4!Stole More Than A Night!

JULIAN

I stir awake and roll over instinctively. My hand meets only a cool sheet.

I open my eyes, blinking against the sunlight flooding the room.

The other side of the bed is empty.

I sit up, the remnant of sleep still clinging to me, and look around the quiet suite. I glance at the clock on the nightstand. Nine in the morning. I frown, running my fingers through my hair.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and plant my feet on the carpet. I stretch and take a slow lap around the suite.

Her clothes are gone.

The only trace of her is the subtle fragrance still hanging in the air. Faint. Tantalizing. A reminder of a presence that is no longer here.

I remember last night vividly. The intensity. The passion. The way she had looked at me like I was both the answer and the question. But now she is gone and the suite feels quieter than it should.

Frustration gnaws at me. I had just returned to the country yesterday and the jet lag had hit me hard. I slept more soundly than I have in weeks and in that deep sleep I didn't hear her leave.

I grab my phone from the nightstand and dial my driver. It rings twice before he answers.

"Good morning, Mr. Rhodes."

"The lady from yesterday," I say, not bothering with pleasantries. "Is her car still parked in the garage?"

"No, sir. I didn't see the car when I arrived an hour ago."

I curse under my breath and thank him before hanging up.

I pace the bedroom, my mind racing. I have no way of finding her. No name. No number. No clue about who she is or where she has gone. The realization only adds to my frustration.

I take a deep breath and force myself to calm down.

There is nothing I can do about it now except hope that somehow, one day, she shows up again.

For the time being I need to get ready for the graduation ceremony at Madrid Fashion School. I push aside the irritation and head to the bathroom to shower and shave. The hot water does little to ease the tension in my muscles.

My thoughts drift back to her. Her voice. Her touch. The way she had made me feel something I wasn't expecting to feel. But she is gone, leaving behind only a memory and a fragrance that is already beginning to fade.

I step out of the shower, dry off and dress meticulously, choosing a crisp shirt and a tailored suit from a collection I designed not long ago. As I fasten my cufflinks my phone rings. My mother.

"Morning, Mom," I greet, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder as I finish dressing.

"Julian, darling, are you alright? Hope you're not jet-lagged?"

"I'm fine. I'll get over it," I assure her.

"That's good to hear. You need to come home," she says, her voice laced with urgency.

"Home? What for?" I echo, confused. "I have an event to attend today."

"Your cousin's engagement ceremony has been called off," she replies. "The fiancée jilted him. The ceremony has been cancelled, along with everything else."

I pause. "What happened?"

"I have no idea," she sighs. "You just need to come home. Hopefully Marcus will explain everything to us."

"I'll be there soon," I say and end the call.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Marcus's fiancée has called off the engagement. I check the time. I still have enough to make it to my parents' house and then to Madrid Fashion School.

Just as I am about to step out of the bedroom my phone rings again. My creative director.

"Hello, Mr. Julian." The panic in her voice is immediate.

"What is it, Ana?" I try not to sound irritated. All these calls are delaying me.

"Have you seen the news, sir?" she asks.

"What about it?"

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but the designs of the new collection have been leaked to the public by an anonymous account named RIZZ." I can hear the hesitation in every word.

"What?!" The word comes out harder than I intend. I can almost hear her pulling the phone away from her ear.

"How did that happen? I thought the protection on those designs was airtight?"

This is not just any collection. These are collaboration designs with Louis Vuitton. A strategy to take Rhodes Fashion House to the American market. The implications of this leak are enormous.

"They were, sir," Ana says. "But the leak came from you, sir."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask. "How could the leak have come from me?"

"I didn't think you did it intentionally, sir," she says quickly. "So I asked the IT department to trace how the designs got out."

"And?"

"It appears you were hacked, sir. It happened in the middle of the night."

Everything goes still.

Middle of the night. I was asleep in the middle of the night.

But I wasn't alone.

"Damn it," I curse.

"Do you have any idea who did this, sir?" Ana asks.

I don't bother answering. I hang up.

I stand in the center of the room and stare at nothing.

I let a total stranger follow me home. I let her tears and her vulnerability and the way she looked at me disarm every instinct I had. And while I slept beside her, trusting her the way I haven't trusted anyone in a long time, she went through my phone and took everything.

I had felt something last night. Something I hadn't expected and couldn't name. And she had used every second of it.

I run my fingers through my hair and pull out my phone. I send my secretary a message withdrawing my attendance from the Madrid Fashion School graduation.

That ceremony was supposed to be the platform where I publicly announced myself as CEO of Rhodes Fashion House for the first time. Nobody outside my inner circle knows who I am. Every person with that knowledge has signed an airtight NDA.

I had planned to step out of the shadows today.

Now I need to stay in them.

I need to stay hidden long enough to find the woman who walked into my penthouse with tears on her face and walked out with my designs in her hands.

She doesn't know my name.

But I am going to find hers.

And when I do, she is going to wish she never set foot in my club.