Walk of shame

Kyren

I roused from my sleep, yawning a little to get rid of the sleep in my eyes. The first thing I registered was the unfamiliar cheap cotton sheets against my skin.

The second was the dull ache radiating from my lower back. The third was the steady breathing beside me.

I turned my head carefully, dreading what I'd find. Alastair lay on his side, facing me, his features relaxed in sleep. Even unconscious, he was devastatingly beautiful with his sharp cheekbones, dark hair mussed against white pillowcases. His bare chest rose and fell with each breath, and I could see the faint red marks my fingers had left on his shoulders.

The memory of last night crashed over me like a tsunami. The club. The drinks. The way he'd looked at me from behind the bar, those green eyes seeming to strip away every defense I'd built. The way he took care of me, my hands tangled in his hair, his mouth on my neck. Everything that followed, the complete surrender of control I'd never allowed myself before.

Shame burned through my chest like acid. I was engaged. I was supposed to marry Anna in a matter of weeks. I was the fucking mafia heir and I'd just fucked a bartender like some common whore. Worse, I'd enjoyed it. I'd begged for it.

Moving with the stealth my father had drilled into me since childhood, I slipped from the bed. 

My clothes lay scattered across the hardwood floor, my suit jacket draped over a reading chair, my shirt and pants in a trail leading to the bedroom. They felt foreign as I pulled them on, as if  I was putting on a costume that no longer fit properly.

The zipper of my pants caught, and I cursed under my breath. The sound was barely audible, but it was enough to wake him up.

"Kyren?" Alastair's voice was rough with sleep, and I hated that it stirred up some things inside me.

I froze, my back still turned to him. "I'm leaving."

"Stay." He sighed out, "We could grab breakfast. There's this place around the corner that makes incredible—"

"No." I turned to face him, trying to summon the cold authority that had served me well in business. It was harder than it should have been, because even rumpled and half-awake, Alastair was magnetic. "This was a mistake."

He sat up slowly, the sheet pooling around his waist. "Was it? Because last night felt like—"

"Last night was nothing." The lie tasted bitter. "I was drunk and you were just convenient. "

Something flickered across his features but he recovered quickly, that bartender's mask sliding back into place. "I see."

I should have left then. Should have walked out without another word. Instead, I found myself cataloging details I had no business remembering: the way his torso was bare, the small scar above his left eyebrow, the apartment number embossed on the door…3B. The building's red brick facade, the oak tree outside his window, the way his street curved toward the main avenue.

"My wallet," I said, suddenly realizing. "My phone."

"Left them at the club, probably." His voice was carefully neutral now. "They have a lost and found, so you should probably check there."

Panic flared in my chest. My phone contained information that could destroy my family. Client lists, encrypted messages, photographs that should never see daylight. "I need to—"

"I'll call them when they open. Have Leo pick everything up."

The casual use of my bodyguard's name stopped me cold. "How do you know—"

"You talked about him last night. Among other things." His mouth curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "You're more talkative when you're drunk."

The implication sent ice through my veins. "What did I tell you?"

"Nothing specific." He shrugged, but I caught the calculating look in his eyes. "Just that you have responsibilities. Family obligations."

I wanted to grab him, to demand he tell me exactly what I'd revealed. Instead, I forced myself to step back. "I need to go."

"Can I see you again?"

The question hung in the air between us like a loaded gun. I should have said no immediately. Should have made it clear that last night was an aberration, never to be repeated. 

Instead, I found myself drowning in those green eyes, remembering the way his hands had mapped every inch of my skin with reverent attention. No one had ever touched me like that, as if I were something precious rather than dangerous.

"No," I said finally, the word scraping my throat raw.

I turned and walked toward the door, each step feeling like I was leaving pieces of myself behind. The apartment number burned in my memory: 3B. The building address: 1247 Maple Street. The oak tree.

The payphone on the corner took my quarters with mechanical indifference. Leo answered on the second ring, 

"Boss? Where the hell are you?"

"I need a ride." I gave him the intersection, watching early morning joggers pass by with their simple, uncomplicated lives. "And Leo? We didn't go home last night."

"Understood." He knew better than to ask questions. "Twenty minutes."

The black sedan arrived exactly on schedule, Marco in the passenger seat while Leo drove. Neither man commented on my appearance, though I caught Marco's subtle assessment in the rearview mirror. My shirt was wrinkled, my hair disheveled, and I probably smelled like sex.

"Your father's been calling," Leo said as we pulled away from the curb. "Every hour since midnight."

My stomach dropped. "What did you tell him?"

"That you were celebrating your engagement. That you'd be home this morning." Leo's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "He's not happy, boss. Neither is Anna's family."

The drive to the estate felt endless. I watched the city blur past, trying to prepare myself for what awaited. My father's disappointment was a living thing, capable of crushing everything in its path. The fact that I'd disappeared on the night of my engagement would be seen as disrespect of the highest order.

We pulled through the iron gates, and I saw his silhouette in the study window. Even from a distance, his posture radiated fury. Marco and Leo exchanged glances as I climbed out of the car.

"Good luck, boss," Leo murmured.

I walked through the front doors and straight to my father's study. He didn't look up from his desk when I entered, didn't acknowledge my presence in any way. The silence stretched between us like a blade.

"You reek of booze," he said finally, his voice deadly quiet.

My blood turned to ice. "Father, I—"

"You're going to be married in two weeks." His eyes lifted to meet mine, and I saw the cold calculation there. "Anna's family is already asking questions about your behavior. They're wondering if their precious daughter is marrying a man who can't control his appetites."

“Father, let ne explain…”

The slap came without warning, my father's ring catching my cheekbone. Stars exploded across my vision.

"You will have dinner with them tonight," he continued as if nothing had happened. "You will be the perfect son-in-law. You will convince them that you're worthy of their daughter and this alliance."

I touched my cheek, feeling the warm wetness of blood. "Yes, sir."

"The wedding has been moved up. One week from today." He scoffed, "I want you bound to that girl before you can do any more damage to our reputation."

The words hit me like a physical blow. One week. Seven days before I'd be trapped in a marriage I didn't want, tied to a woman I couldn't love. Seven days before—

"Oh, and Kyren?" My father's voice stopped me at the door. "I won't accept a repeat of last night.”