We Slept Together

Aria's POV

The moment he let go, my wrist still burned from the force of his grip—like it had been seared into my skin.

I stood frozen, watching his back as he walked away without a second glance.

That was it? He just… left? What the hell did that mean?

I'd braced myself for the worst—his fury, being dragged away by his bodyguards, maybe even a desperate scuffle using the bits of self-defense I'd barely managed to learn.

But he didn't do anything. Nothing. Just left his name behind: Kane Wolfe.

The name rang a bell. Familiar, like something I should remember—but couldn't.

Bang—

The back door slammed open. A flurry of hands grabbed my arms, hauling me inside like I was nothing more than a ripped trash bag.

"Aria! Are you out of your damn mind? Do you even know who that was?"

My coworker was hysterical, her voice trembling. "Kane Wolfe! The CEO of ATTA Group! Don't tell me you've never heard of ATTA!"

The harsh white light of the storeroom painted everyone's faces an unhealthy shade of gray. It buzzed overhead, flickering slightly like it too was holding its breath.

Someone silently handed me a towel. Only then did I notice the crescent-shaped welts in my palms. My ears rang as whispers drifted around me.

"Last month… a paparazzo snapped a photo of him. The next day he just—"

She didn't finish. She didn't have to. Everyone shuddered. I stared down at my trembling fingers. In their eyes, I was already a dead woman walking.

From that day on, I lived with my nerves strung tight. Every time my phone vibrated, my heart skipped a beat. Every time a black sedan passed by, my legs moved faster, almost on instinct.

That primal fear—the kind prey feels when a predator has them in its sights—took root deep in my bones.

But strangely, three days passed… and nothing happened.

By the next day, I was back to my routine, hawking liquor, bouncing from one bar to the next.

I didn't even avoid Neon Pulse, the place where everything had gone down. I kept waiting—for someone to corner me, threaten me, make me vanish.

But no one came.

It was as if that whole night had never happened. Like a bad dream I couldn't wake up from.

Until tonight.

I finally understood what it meant to be truly out of options.

Like any other night, I showed up at the back entrance of Neon Pulse, ready to pitch our products. My bag slung over one shoulder, my head buzzing with numbers and quotas.

That's when I saw Jaxon, the head waiter, standing stiffly in the hallway. His tie hung loose around his neck, sweat beading at his temple. He looked like a man who didn't want to say what he had to say.

"Hey, Jaxon," I called. "Everything okay?"

His eyes swept over me, full of conflict and exhaustion. It took him a long moment to respond.

"Aria… don't come here anymore."

I blinked. "Sorry—what?"

"I'm just following orders." He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice flat. "The boss said you're banned from selling liquor here. I tried to vouch for you, but... I nearly got fired myself."

A cold weight settled in my chest. "Do you know why?"

He looked away, then muttered under his breath, "It's ATTA."

My breath caught.

"ATTA sent letters to every licensed venue on this street." He pulled a white envelope from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. His eyes were apologetic. "Anyone who lets you in loses their license."

My knuckles whitened around the paper.

So that's how it was. They let me walk away—to corner me quietly, ruthlessly. One step at a time, choking off every exit.

But I wasn't ready to give up.

If I could still breathe, then I could still fight.

If I couldn't sell to bars, I'd find another way.

I began reaching out to supermarket buyers, e-commerce managers—anyone who might take a chance on Oak, our small, unheard-of brand. We didn't have name recognition, but we had quality. Fair prices. Passion.

I thought that would be enough.

It wasn't.

Two weeks later, the reality hit hard.

Every buyer I met with frowned, sneered, or tossed my brochure straight into the trash.

"Don't come back," they snapped.

Online retailers weren't any better.

"I'm sorry," one customer service rep said. "It's out of our hands. Company policy…"

One rejection. Then another. Then another.

My feet ached. My inbox filled with automated replies:

"Unfortunately, we are unable to proceed with your request at this time…"

Not a single bottle sold.

By tonight, my body felt like it might collapse. I locked myself inside the storeroom and sank to the floor, hugging my knees.

Tears streamed down my face, silent and uncontrollable.

Outside, I could hear coworkers murmuring through the thin door.

"Why are there so many returns again?"

"The warehouse is overflowing."

"It's all because of Aria… "

They weren't wrong. This was my fault.

And if I made the mess, then I had to clean it up.

***

The next morning, just before dawn, I left my apartment.

I stood across the street from the ATTA building, its glass facade gleaming in the early light. The tallest skyscraper in the city.

Once, I'd dreamed of walking through those doors in heels and a tailored suit, negotiating deals on my terms.

Now I was here for something else. Not power. Not pride.

I was here to beg for a chance to survive.

Drawing a deep breath, I walked into the lobby.

The receptionist smiled politely as I approached. "Good morning, miss. Do you have an appointment?"

My throat tightened. I shook my head. "No. But… he knows me. You can tell him… I'm Aria Vale."

Her smile faltered for a moment, and then she reached for a form. "Understood. Just a moment. For security purposes, may I ask—what is your relationship with Mr. Wolfe?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. My mind scrambled for answers—business contact, acquaintance, client…

But I didn't want the safe answer.

I wanted the one that left no room for retreat.

I met her gaze, forced a smile, and said evenly:

"We slept together."