Chapter 1: The Wrong Room

The sound of my heart shattering was louder than the rain violently pelting the windshield.

I sat in my parked car outside his building, staring at my phone. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold it. The anonymous video played on a loop. Julian. My perfect, wealthy fiancé. The man I was supposed to marry in three months.

He was in bed with someone else. His blonde secretary, Vanessa.

Oh my God. Is this really happening? Please, let this be a nightmare. I thought, my stomach lurching violently. I pinched my arm hard enough to bruise, praying I would wake up in my own bed.

But I didn't wake up. The video kept playing. The sounds of their moans filled the quiet car, mocking me.

I didn't bother knocking when I got to his penthouse. I used my key, my heels clicking furiously against the marble floor of the foyer. The place smelled like expensive vanilla candles and her cheap perfume.

The bedroom door was cracked open. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed down the hallway.

"Ah, fuck, Julian... yes, I love this... you're so big," Vanessa moaned.

I froze. My hand flew to my mouth, pressing hard to keep the bile down. The words hit me like physical punches to the gut.

Are you for real right now? My mind spiraled out of control. Has he always been like this? Every time he kissed me, every time he promised me forever... Was it all a lie?

Tears burned the back of my eyes, blurring my vision. I pushed the heavy door open.

Julian was tangled in the sheets with Vanessa. They froze, their eyes wide with shock. Vanessa screamed, yanking the sheet up to her neck.

"Seraphina!" Julian yelled, scrambling off the bed. "Wait, I can explain!"

Explain what? How do you explain this? How do you explain destroying five years of my life in one second?

I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I was consumed by a blind, white-hot rage. I stormed toward the bed, my hand raised.

"You fucking asshole!" I screamed, bringing my palm down across his face with a sickening crack.

Julian stumbled back, holding his cheek. Before I could hit him again, Vanessa jumped off the bed. She grabbed my wrist, her grip tight and painful.

"Don't you touch him," she spat, shoving me back so hard I hit the doorframe.

I yanked my wrist away. I didn't say another word. I turned and ran.

I ran out of the penthouse, back into the freezing rain, my chest heaving. I drove blindly through the city, tears blurring my vision. I didn't want to go home. I couldn't face my empty apartment.

I drove until I saw the bright, glowing lights of The Opal hotel. I didn't care that I looked like a drowned rat in my wet silk dress. I walked straight into the hotel bar.

"Tequila," I croaked at the bartender. "The whole bottle."

He raised an eyebrow but slid the bottle and a glass toward me. I poured a shot and downed it, the burn doing nothing to erase the image of Julian in that bed.

I drank. I cried. I drank some more. The alcohol was the only thing silencing the screaming in my head.

My phone buzzed on the counter. I looked at the screen. Mom.

I answered it, already knowing what was coming.

"Seraphina!" my mother screeched, her voice piercing through the speaker. "Where are you? Julian called me! He said you attacked him and his secretary! Do you know what you've done?"

A bitter, ugly laugh escaped my lips. "He was cheating on me, Mom."

"Who cares!" she yelled. "You are just an ungrateful child. You have no money, no job. You should be happy a man like him wants to marry you! Your father's debts will ruin us if this engagement is broken! You need to go back and apologize right now!"

I hung up the phone. I couldn't take it anymore. My family only cared about his money.

Sometime after midnight, the bartender gently told me I had to leave. He felt sorry for me and called the front desk, handing me a key card. "Room 1806. Go sleep it off, miss."

I stumbled into the elevator. The walls were spinning. I made it to the 18th floor and walked down the dim, luxurious hallway.

I stopped in front of the door marked 1808. My vision blurred. I tried to slide the key in, but the little light flashed red. I jiggled the handle, and to my surprise, the heavy door clicked open.

I stumbled inside. The room was pitch black, but it smelled incredible. Sandalwood and cedar. I peeled off my wet dress, not caring where it landed, and collapsed onto the massive bed. I was wearing nothing but my lace panties.

I closed my eyes, wanting to die. The darkness swallowed me whole, and I prayed for sleep to take away the pain.

After a while, something cold and wet hit my face.

I frowned, peeling my heavy eyelids open. Is it raining inside?

A man loomed over me, dripping water onto the bed. His dark hair was wet, plastered to his forehead. His chest was bare and gloriously sculpted, glistening under the faint moonlight. A white towel hung dangerously low on his hips.

I blinked, my drunk brain struggling to process the sight of a hot, furious stranger in my hotel room.

"Am I... having a wet dream?" I mumbled.