Chapter 3: The Dream

Brian

Sleep pulled me under before I realized I was slipping.

One moment there was darkness, and the next, warmth surrounded me.

The faint scent of jasmine drifted through the air, softened by a trace of vanilla that lingered with every breath I took. It wrapped around me with quiet familiarity, calming the restless ache buried somewhere deep inside my chest. I knew that scent. I should have known where it belonged, but every time I reached for the memory, it slipped through my fingers like smoke.

I couldn't see her face.

The shadows refused to move, hiding every feature no matter how hard I tried to focus, yet I wasn't afraid. Something inside me recognized her before my mind ever could.

My fingertips brushed against the curve of her cheek before sliding into the softness of her hair. The silky strands slipped between my fingers as though they had always belonged there. She leaned into the touch, her eyes never leaving mine, though I still couldn't make out the color of them.

"Brian."

My name left her lips in the gentlest whisper.

The sound settled somewhere beneath my ribs.

I cupped the side of her face, my thumb tracing slowly across her skin while my other hand rested at the small of her back, drawing her closer until only a breath separated us.

She fit against me perfectly, like she'd always belonged there.

For the first time in years… I felt at peace. Then everything shattered. My eyes flew open.

A sharp breath tore from my lungs as I stared at the ceiling above me, my heart pounding hard enough to shake my ribs.

The scent and warmth was gone and onlya vicious headache remained.

I groaned quietly and pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead as another wave of pain crashed through my skull.

"What the hell..."

Slowly, I forced myself upright.

The movement made the room tilt, forcing me to grip the edge of the mattress until the dizziness settled.

The private lounge. Why was I here?

My jacket had been folded neatly over the armchair opposite the bed. My tie rested on the coffee table beside a bottle of water, and the buttons of my dress shirt hung open, exposing my chest. One sleeve had been rolled to my elbow, as though someone had been trying to make me more comfortable.

None of it looked familiar. I closed my eyes, searching for the missing pieces.

The gala. I remembered arriving, greeting investors with endless conversations. A glass of whiskey placed into my hand.

Then… Nothing.

No matter how hard I tried, everything after that dissolved into disconnected fragments.

A woman's voice, jasmine scent and warm hands with My name spoken softly.

I rubbed both hands over my face. Why did it all feel less like a dream and more like a memory?

A gentle knock interrupted my thoughts.

The lounge door opened, and Maya stepped inside carrying a glass of water.

She stopped when she saw me sitting up.

For the briefest moment, surprise crossed her face before her usual composure settled back into place.

"You're awake."

"Yeah, with a massive headache."

Even to my own ears, my voice sounded rough.

She crossed the room and handed me the glass.

"You should drink."

The water soothed the dryness in my throat, but it did nothing for the pounding in my head.

"What happened?"

Her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the tray she was holding.

"You don't remember?"

I frowned. "Remember what?"

She searched my face for several long seconds, as though trying to decide whether I was joking.

"The last thing I remember is the gala," I said. "Someone handed me a drink. After that... nothing."

A flicker of something passed through her expression before disappearing just as quickly.

"I see."

"Why am I in the lounge?"

"You collapsed in your office."

"I collapsed?"

She nodded.

"Yes and you hit your head."

Almost unconsciously, my fingers found the tender spot near my temple.

That explained the pain but it explained nothing else.

Silence settled between us. For a moment, I was certain she was about to tell me something. Instead, she lowered her eyes.

"I think you should call a doctor."

"Maya."

She paused.

I studied her carefully.

For three years she'd been my assistant, and if there was one thing I'd learned, it was that Maya Parker wore every emotion in her eyes before she ever spoke a word.

She was hiding something.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Her gaze lifted to mine.

The hesitation lasted only a heartbeat.

"You need to see a doctor."

That wasn't what I asked.

"Maya."

"I'll ask Ethan to come check on you."

She gave me one last look, one I couldn't quite decipher, before quietly slipping out of the lounge.

The door clicked shut behind her.

I kept staring at it.

Something about that conversation didn't sit right with me.

Maya wasn't a good liar. She never had been.

The door had barely clicked shut before Ethan stepped inside.

He was still dressed for the gala, though his tie had been loosened and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled to his forearms. The easy smile he usually wore was gone, replaced by a seriousness that immediately told me something wasn't right.

"About time," he muttered, letting out a slow breath. "You had us worried."

I frowned.

"'Us?'"

He nodded toward the door Maya had just closed.

"She found you unconscious in your office. By the time I got upstairs, she'd already managed to get you in here."

I looked toward the bed, then back at him.

"I don't remember any of that."

"I figured."

"The last thing I remember is the gala."

Ethan pulled a chair closer and sat opposite me.

"Maya said the same thing. She told me you didn't seem drunk. You collapsed, hit your head, and your body temperature was through the roof."

I rubbed my temple.

"I've never blacked out from alcohol."

"Yeah, we usually don't”

Silence settled between us.

The fragments from the dream drifted back into my mind. Warm fingers against my face.

It had felt too vivid to be a dream, yet every time I reached for the memory, it dissolved before I could make sense of it.

"I think something happened," I said quietly.

Ethan held my gaze for a long moment before speaking.

"I think so too."

"What do you mean?"

He leaned back in his chair.

"I don't believe this was caused by a few glasses of whiskey.”