me to his chest. He presses his rock-hard member on my stomach, making me realise quickly how seriously cooked I am.

“Just one blow job.” He whispers into my ear. “That's all I ask. Put that feisty mouth of yours to good use.”

“Carlos...!” My voice cracks, but the music swallows it whole.

He's too occupied to even notice.

Panic surges through me as I think of screaming even louder for anyone at all. However, just when the bastard is about to grab me with his other hand—his eyes bulge.

He's violently flung backwards, stumbling butt-first to the dance floor. Only a few people register what's happening, going back to dancing like it was another normal Tuesday.

My heart pounds like war drums as I lift my head to see who my saviour was.

“I hate young boys who can't control themselves.”

The words roll out in a deep baritone that comes from a man whom I can only describe with one word.

DADDY.

He has on a form-fitting black suit. His hair is sharp even in the haze of my tipsiness, silver and trimmed with perfect precision. Then those eyes.

Calculating golden orbs that sweep over me. I'm not able to make out every detail on his face, but… God damn!

I blush, watching as the blonde guy he flung back slowly got on his feet. He didn't even try fighting, easing away like he's standing before the boogeyman.

“T–Thank you.” If he hears me, I don't know. My voice is weak and I can barely keep my shivering legs steady.

“You're intoxicated,” he mutters, loud enough for me to pick up.

I nod mindlessly. “I… I guess I am. I had like one… two… five tequilas? Then the vodka—God, why am I telling you all this?”

A nervous laugh leaves me, but somehow I don't feel threatened by this man. There's something different about him. Something that makes me feel like I'm back home after a long torturing day.

“You need to rest.” He speaks again, this time inching closer.

I don't pull back.

If anything, I waver forward, sniffing in his cologne. I'm only able to pick up a hint of vanilla and something strong.

“Yes, sir.” I chortle, subconsciously placing a hand on his shoulder. “Why do you feel so… familiar? I know I recognise you from… somewhere.”

I pause, lifting my head to the ceiling. “Fuck, I'm drunk.”

His hand slips to the back of my waist just then. Not disrespectfully too. Just enough to pull me to him as he turns and looks through the crowd.

I don't know what happens next and don’t remember leaving the floor, but I do know we start moving, the music dying out.

*****

When consciousness washes through me again, I open my eyes, realising I'm lying on a bed. The pillows beside me are so soft and fluffy and so is the bed sheet.

The room is wrapped in soft golden light, yet I can barely make out the items and furniture in the room. That and my lightheadedness make me know I'm still very much drunk.

I'm able to arch my neck up enough to take in a shadow looming over me. I squint, recognising the black suit from the man I met at the club last.

“Good.” He blurts. “You're awake. I got you this room to rest in till morning. Don't worry, there's someone trusted…”

Whatever he says next filters through my ears like background chatter. I manage to sit up, noticing his attempt to back up toward the door.

I grab his arm before he can move further, lifting my chin until I'm groggily staring into his eyes. Although I still can't clearly make out his features, I can tell he's surprised by the way he stiffens.

“P–Please,” I start shamelessly, “stay. Don't leave me alone.”

His hand twitches.

“That’s not a request you should be making,” he drawls quietly. “Especially not to me.”