The Morning After the Storm

"Ahh, ouch..." Annabelle moaned in pain the moment her lashes fluttered open. A dull ache radiated through her entire body, as if she had been thrown into a tornado and spit back out. Her limbs felt heavy, sore, and bruised—especially between her thighs.

Her vision cleared slowly as she opened her mesmerizing sea-green eyes wider and stared at the elegant, elaborately carved ceiling above her. Gilded detailing and an ornate chandelier screamed luxury—a sharp contrast to her tiny, humble room back home with water stains painting its ceiling like scars of poverty.

Where am I? Her brows furrowed.

A sense of unease crept over her. She pushed herself up slightly on the soft mattress, eyes scanning her surroundings. Plush velvet drapes, sleek wooden furnishings, and a spacious layout with gold-accented décor—this was not just any room.

Definitely not home...

Confused, she swung her gaze toward a glass table beside the bed, where a card caught her eye. She reached out and snatched it with trembling fingers. The bold, embossed letters read: Shelton Grand - Presidential Suite.

"Shelton Grand?" she murmured, stunned.

Memories from the previous night came crashing in like shattered glass—the graduation party of Abigail Hamilton, her half-sister, she was enjoying with Brian, her boyfriend... the music... the laughter... drinks... lights... but beyond that? Nothing. Just a void.

How the hell did I end up here? Her breath hitched.

Fearless and bold Annabelle—who was rarely scared of anything—felt a tremor of fear settle in her bones. Her heartbeat quickened. She sat up swiftly, and as she did, the quilt slipped down from her torso, revealing her bare skin.

What?!

Annabelle was shocked to the core to discover she was completely naked.

Her bare skin tingled against the cool air, and her breath caught in her throat. No clothes, no memories. Only confusion. She moved to sit up, and a sharp, stabbing pain shot through her core. Her eyes dropped to the white sheets, now stained with a deep crimson spot.

No...

The room spun. Her hand clutched the sheet as if it could anchor her from falling into the abyss of realization.

I lost my virginity last night...

To someone... unknown.

Guilt struck her hard, and her eyes welled with tears.

She swallowed a lump in her throat and tried to calm herself. Focus. Focus.

Annabelle scanned the room again, heaving a sigh of relief when she found herself alone. But then—

The sound of water came from behind the closed bathroom door.

Her breath caught. Her bed partner from last night... was in the shower.

Who is he? How did this happen?

So many questions buzzed in Annabelle's head, but not a single answer came to her. One thing was clear—whatever happened last night, she couldn't allow herself to be dragged into more trouble.

She needed to leave. Now.

She spotted her red silk dress from lying on the floor, along with her simple undergarments. Her thoughts turned to Brian—her childhood sweetheart,  last month he proposed her and both decided to get married soon. Kind, loving Brian who had carefully selected the red silk dress she'd worn to the party. The same dress now lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, a silent witness to her shattered innocence.

Tears welled up in her eyes. "I... I cheated on him," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She swallowed hard, trying to regain control. No more tears. No more weakness. She couldn't afford to be caught here—not like this. Whoever she had spent the night with, she had to get away before he showed up.

She reached for her dress, trembling fingers fumbling with the zipper as she quickly pulled it over her curves. She retrieved her undergarments and heels with desperate haste, all the while glancing nervously toward the closed bathroom door where the sound of a running shower abruptly stopped.

'Oh no...'

The sudden silence pierced through her like a blade.

Her hand froze mid-zip.

"I'm sorry, Brian..." she whispered tearfully as the last of the dress hugged her body. Her knees nearly buckled from the weight of guilt.

A soft noise snapped her back to the present. The water had stopped.

Annabelle wiped her tears and focused. This wasn't the time to drown in guilt. She had to leave before facing whoever was inside that bathroom.

She moved quickly, sliding her slender white legs into her heels, grabbing her white clutch from the center table, and heading for the door.

But just as her hand turned the knob—

"Hey, wait..."

A deep masculine voice echoed behind her, one laced with dominance and command.

