CHAPTER 3

THE NEXT MORNING

LANCELOTTE'S POV

The persistent vibration of my cellphone pulled me out of my sleep.

I groaned and slowly opened my eyes, only to squint against the bright morning sunlight streaming through the hotel window. My head felt heavy, and for several seconds, I remained still, trying to gather my scattered thoughts.

Damn it. What time was it?

I reached for my phone, but the ringing stopped before I could answer. I glanced at the screen, irritated by the missed call, then dropped my head back against the pillow.

I needed more sleep. After the kind of night I had, a few extra hours would have been a welcome luxury.

Then I noticed the woman sleeping beside me.

For a moment, I simply stared at her.

She lay peacefully beneath the sheets, her face relaxed, apparently unaware of the world waiting outside the hotel room. A few strands of hair rested against her cheek, and one of her hands was curled near her face. She looked different from the woman I had encountered at the bar the previous night—less troubled, less desperate.

Or perhaps I was simply seeing what I wanted to see.

I couldn't even remember how the night had ended in the first place. My recollection came in fragments: finding her in trouble, bringing her with me, and watching her cling to me as though she were desperately afraid of losing someone.

She had called me a name, too.

Jacob.

The name had escaped her lips with such desperation that I had briefly wondered who the hell this man was and what he had done to make a woman look so devastated. She hadn't merely mistaken me for someone else. She had held on to me as though my leaving would break whatever remained of her.

I remembered the way she had begged me not to leave her.

For reasons I couldn't explain, that part of the night had stayed with me longer than it should have.

I had seen plenty of women cry. Some cried because a man had cheated on them, others because their relationships had fallen apart, and a few because they wanted something they knew they couldn't have. Over the years, I had learned not to get involved in problems that weren't mine. People had their own reasons for making the choices they made, and I had enough of my own troubles without carrying somebody else's.

Still, there had been something different about the way this woman had looked at me.

It wasn't seduction. It wasn't the calculated sweetness I had grown accustomed to seeing from women who wanted my attention. Whatever she had been feeling, it had seemed painfully genuine.

And that made me uncomfortable.

I didn't like things I couldn't understand, especially when they involved emotions. Emotions complicated decisions, clouded judgment, and made people do foolish things they would eventually regret. I had built my life around control, and I had no intention of allowing a stranger's heartbreak to interfere with it.

I wasn't the kind of man who went looking for explanations after a one-night stand, and I certainly had no intention of making an exception for a woman whose name I hadn't even bothered to ask.

Without making a sound, I slipped out of bed and began getting dressed.

I buttoned my shirt, adjusted my watch, and checked my reflection in the mirror. The man staring back at me looked exactly as he always did—composed, well-dressed, and untouched by anything that might have happened the night before.

That was how I preferred it.

Whatever happened behind closed doors stayed there. No unnecessary questions, no emotional confessions, and certainly no promises about a future neither party had asked for.

I had never understood why people insisted on turning a single night into something more. A moment could be enjoyable without becoming meaningful. Two people could share a bed without needing to exchange their life stories afterward.

At least, that was the rule I had always followed.

Once I had finished dressing, I took several bills from my wallet and placed them on the bedside table. It was a habit I had grown accustomed to over the years, one that saved me from unnecessary conversations and unwanted expectations.

No promises. No attachments. No complications.

I glanced at the sleeping woman one last time.

For a fleeting moment, I considered waking her. Perhaps I should have asked whether she was feeling better, or at least made sure she knew where she was. But I quickly dismissed the thought. She would wake up eventually, and I had no reason to involve myself any further.

Besides, what exactly was I supposed to say?

Good morning. You mistook me for another man last night, cried in my arms, and now we're strangers again.

Ridiculous.

I turned away before I could entertain another thought and quietly left the room.

A few minutes later, I reached the hotel parking lot and spotted my luxury car waiting nearby. I climbed inside, started the engine, and drove away.

