A Stranger's Mercy

Vivienne fumbled for words, her voice hoarse from crying, her breath uneven. "I'm so—I'm so sorry," she rasped, her fingers trembling as she swiped at her soaked face. "And thank you. I—your clothes—"

The man simply stared at her.

The weight of his gaze made her feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the rain-drenched dress clinging to her skin. There was something unreadable in his expression, something almost pained. The intensity in his dark eyes made her stomach flip, made her shiver despite the warm spring air thick with rain.

“I can pay for your dry cleaning,” she blurted out, already reaching for her wallet inside her sodden purse. Her fingers, frozen and clumsy, struggled with the zipper, but before she could retrieve the money, a large, warm hand covered hers.

Her breath hitched.

His touch was gentle but firm, the heat of his skin a shocking contrast to her own freezing fingers. He shook his head slightly, his fingers lingering over hers before slowly pulling away. "That's not necessary," he said softly. His voice was deep and smooth, edged with something she couldn't quite place. "But you need to dry off."

Vivi blinked up at him, unable to look away.

His face—so perfectly chiseled it seemed almost unfair—was set in a look of quiet concern, his brows drawn together slightly as though he was trying to solve a problem he couldn’t quite understand. His lips parted, hesitating for a moment before he said, “Please, come with me just for a minute.”

There was something about the way he said it, the way he looked at her. Not like he was demanding anything from her, but like he needed her to say yes.

Against every ounce of logic screaming at her, she nodded.

She let him take her hand, his fingers threading through hers as though it was the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of his touch spread up her arm, tingling beneath her skin as he guided her across the street.

Vivi barely registered the honking cars, the blur of city lights reflecting off the wet pavement. Her legs moved automatically, following him, her mind too numb to process much beyond the gentle pressure of his hand around hers.

By the time they reached the small coffee shop, she realized just how stark the contrast between them was—his tan, sun-kissed skin against her own pale, near-blue complexion. He must have noticed too, because his grip on her hand tightened slightly as he held the door open for her, waiting.

She hesitated for a moment, staring at him.

How could a man like this, this impossibly handsome, well-dressed stranger, sacrifice himself for her?

His eyes never wavered.

Shaking off her daze, she stepped inside, the warmth of the shop wrapping around her like a much-needed embrace. The scent of coffee and pastries filled the air, and the quiet hum of conversation provided a stark contrast to the storm raging in her chest.

She expected him to lead her to a table, to sit her down and order them something hot. But instead, he reached behind the counter, retrieving a duffle bag with a nod to the staff and guided her toward the back of the shop. To a single large restroom.

Vivi balked at the threshold.

The door loomed before her, a customer restroom sign glaring down at them. Her heart pounded as she turned to face him, suddenly wary.

His gaze softened, as if he could sense her unease. “I’m a regular here,” he reassured her, his voice steady, calm. “No one will question it. You need to get out of those wet clothes.”

She hesitated a moment longer, glancing at the few patrons in the shop. No one was paying them any attention.

With a sharp inhale, she nodded and slipped inside.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Her heart stuttered as she turned to see him setting the bag on the counter, his movements efficient and controlled.

Panic clawed at the edges of her mind. What was she doing? She had thought today had reached its lowest point, but perhaps trusting a complete stranger in a locked room would find her a new all-time low.

She edged toward the corner, watching him warily.

He met her gaze for a brief moment before turning to unzip the bag. His sharp eyes trailed down her body, making her stiffen, hunching in on herself. The dress clung to her like a second skin, exposing far too much.

She was about to tell him she’d be fine—really, she could just dry herself under the hand dryer, no problem—when he suddenly turned, stepping toward her.

Vivi’s breath caught, every muscle in her body locking up—

But instead of touching her, he extended his arm, a neatly folded, black sweatsuit in his hand.

She blinked at it.

At him.

Then, with shaky hands, she took it, clutching the fabric tightly to her chest. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

He gave a small nod before turning away.

Relief rushed through her, but it was short-lived.

Without hesitation, he loosened his tie, shrugging out of his drenched suit jacket before tossing it onto the floor.

Vivi’s pulse skyrocketed.

Her mouth went dry as he unbuttoned his shirt, the wet fabric clinging to his body before he peeled it away, revealing defined muscles that seemed sculpted by an artist’s careful hands. The lean strength in his torso, the way the light hit the droplets of water on his skin—it was unfair, really.

Her brain barely had time to catch up before he reached for his belt.

Vivi snapped out of it, her cheeks burning.

“Oh—God—I should, uh—” she fumbled, clutching the sweatsuit tighter to herself as she turned away, squeezing her eyes shut.

A deep chuckle rumbled behind her, low and warm. “Relax, Angel. I’m just getting out of my wet clothes too.”

Angel?

The casual endearment sent a strange, unwelcome shiver down her spine.

This man—who was he?

And why did she feel safer with him than she ever had with her own husband?