Chapter 3:The man

Stephen. That was his name. The name of the man Rosy had spent the night with.  The man who took her upstairs, made her feel like  the world was spinning and  not  in a beautiful  way. The man she now shared silence with in a room too quiet for comfort.  He tried to wrap his arms around  her the moment they reached the suite, pulling  her close like what happened  between them gave him permission. Like her body was still his even after the damage he had done. “No”,She whispered, twisting away from him. Her voice  was soft but sharp like the tip of the knife that only needed pressure to cut. “Leave me alone”.

He froze. His hands hovered in the air for a moment before  he slowly dropped them. No one had ever told  him to get out, not with that face, not with that money.  Not with his presence, so polished and expensive it felt like he didn't walk.But  Rosy didn't  care  about that.  She didn't  care about his face or the amount of  money he had. All she could think about was the  night. The scent of unfamiliar cologne. The weight of his body. The loss of control.

Her skin still felt invaded.

“I  won't”, he murmured, his voice brushing against her ear like he was trying to convince her he meant  well. “I  can't “.  She didn't answer. She  couldn't . Her throat tightened as she stared at the velvet  wallpaper, the marble floors,the chandelier that hung like a secret she wasn't supposed to see.

Everything  about  the  room was unfamiliar. But the ache between her ribs? That was something she knew. When Rosy woke up again, she was still in the same place, the same expensive room with it's  cold beauty. But something  was different. Her clothes. She sat up fast, her breath catching in her chest. She was wearing a black  floral dress this time around. Soft and elegant, not like the faded blue gown she was putting on earlier.  Her hand trembled  as she ran her hand across the fabric. “I had the maid change for you”, Stephen said from a  chair near the window, his tone  calm. Too calm.

She looked  at him.

He looked like he didn't belong in the same world as her. Hair  slicked back, shirt crisp, the kind of  man who knew how to move through high society  without ever trìpping. The kind of man who  could afford to  rent an entire presidential suite and still be bored.

And here she was.

Rosy. The girl who hadn't  even had enough money to paint her nails, talkless of a proper  meal. She dropped  her gaze to her lap, her stomach turning. When she looked up again, she saw an older woman standing beside Stephen . A woman with kind eyes and a strained expression.  “This is Mrs Angela”, Stephen said .” My housekeeper.  She goes everywhere with me”. Rose blinked. Housekeeper? Who the hell travels with a housekeeper?. The woman stepped  forward slightly and  gave a small smile, but Rosy didn't  return  it. Her mind was filled  with a lot of pending thoughts.  Stephen  reached out again, like he was going to touch her, or kiss her. She didn't  wait to find out. She just pushed him away fast. Mrs Angela cleared her throat. “ Miss Rosy”, She said  gently, “You are going to injure your  saviour”.    “Saviour?”Rosy stared at her in shock. Her fists clenched  at her sides. “He.. he slept with me last  night without  my consent. And now you are calling him a saviour?” . Stephen  stood abruptly. “That is not what happened.”

“No?” She snapped. “Because it sure feels like what happened”.  He ran a hand through his hair, frustration building through his calm exterior. “ I  saved your  Job”, he said flatly. “You were about to  get fired . Don't  you think that counts for something?”. Rosy's  lips parted. She had no idea what he meant until Mrs. Angela stepped in.

“According to what I've  learned”, she said slowly, “You were supposed  to be  sent to the Manager's  room. Instead, you ended up in my master's suite by mistake”. Rosy blinked. She thought  of the manager. The way his eyes were drawn to her when she bent to serve customers. The way his voice changed whenever  he asked her to stay behind.  She knew he was up to something . But this?

This was beyond what she imagined.

Mrs Angela continued. “And.. My master was drugged last night . Someone  slipped something into his  drink. We are not sure who yet.  He wasn't  in his right mind, Miss Rosy”.

Rosy felt cold within her body. “Now he's  sorry”, the woman added. “And he wants to do the right thing”. Rosy didn't  respond. She couldn't. Stephen  stepped  forward. “I  want to marry you, Rosy. Legally and I  will take care of you”. Her eyes widened in shock. Her voice broke when she finally  spoke. “You  must be joking. I  should  marry a man I've  never met in my life?”

