With A Cold, Harsh Stranger

Chapter Four ; With A Cold, Harsh Stranger

Alina’s POV

The first thing I felt was the cold air brushing my bare skin. My eyes flew open. My heart pounded so loud it echoed in my ears.

I was lying on a bed. A strange bed. White sheets. A soft pillow under my head. And I wasn’t wearing my clothes.

“No… No, no, no,” I gasped, sitting up quickly.

The blanket slipped off, and I realized I was in nothing but my underwear and a man’s shirt—unbuttoned. My body felt sore, weak, and my head was spinning.

“This can’t be happening,” I whispered. My voice trembled. “I’m a married woman… I can’t— I didn’t—”

I held my head, trying to breathe, but I was panicking. Everything was blurry in my memory. But flashes came back.

The rain.

The umbrella.

The quiet voice.

The hotel room.

I looked around wildly, hoping it was all a dream.

That was when I saw him.

The man.

He was standing by the window, fully dressed now. One hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. He wasn’t looking at me, but I could feel the coldness in his air—like he had turned into a different person.

My heart dropped.

I stared at his back and reached for my bag.

My baton.

I always carried it for protection, even when I had no idea where I was going. I cracked it open with shaking hands and held it tightly. As if it would protect me from the truth.

Suddenly, everything came rushing back. His voice. The warmth of his car. The silence between us. How I drank the wine he offered. How he watched me as I slowly lost control.

How I undid his shirt.

How he didn’t stop me.

I covered my mouth.

Tears filled my eyes.

“What have I done?” I whispered.

That was when he turned around.

His eyes weren’t kind anymore. They were distant. Hard. Cold.

“I knew I’d seen you before,” he said flatly, his voice without emotion. “Took me a while, but now I remember.”

I blinked at him, confused. “What… what do you mean?”

“You were at a hotel months ago,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly. “Different hair. Different name, maybe. But the same eyes.”

“No!” I quickly shook my head, heart racing. “That’s not me. I swear, I’m not who you think I am—”

He didn’t let me finish.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a black card.

Then, without another word, he tossed it onto the bed.

The card landed beside me like it carried poison.

“Here,” he said. “For the night. However much you charge.”

My mouth opened, but no words came out.

“I don’t— I’m not—”

“I don’t care,” he said sharply, cutting me off. “Just take it. I’ve paid. We’re done.”

He turned and began to walk toward the door.

“Wait, please—” I stood quickly, the shirt falling off one shoulder. I didn’t even care about my body anymore. I just needed to make him understand. “I didn’t come to you for money. I didn’t even plan any of this. I was just—”

He didn’t stop.

The door slammed behind him.

And I was left alone.

Completely alone.

I stared at the black card on the bed for what felt like forever.

It was heavy. Not just in weight, but in meaning.

Shame burned through me. My chest ached. My eyes hurt from holding back tears. I had already lost everything, but now… it felt like I’d lost even myself.

I dropped the baton and sat down on the floor, holding my head in my hands.

What kind of woman had I become?

A runaway.

A stranger.

Now… this.

Yet a voice within my head said, You can stay on the floor, or you can get up.

I looked at the card again.

I did not want his money.

But I needed to live.

Just a helping hand.

I stretched out trembling hands and took it. There was no name on it—just figures.

Maybe it was enough.

Enough to start over.

Maybe I could rent a small apartment. Or a room. Maybe I could buy some clothes. Clean ones. Simple ones.

And maybe… maybe I could get a job.

Not to impress anyone.

Not to fix my past.

But to stand again.

To be someone again.

I stood up slowly and buttoned the shirt. It smelled of him. It reminded me of when I surrendered.

But I would not be defined by it.

Not anymore.

I would survive.

Even if I had to do it with nothing but pain, shame, and the card of a stranger in my hand.

Because I was Alina.

And I was not done yet.