Unraveled

Helen’s POV

The sight before me knocked the breath out of my lungs.

There—right in the middle of the guest bathroom—stood Zara, completely naked, bent over the marble sink while Mali, one of Mena’s bodyguards, pounded into her from behind like a man possessed. Her moans echoed off the tiled walls, wild and uninhibited, as if she didn’t have a single care in the world.

“Oh God—yes, like that—just like that!” she cried, her voice raw with pleasure.

I stood frozen, my hand still on the doorknob, too stunned to even blink. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t believe what the hell I was seeing.

Innocent, soft-spoken Zara—the girl who blushed when you said the word "sex"—was being fucked like a pornstar. Her wrists were pinned behind her back, her body arched and submissive, and on the floor lay a pink dildo discarded like a toy no longer needed, replaced now by a very real, very aggressive Mali.

And he wasn’t going easy on her. He drove into her with the full force of his body, grunting, slapping her ass with each thrust while she whimpered and begged for more.

My stomach turned, not in disgust—but disbelief. This wasn’t just sex. It was animalistic. Desperate. Addictive.

I needed to leave.

But I didn’t.

I stood there, trapped in the surrealism of it all, until their moans grew louder—deeper. More frantic.

I cleared my throat sharply, the sound bouncing off the walls like a gunshot.

“Could you at least keep it down?” I said, my voice deadpan.

Mali stilled mid-thrust, jerking his head around. Panic flashed across his face as he quickly pulled out, fumbling for something to cover himself. Zara, on the other hand, looked utterly unbothered—no, glowing. She slowly turned her head to look at me, her skin flushed, hair wild, lips swollen, still high off her orgasm.

“That’s a little hard to keep down,” she murmured, settling casually on the toilet seat, legs spread slightly as if she had no shame left to hide.

What the actual hell?

I stared at her in disbelief, her eyes still glazed with lust like she hadn’t had enough. She wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

“Next time, try using the hallway. Or better yet, the privacy of a room.” I turned on my heel, disgusted—or maybe just disturbed.

“Want to join?” Zara called out behind me, breathless. “I bet Mali has enough strength for both of us.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My throat dried up.

How had I never seen this side of her before? Was it Sebastian? Did thinking about him make her this reckless? This… wild?

Sex really does drive people insane.

The door clicked behind me, locking them in again, and I could hear the wet slaps resume, louder this time as they moved to the bedroom portion of the suite. I clenched my fists and stormed off to my room, just two doors down.

Whatever. Let her fuck her demons out if it helped her forget Sebastian.

I collapsed onto my bed, grabbing my phone to distract myself from the sounds echoing in my head. I scrolled through social media aimlessly until something finally caught my attention—an article about Pro Events, the city’s leading luxury event design company.

My chest lifted slightly.

The photos were breathtaking. Opulent floral arrangements, cascading crystal chandeliers, perfectly curated themes that screamed money and precision. Their attention to detail was insane—every design unique, every setup a masterpiece.

My heart clenched with longing.

I’d always loved planning events. I saw beauty in chaos, in transformation. But it had remained just that—a dream. No funds, no connections, no platform.

Still, as I stared at the images, I couldn’t stop the hope from blooming. Maybe one day. Maybe someday.

After an hour of soaking in every single picture, I set my phone’s alarm for 4:30 p.m.—Lisa would be starting on dinner by then. I placed it on the lamp table and curled under the covers, finally allowing my eyes to close.

---

Sebastian’s POV

The Minister’s emergency was evident the moment he rushed after the ambulance. The meeting was over before it started. We returned to the office in silence.

Once inside, I headed straight to my father’s office. “The Minister collapsed,” I informed him. “We’ll need to reschedule.”

“I’ll reach out to him later,” my father said with barely a glance up.

I nodded and turned to leave.

Back in my office, the dreaded stack of pending files awaited. I didn’t waste time. My signature was a loaded gun—one mistake, and we could lose millions.

Mike stood nearby, unusually quiet. He hadn’t spoken much since the morning, and from the look on his face, he was still moping over his girlfriend not landing the job. His expression was so sulky it was almost comical—like a kid denied dessert.

I ignored him. I wasn’t in the mood to coddle anyone’s emotions. Not when I had half a mountain of paperwork to conquer.

Minutes ticked by. Then an hour. Finally, I reached the last document. I leaned back in my chair, exhaling deeply.

Mike looked up from his tablet. “Right in time for Mr. Shaw’s meeting. His assistant just texted—they’re in the conference room.”

I stood, adjusted my suit, and followed him out.

Mr. Shaw greeted me with a firm handshake. “Good day, Sebastian. Pleasure to meet you again.”

We got down to business.

His proposition was simple: he wanted to invest in our hotel chains—but under the condition that his design company handled all the interior décor. We build, he beautifies.

Not my favorite setup. I wasn’t a fan of outsourcing the creative control. But as my father always said, “Anything for business.”

After finalizing the key points and scheduling a design proposal, the meeting ended.

My stomach growled.

“I’m starving. Join me for lunch,” I told Mike—more of a command than a suggestion. I knew he’d decline otherwise.

He obeyed and drove us to a five-star hotel restaurant.

Mike, ever the humble saint, ordered the cheapest item on the menu. I rolled my eyes. “It’s not your money. And I’m not complaining—so eat. I need a healthy assistant.”

We weren’t halfway through our food when a sharp crash shattered the ambiance.

A waiter had tripped.

The tray and dishes went flying—splattering our clothes with sauce and spilled drinks.

I looked down at my suit, stained. My jaw clenched.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the waiter stammered, trembling.

I said nothing, simply stared at the mess.

Mike spoke for me. “It’s okay. Just be more careful next time.”

He turned to me. “I’ll call home and have a suit sent over. In the meantime, you can clean up in one of the hotel rooms.”

I shook my head. “No. I’ll use the restroom and we’ll head home. I don’t like the feel of their rooms.”

Mike didn’t argue. He knew me too well.

I stood, my fists clenched. Today was proving to be a fucking disaster.

I went to the restroom to clean up with Mike.

Just few steps in, I heard a subtle voice low-key screaming with pleasure.

I shook it off. My stained suit was my problem now.

But the sound grew slowly but surely.

I turned to Mike and yep he heard the sound too.

My curiosity piqued leading me to the sound.

It came from one of the restrooms. Without a fuss with Mike behind me I pushed the door open.

Damnit!