Chapter Four: The Girl Who Vanished

Xander’s POV

The night before replayed in my head like a half-remembered song, the kind that clung to the corners of your mind long after it stopped playing.

I hadn’t even planned to go out.

David had dragged me there—some exclusive rooftop party hosted by one of his clients, someone who thought rubbing shoulders with billionaires was the same as being one. The place had been too loud, too bright, too full of people pretending to matter.

And yet, there she was.

I first noticed her laugh. Not the fake kind that floated around cocktail parties, but real — unfiltered, like she didn’t care who heard. She moved like someone discovering freedom for the first time, like the world had told her "no" a thousand times and she’d finally decided to say "yes."

I kept my distance.

I always did.

But something about her tugged at me. A pull I couldn’t ignore. She wasn’t like the women I usually met — polished, practiced, transactional. She wasn’t looking for attention. She was trying to forget something.

I understood that too well.

So I watched from the shadows. Every so often, our eyes met across the crowd. She never held the gaze long. Just enough to notice. Just enough to remember.

Then she stumbled, and I caught her elbow.

One touch. One look.

I should have walked away.

But I didn’t.

Not when she found me again by the balcony. Not when she leaned into the space beside me, her scent wrapping around my senses — strawberries and something wild. Not when she asked, voice low, lips nearly brushing mine—

“How much for a night?”

I’d gone still.

Not because I was offended, but because I didn’t expect it. Her boldness. Her edge. It was reckless. Desperate.

Honest.

And when I told her I’d call someone to take her home, she didn’t cry or beg or even get upset.

She kissed me.

And it wasn’t some drunken peck or messy lunge. It was fire and defiance, lips that knew what they wanted. It was the kind of kiss that rewired the atmosphere.

That’s when I knew.

She wasn’t leaving without me. And truth? I didn’t want her to.

So I took her home.

No names. No stories. No expectations.

Just chemistry. Just hunger.

And somewhere in the middle of silk sheets and breathless gasps, something shifted. She wasn’t just another night.

She was different.

And then—she was gone.

—

The soft rustle of the sheets was the first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes. My hand stretched across the bed instinctively, only to land on cool fabric.

Empty.

I sat up slowly, the sting of daylight bleeding through the curtains.

No perfume lingered in the air. No quiet footsteps in the kitchen. No breath beside me.

She was gone.

I ran a hand through my hair, jaw tightening. My head was clear — I hadn’t drunk much. I remembered every second.

The sound of her laugh.

The press of her mouth.

The way she moaned my name — no, not even that. She never said my name.

Because she never asked for it.

Damn.

I got out of bed, pulled on a pair of joggers, and stepped into the bathroom. Cold water blasted away the fog clinging to my thoughts, but it did nothing to soothe the slow burn in my chest.

Was she just using me? No. I knew users. I’d slept with users.

She… she hadn’t asked for a thing.

She didn’t even look at the apartment twice.

She didn’t look at me like I was some investment.

She looked at me like I was an escape.

And that, somehow, made it worse.

I stepped out, drying my hair with a towel as I returned to the bedroom. I reached for my wristwatch—then froze.

There it was.

A folded note. Beside it, a crisp hundred-dollar bill.

I stared at it for a long moment. Then I picked it up slowly.

The envelope wasn’t sealed. Just folded over. A soft script across the paper:

“Thanks for the night. Keep the lights off next time.”

No name. No number. Nothing.

A sharp laugh escaped me, humorless and hard.

Was this a joke?

Did she really leave a hundred bucks like… like I was some gigolo she hired off the street?

Rage lit beneath my skin like gasoline. I crushed the note in my fist, pacing.

That night hadn’t been meaningless.

Not to me.

Was she mocking me?

Or was this some kind of power move — walk in, blow my mind, and vanish before sunrise?

Was that all she thought I was worth?

One hundred dollars?

I wanted to find her. Not to yell. Not to chase. But because I couldn’t stand not knowing.

Who the hell was she?

And why couldn’t I forget her?

—

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and scrolled to David’s number.

He picked up on the third ring. “Yo, early call. What’s up?”

“I need a favor.”

“Uh-oh. You sound like you’ve been robbed.”

“Guest list,” I said curtly.

There was a pause. “Come again?”

“The party. Last night. That rooftop thing. I need the full guest list. Names, photos. Everything.”

“Jesus, you serious? What happened?”

“Just do it, David.”

“…Did you lose something—or someone?”

My silence was enough.

David let out a low whistle. “Damn. You’re not usually this rattled, Blake. She must’ve been—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“Alright, alright. Give me a few hours. I’ll reach out to the organizers. But this is gonna cost me a favor.”

“You’ll survive,” I said, ending the call.

I sat on the edge of the bed again, the crumpled note still in my hand.

I stared at it.

Then I smoothed it out and placed it back on the table.

A reminder.

Of the night that shouldn’t have meant anything…

And the woman I now couldn’t stop thinking about.

Who the hell was she?

And why did I want to see her again so badly?

No. I needed to see her again.

Not because of pride.

But because something about her… felt unfinished.

And I hated loose ends.

Especially when they came in silk dresses and strawberry-laced lips.