Until Next Time, Angel

The stranger turned his back to her, giving her space. “Go ahead and change,” he said, his voice light, amused.

Vivi stood frozen, clutching the dry clothes against her chest, watching him as if he were a wolf that might suddenly turn on her. Her cheeks burned as she took in the sight of him—broad shoulders, sculpted back, the way his muscles shifted beneath his tanned skin. When his pants slid down, leaving him in nothing but dark briefs, she nearly forgot how to breathe.

He was beyond mere attractiveness—an irresistible, almost otherworldly allure, the kind of beauty the devil himself might wield to tempt souls into ruin.

Vivi jolted back to reality, shaking herself free from whatever spell his presence had cast on her. She hurriedly pulled the hooded sweatshirt over her head, the soft, dry fabric swallowing her petite frame. It hung low enough that she didn’t hesitate to push her arms out of the soaked sundress, peeling it from her damp skin.

She hesitated, glancing at him again.

He had pulled on his own sweatpants, his back still turned.

Exhaling shakily, she realized her bra was just as drenched as the dress—cold, uncomfortable, sticking to her like a second skin. She let out a breath, reached behind herself, and unhooked it, tugging it free before slipping it into the hoodie’s front pocket.

As she removed her panties, something caught her eye.

A sharp, piercing ache twisted through her chest as she looked down and saw it. A bloody stain, remnants of lubricant mixed with Wes’s bodily fluids.

The dam inside her cracked.

A choked sob ripped from her throat before she could stop it.

Her knees buckled, and she crumbled to the floor, curling inward as grief consumed her. Hot, silent tears turned into shuddering wails, years of unrequited love and shattered illusions spilling out onto the cold, tiled floor.

Somewhere in the background, the man’s voice broke through. “I’m turning around,” he warned, but she barely registered the words.

Then, suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her against the warmth of his bare chest.

She should have pulled away. Should have fought against the embrace of a stranger. But she didn’t.

She pressed her face into him, sobbing freely, her fingers clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping her from drowning. He didn’t shush her, didn’t try to force words from her. He simply held her, his hands steady and warm against her trembling back.

Then, a question, murmured into the air above her head, his voice tight with tension.

“Who broke your wing, Angel?”

She didn’t answer.

And he didn’t press.

Instead, he let her cry.

Countless heartbeats passed in silence except for the sound of her ragged breathing. Eventually, as the pain dulled into something numb and distant, she became aware of something else—the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, slow and solid, grounding her.

The moment stretched too long.

Vivi’s mind caught up with reality, and a wave of embarrassment crashed over her.

She was kneeling on the floor of a public restroom, wrapped in the arms of a half-naked stranger.

She scrambled backward, pushing against his chest, forcing distance between them. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, mortified. “And thank you. Again.”

The man didn’t let go immediately. His hands lingered at her arms, his dark brows furrowed, concern still etched into the sharp lines of his face.

Then, after a beat, he released her, crossing the room once more to dress himself. He didn’t say anything, but the weight of his gaze followed her as she wiped her face, trying to gather what little composure she had left.

She looked down at the panties in her hand. She couldn’t keep it, not after that. Turning, she dropped it into the trash can nearby before quickly stepping into the pants. They were far too big, pooling around her feet, but she yanked the drawstring tight and rolled the waistband over several times until they fit better.

Her shoes were still wet, but she had no choice but to put them back on.

At last, she turned toward the sink, washing her hands, trying to ignore the way the flawless stranger still watched her. His expression was unreadable, his presence both steadying and unnerving.

She swallowed hard and reached for her purse, pulling out her wallet. “I should at least—”

He raised a hand, stopping her. “No.”

She hesitated, gripping the wallet tighter. “Then…I could wash and—thank you.”

“What’s your name?” He asked, his lips twitching as she remained silent. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying her with unnerving focus. “Do you work near here?”

Vivi stiffened.

She hesitated too long, and his gaze sharpened.

“I—yes,” she lied. “Just across the street,” she added, recalling the imposing building she had passed.

One of his eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really?”

She doubled down, nodding quickly. “Yes.”

Something flickered behind his eyes, something unreadable, but he didn’t challenge her.

Instead, he stepped back, opening the door. She hurried out before she could embarrass herself any further.

She needed to leave.

“Thank you,” she said, one final time, before making a break for the exit.

But he was right behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder, her heartbeat spiking. Was he following her? Was she about to regret everything?

Then he stepped ahead of her, raising a hand to the street.

A taxi rolled up almost instantly.

Vivi blinked, her thoughts scrambling to catch up as he opened the door for her.

“Go home,” he said, voice softer now.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before climbing into the cab, her pulse still erratic. 

His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unreadable. 

“Until next time, Angel.”

The stranger shut the door behind her and Vivienne stole one last glance at the monument to masculine beauty, standing on the curb. Then, just before she disappeared into the bustling landscape, his lips curved into something almost amused and the taxi pulled away.