The morning traffic was already building, and the city was slowly coming alive. People hurried along the sidewalks, vendors arranged their goods, and couples crossed the street together, seemingly in no hurry to let go of each other's hands.

I found myself looking away from them.

Perhaps it was because I disliked mornings after nights like that. The sunlight made everything feel too ordinary, as though the darkness had never existed and whatever mistakes people made after midnight could simply be forgotten once the day began.

That was precisely why I preferred leaving before anyone had the chance to ask questions.

I didn't owe anyone an explanation, and I didn't want anyone believing they had a claim over me.

I had learned early enough that expectations were dangerous. The moment someone began expecting something from you, even the smallest kindness could become a promise, and a promise could become a chain. I had no desire to spend my life reassuring people that I would stay when every part of me wanted the freedom to leave.

Whatever the reason, I had become very good at walking away.

I had barely finished choosing what I needed when I decided to stop at a flower shop. I selected the flowers I had come for, then returned to my car just as my cellphone rang again.

Merlizza.

I connected the call to my Bluetooth earpiece.

Before I could even greet her, her voice exploded through the speaker.

"Where have you been? You didn't come home last night! You made us worry again!"

I sighed, already regretting answering the call.

"Relax, Iza. I'm on my way home."

"Oh, gosh, Lancelotte! Don't tell me you spent the night with another woman again. One of these days, you're going to get yourself into serious trouble!"

A faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

"Alright, alright. Don't worry about me."

"How can I not worry about you? You disappear for an entire night, and then you expect me to—"

"I'm driving, Iza. I'll call you later."

"Lancelotte—"

I ended the call before she could launch into another lecture.

I could already imagine the expression on her face, especially after that disappointed sigh she had let out before I hung up.

Merlizza had always been like that. She worried too much, asked too many questions, and somehow managed to make me feel guilty even when I hadn't done anything she could prove was wrong.

I knew she meant well. She had a way of making her concern impossible to ignore, even when I wasn't in the mood to listen. But there were times when I wished she would understand that I wasn't a child who needed to account for every hour he spent away from home.

Still, I knew she wouldn't let me off easily once I got home.

I shook my head and focused on the road.

Then, without warning, the woman's face returned to my thoughts.

I frowned.

Why was I still thinking about her?

I had met countless women over the years. Beautiful women, intelligent women, women who could hold an entire room's attention without even trying. Some had wanted my money, others my influence, and a few had convinced themselves that they could be the ones to change me.

None of them had ever occupied my thoughts for this long after a single night.

Yet here I was, remembering a stranger who had cried out another man's name while holding on to me.

Jacob.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

Whoever that man was, he had left a mark on her deep enough to follow her into a stranger's arms. I didn't know whether he had betrayed her, abandoned her, or simply broken her heart, and frankly, it wasn't my business. But I couldn't help wondering why she had looked so terrified of being left behind.

I knew that look.

Not from her, and certainly not from anything I was willing to discuss, but I knew what it meant when a person held on to something long after it had begun hurting them. Sometimes, people didn't stay because they were happy. They stayed because the thought of losing what they once had seemed worse than enduring what remained.

Perhaps that was what had happened to her.

Or perhaps I was giving a meaningless encounter far more thought than it deserved.

I scoffed at myself and reached for the volume control, filling the car with music to silence the questions gathering in my mind.

Last night was over. Whatever had happened in that hotel room was nothing more than another meaningless encounter, and by tomorrow, I would probably have forgotten all about it.

I had no reason to see her again. No reason to remember her tears, her desperate pleas, or the name she had whispered as though it were the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

She was a stranger.

I was a stranger to her, too.

That should have been enough.

I accelerated as the road ahead cleared, eager to put the hotel, the woman, and the strange discomfort she had left behind out of my mind.

At least, that was what I told myself.

But somewhere beneath my irritation, a question lingered.

If she had mistaken me for Jacob in the darkness, would she make the same mistake when she saw me again?

And why, for the first time in a long while, did the thought of seeing a woman again feel less like a possibility I wanted to avoid and more like something I wasn't entirely sure I could control?