Chapter two

I froze, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.

He shifted, rolling onto his back, his arm falling to his side. The sheet slipped lower, exposing more of his chest. Defined. Athletic. A small scar near his collarbone.

And then his eyes opened.

Grey.

Shocking, pale grey eyes that looked silver in the morning light. Cold eyes. But beautiful.

He blinked slowly, focusing on me. His expression didn't change. No surprise. No confusion. Just... nothing. Blank.

Like he woke up to find strange women in his bed every day.

Maybe he did.

"You're awake," he said. His voice was deep, rough from sleep, with an accent I couldn't place. European, maybe? British? "I was wondering when you'd come around."

I couldn't speak. My throat had closed completely. I just stared at him, clutching the sheet tighter against my chest.

He propped himself up on one elbow, studying me with those unsettling grey eyes. His gaze traveled over me slowly, deliberately, taking in my disheveled hair, my smeared makeup that I could feel caked around my eyes, my white-knuckled grip on the sheet.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Not kind. Amused, maybe. Or mocking.

"Rough morning?" he asked.

The casualness of it, the sheer audacity, snapped something inside me.

"Who are you?" The words came out strangled, barely audible.

He raised an eyebrow. "Interesting question, considering the circumstances."

"Who are you?" I repeated, louder this time, my voice shaking. "What, what did you…?"

I couldn't finish. Couldn't say the words out loud because saying them would make it real.

He sat up fully now, the sheet pooling around his waist. His chest was bare, lean and muscular. He didn't seem at all bothered by his partial nudity. Or mine.

"Doesn’t matter," he said simply.

His response was annoying, but I couldn’t be bothered right now. "What happened? What did you do to me?"

His expression cooled, the amusement draining away. "What did I do?" He repeated the words slowly, like he was tasting them. "That's an interesting way to frame it."

"I can't, I can't remember…" My voice cracked. "I can't remember anything. The party, I was at a party, and then, nothing. Just nothing. And now I'm here and I'm…" I looked down at myself, at the sheet barely covering me, and felt tears burning behind my eyes. "I'm naked and I hurt and I don't…"

"You're being dramatic," he said, his tone flat. Bored, even.

The words hit me like a slap.

"Dramatic?" I stared at him, shock momentarily overriding the panic. "I wake up in a strange room with a man I don't know, I can't remember how I got here, and you think I'm being dramatic?"

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing in one fluid motion. He was wearing boxer briefs, black, expensive-looking, and nothing else. He moved to the chair where his clothes were draped, pulling on slacks like we were having the most normal conversation in the world.

"Look," he said, not turning to face me as he fastened his belt, "I understand you probably don't remember much. You were pretty out of it by the time you got here. But let's not pretend you didn't know exactly what this was."

"What, what what was?" I could barely form words. My brain felt stuffed with cotton.

He turned then, those grey eyes locking onto mine. "The arrangement. The transaction." He reached for his wallet on the nightstand, pulled it open. "I paid for your services through the hotel. Quite generously, actually. So this whole confused innocent act? It's unnecessary."

My services.

The hotel.

Paid.

The words landed one by one, each one heavier than the last, until their meaning finally crashed through my muddled brain.

He thought I was…

"A prostitute," I whispered. The word tasted like poison in my mouth. "You think I'm a prostitute."

He shrugged, pulling on a crisp white shirt. "Escort is the preferred term, I believe. But yes."

The room tilted. I gripped the sheet so hard my nails dug into my palms.

"I'm not…" My voice failed. I tried again. "I'm not an escort. I'm a corporate worker I'm.."

The panic was rising now, a tidal wave threatening to drown me. My breathing came in short, sharp gasps that didn't bring enough air.

"I was at a bachelorette party," I said, words tumbling out faster now. "My party. We went to a club. I had some drinks and, and then I don't remember. I don't remember anything. I don't remember coming here. I don't remember…"

I looked at the bed. At the rumpled sheets. At the evidence of what had happened there.