“I'm Stephen Johnson”, he said. “Owner of Beacon oil. I'm  a politician  and –---”

“I don't  care who you are,” She retorted. “You  think telling  me how rich  you are will fix this?”   He hesitated. “I'm not trying  to fix it with money”.Rosy stared at him for a long time, her heart  beating faster than  she could  manage. Then she stood and walked towards  the edge of the  bed, picked up her bag and just  as she was about to leave, the world titled.Her knees buckled, and she collapsed on the floor. Stephen rushed forward, catching her just before she hit the ground. 

“You are weak”, he said, his arms around  her. “You haven't  eaten”. She wanted to push him away, but she couldn't  find the strength. Her body betrayed her again, this time with exhaustion. “Breakfast?” He said  quietly. She hesitated . The real truth was that she was starving. She hadn't  eaten since the day before yesterday. Her hands shook, her body cried  for something  solid. 

“Yes,”She whispered. Stephen didn't  say a word, he just nodded like  he was expecting  it. He helped her to her feet carefully,his hands on her arms like  he was afraid she  might shatter. Maybe she would. Mrs Angela  led them to the dining  room inside the suite, a room that looked more like something out of a royal palace than a hotel. The table was long, covered in polished glass, and already set with silverware so elegant that Rosy was scared to touch anything. 

She sat down at the very end, as far away from him as possible.

 

Stephen didn’t argue.

 

A few silent minutes passed. The air between them was heavy. Rosy glanced around the table and whispered, “Who eats like this in a hotel?”

 

“I do,” he said.

 

Of course he does.

 

Angela returned moments later with a silver tray and placed a small bowl of soup and a plate of toast in front of Rosy. The scent hit her before anything else—rich, buttery, warm. Her stomach clenched so violently it almost hurt.

 

She didn’t speak. She picked up her spoon and began to eat. Slowly at first. Then faster. Like her body had finally remembered it was human and starving.

 

Stephen didn’t look away as she ate. She felt his eyes on her like heat, and she hated the way her cheeks warmed because of it.

 

He wasn’t supposed to watch her like that. Not after what he did.

 

When the bowl was almost empty, Rosy pushed it aside and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Not the napkin. She didn’t feel like pretending to be proper.

 

“Thank you,” she muttered. Her voice came out rough. Dry.

 

“You’re welcome,” Angela said, her smile sad. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

 

When the door shut behind her, Rosy didn’t move. She didn’t look at him.

 

He spoke first.

 

“You looked like you were going to pass out. I told you to eat.”

 

“You didn’t tell me anything,” she snapped. “You drugged me. Or your lifestyle did. Or your sick world of money and mistakes did. Either way, I shouldn’t be here.”

 

Stephen looked pained. “You think I’m okay with what happened?”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

 

“No.”

 

That single word hung in the air between them. A denial. A defense. A truth, maybe. She didn’t know which.

 

“I didn’t plan any of it,” he said. “I don’t even remember it.”

 

“That’s not comforting.”

 

“I know.”

 

Rosy stood, hugging her arms. “You said something about marrying me. Why? Out of guilt?”

 

He shook his head. “Out of responsibility.”

 

She scoffed. “Same thing.”

 

“No, it’s not.” His voice grew firmer. “You’re not like other girls I’ve been with. I don’t even know why I’m sitting here trying to explain this to you, but I am. I’m trying to fix this the only way I know how.”

 

Rosy let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want your charity, Stephen.”

 

He stood too. “It’s not charity. It’s…” He paused, searching for the right word. “It’s damage control. For both of us.”

 

Rosy blinked. “Do you even hear yourself?”

 

He stepped forward, slower this time. “You need help. I can offer that. I’m not asking you to love me. I’m asking you to survive with me.”

 

Survive.

 

That word felt like a punch. Because he wasn’t wrong. She had nowhere to go. No money. No backup plan. And now, no job—because even if the manager didn’t fire her for disappearing, she could never walk into that building again.

 

Her silence stretched between them like a rope.

I need to think,” she said finally.

 

He nodded once. “Okay.”

 

She turned, walked toward the door of the suite, and paused.

 

Her hand rested on the frame. Her heart was too loud in her chest.

 

“Stephen?” she whispered without looking at him.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“If you ever touch me without asking again... I don’t care how rich or important you are... I’ll break your face.”

 

She didn’t wait for his reply.

 

She walked out.

 

And for the first time since last night, the tears came freely.