She froze.

Her back still facing him, Annabelle's heartbeat thudded in her ears as she heard slow, heavy footsteps approaching her.

"Turn..."

Another commanding order made her fist on the door tighten.

Her body stiffened, but with a pounding heart, she slowly turned around. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a tall, muscular figure. Bulging biceps with a tattoo, eight-pack abs, and a pristine white towel wrapped around his lower half. One hand rested casually on his waistline. His aura radiated power and control.

She wanted to raise her head, to see his face, but her courage faltered. Her eyelashes remained lowered, and her chin felt glued to her neck.

The man couldn't see her face either—it was partly hidden by her long brown hair.

"Come here..."

She hadn't even fully turned when the third order struck her ears. Her legs felt paralyzed.

He wanted her to come to him. After what happened last night... what more did he want?

Fear, confusion, and shame swirled inside her—but then, from that storm, courage bloomed. That fearless Annabelle—the one known for her boldness—rose again.

No. Whatever happened last night cannot be undone. But I won't get involved with this man. He sounds rude. Controlling.

She didn't need to see his face to feel his terrifying aura.

Without hesitation, Annabelle spun around, yanked the doorknob, flung open the door, and ran out of the suite as fast as her legs could carry her. She didn't look back. Didn't want to.

She was sure the man—wealthy enough to live in a presidential suite—wouldn't chase after a girl he'd already spent a night with, especially not while wearing nothing but a towel.

What Annabelle didn't know was that the man wasn't just a CEO.

He was the owner of Hotel Shelton Grand.

And more than capable of tracking her down in seconds.

Inside the suite, the man's frown deepened when Annabelle not only disobeyed him but also dared to flee without so much as looking him in the eye. No one had ever defied him like this.

But soon, his frown melted into a dark, crooked smirk. His sculpted lips curled as he picked up his phone.

Meanwhile, Annabelle felt his piercing gaze following her even as she ran. She didn't wait for the elevator—just dashed straight for the stairs.

Anxious and breathless, she didn't realize she was running in the wrong direction. Instead of heading toward the exit, she found herself trapped in a maze of endless hallways.

Still, after a frantic struggle, she managed to find a door. It turned out to be a back exit.

Back door or front door—who cares?

She bolted out onto the road, hailed the first cab she saw, and finally breathed in relief once the hotel began fading from view.

Covering her face with trembling hands, she cried uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry, Brian. I cheated on you... Even if unknowingly, I still did. I'm not pure anymore. I'm sorry, Brian... I'm sorry..."

Guilt drowned her heart. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she continued sobbing throughout the ride home, her heart heavy with remorse.

Back at Hotel Shelton Grand

"Boss, that girl ran out the back door," a subordinate reported breathlessly, stepping into the luxurious suite. His boots clicked against the marble floor as he halted near the threshold, not daring to come any closer.

Inside, the room exuded quiet opulence—velvet drapes, golden accents, and the faint scent of imported cologne lingering in the air. The man standing by the floor-length mirror didn't turn. He was calmly adjusting the cufflinks of his tailored black suit, each movement precise, calculated. The diamonds on his cufflinks sparkled ominously under the crystal chandelier.

The news didn't faze him. Not even a flicker of emotion crossed his face.

"Find her."

His voice was low and detached—ice-cold, with an undertone of quiet menace. A voice that didn't need to shout to be obeyed. That simple command sent a chill through the subordinate's spine.

"Yes, my lord."

The man bowed deeply, his tone filled with respect—and fear. He knew the consequences of failure. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left swiftly, already barking orders into his earpiece.

The commanding figure in the room remained still, his gaze now fixed on his own reflection. His face, all sharp angles and carved perfection, was unreadable. But his eyes—those dark, magnetic eyes—held a flicker of something dangerous.

Amusement.

His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.

"You can't escape from me, little bird," he murmured under his breath, voice like silk wrapping around a blade. "You can try to run... but you'll always be mine."

Then he slid on his black gloves, slow and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world

His smile was wicked. The hunt had begun.