"Oh God."

My stomach heaved. I pressed my fist against my mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.

Darian's expression shifted slightly. The boredom cracked, just a fraction. Uncertainty flickered across his face. "You're saying you're not..."

"NO!" The word exploded out of me, raw and ragged. "No, I'm not, I would never…I'm engaged!"

I thrust my left hand out from under the sheet, showing him the ring. The modest diamond that Michael had saved for six months to buy. The ring I'd said yes to three months ago, crying happy tears in his arms.

The ring that now felt like it was burning my finger.

Darian stared at my hand.

"The hotel told me…" he started.

"I don't care what they told you!" I was screaming now, my voice breaking into pieces. "I didn't…I wouldn't, you…"

The word stuck in my throat. The terrible, awful word dropped like a bomb.

Rape.

"You raped me," I whispered.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Darian's face went white, then flushed dark. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"I did nothing of the sort," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You came to this room willingly. You kissed me. You took off your own clothes. You…" He stopped abruptly, his jaw working. "We both enjoyed it. Multiple times, actually. So don't you dare accuse me of…"

"I DON'T REMEMBER!" I screamed. "Don't you understand? I don't remember ANY of it! I can't…there's nothing there! Just black! Just…"

My vision blurred. Everything in the room seemed to tilt and spin. The walls were closing in, the air too thick, too hot.

"My wedding," I gasped out. "My wedding is Today by three. Three, Marcus…oh God, Marcus"

I couldn't breathe. I literally could not draw breath. My chest was too tight, my throat closed, my lungs burning.

Marcus.

How could I face him? How could I tell him? How could I ever…?

"I need…" I looked around frantically. "My clothes. I need my clothes. I need to get out. I need…"

I stumbled out of bed, still clutching the sheet around me, my legs shaking so badly I almost fell. My dress. Where was my dress?

There. On the floor.

I dropped the sheet…modesty didn't matter anymore, nothing mattered, and grabbed the dress with trembling hands. The fabric was wrinkled, smelled like alcohol and perfume and sweat.

I pulled it on, not caring that the strap was torn, that the zipper wouldn't close all the way. My bra. I needed my bra. I snatched it from the chair, fumbling with the clasps, my fingers refusing to cooperate.

"Wait…" Darian said behind me. He sounded different now. Maybe concerned. "Just wait a minute…"

"Don't touch me!" I whirled on him, my voice shrill. "Don't you dare touch me!"

He stepped back, hands raised. For the first time, he looked truly shaken. The cold composure had cracked completely.

"If you're telling the truth…" he started.

"If?" I laughed, a broken, hysterical sound. "IF? You think I would make this up? You think I would pretend to…to…"

I couldn't finish. Tears were streaming down my face now, hot and endless. My whole body shook with sobs I couldn't control.

I spotted my underwear on the floor and grabbed them, pulling them on under my dress. One shoe. Where was the other shoe?

"Forget it," I muttered, giving up. "Forget it, forget it, forget it…"

I ran my hands through my hair, tangled, matted with what might have been hairspray, I didn't want to think about. My scalp hurt. My head throbbed. Everything hurt.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror above the dresser and almost didn't recognize the woman staring back.

Smeared mascara creating dark hollows under my eyes. Lipstick smudged across my chin. Hair looking like I'd been dragged backward through a hedge. My dress hanging half-open, wrinkled and stained.

I looked exactly like what he'd thought I was.

A sob tore from my throat.

I lurched toward the door, my one remaining heel making me walk lopsided. My hand closed around the door handle.

"Wait…" Darian said again. He was closer now, had moved across the room without me noticing. "Let me, we should talk about this. If there was some kind of mistake…"

"Mistake?" I looked at him over my shoulder. His grey eyes were wide now, confused and maybe even guilty. Good. "You think this is a mistake?"

I yanked the door open.

And froze.