Audrey's POV:
Sunlight pierced through the gap in the curtains, slicing across my face.
My eyelids fluttered open, immediately protesting against the invasion of morning. Pain throbed behind my temples.
*Where am I?*
The question took a moment to process as I registered the unfamiliar ceiling.
I attempted to move and wince.
Every muscle in my body felt stretched and used, a soreness that told its own story before memory caught up.
I turned my head slowly and froze.
A strange man slept peacefully beside me, one muscular arm flung above his head, the pristine white sheet barely covering his lower half.
I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them again, hoping the vision before me might dissolve into a hangover hallucination.
When that failed, I pinched my arm hard.
The sharp pain confirmed what I desperately wished wasn't true: this is reality.
My gaze darted around the room.
Our clothes were scattered across the floor, telling the tale of last night's madness.
*Oh God. What have I done?*
Fragments of last night flood back in disjointed flashes.
Last night, my friend Finley, upon hearing the news that I was going back to my home country, insisted on drinking with me until we were both drunk, and eventually we returned to our respective rooms intoxicated.
I remembered riding the elevator alone to my floor, slightly unsteady on my feet.
I stumbled into the room without turning on the lights, heading straight for the bed.
However, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I was shocked to discover someone was already lying there—a man.
He was lying on his back with his eyes closed, breathing steadily, looking like he was resting or asleep.
Moonlight filtered through the curtain gaps, illuminating a breathtaking face—sharp features, a prominent nose, and thin, pressed lips, like an exquisite sculpture.
I shook my head as an absurd thought popped into my mind. *This has got to be one of Finley's pranks. *
The alcohol was making my judgment increasingly fuzzy.
I approached the bed, studying this "surprise" carefully.
He wore a half-open white dress shirt, revealing a solid chest and abs.
"That physique is insane..." I murmured, unconsciously reaching out to touch his face.
My fingertips hover just above his stubbled jawline and I poke his cheek repeatedly with unsteady fingers.
The alcohol still clouding my judgment, I let out a small, inappropriate giggle.
"Hey, hey you. Wake up. Stop pretending," I slur slightly, poking him again.
"Mission accomplished, okay? You can go report back that you successfully scared the hell out of me."
But as I turned to leave, a strong hand suddenly grabbed my wrist.
The unexpected contact sends me off-balance, my body betraying me as I topple forward without grace.
I landed against his chest, my free hand instinctively bracing against his solid shoulder.
His eyes snapped open.
"Who are you?" His voice cut through the darkness, deep and commanding despite its quiet tone.
Those three words carried an unmistakable edge of suspicion.
"What are you doing in my room?"
I lifted my head, ready to protest, but the words died in my throat as I found myself staring into eyes that could swallow galaxies.
We were so close I could feel his warm breath against my skin.
The proximity was dizzying—or perhaps that was just the alcohol coursing through my veins, dismantling my inhibitions one by one.
Something magnetic in those eyes pulled me in. I couldn't look away, couldn't form a coherent thought as my gaze dropped to his lips.
Before I could process what I was doing, I closed the sliver of space between us.
My lips found his, soft yet insistent.
The rational part of my brain screamed in protest, but it was drowned out by the roaring of my pulse in my ears and the intoxicating sensation of connection.
*This was so unlike me.*
I carefully lifted the sheet, confirming what I already knew.
I was completely naked.
My heart pounded against my ribs as panic set in.
I needed to get out of here—now.
Every second I lingered increased the risk of him waking up, of having to face the awkwardness of morning-after conversations with someone whose name I couldn't even know.
I scanned the room frantically, locating pieces of my clothing strewn about like evidence at a crime scene.
No time for shame. No time for regret.
Just get dressed and get out before those gray-blue eyes open and complicate everything.
I slipped into the bathroom, avoiding my reflection as I quickly dressed.
My hair was a disaster, makeup smudged beyond repair. I looked exactly like what I was—a woman fleeing the scene of her impulsivity.
When I finished, he was still sleeping deeply.
I lingered by the door, hesitating. What if he tried to find me later? The thought sent a chill down my spine.
I dug through my purse, searching for some cash to leave behind—a clear message that this was just a transaction, nothing more.
To my dismay, I found only a single hundred-dollar bill tucked into the inner pocket.
Not nearly enough for a high-end escort in London, but it would have to do.
In the taxi to the airport, my mind replayed fragments of the night in vivid detail.
The heat of his skin against mine.
His fingers roamed across my skin. The temperature between us kept climbing, our breathing becoming ragged and urgent.
I respond instinctively.
I arch toward him, my fingers threading through his hair.
*Back to reality.*
I closed my eyes again, trying to ignore how my body still thrummed with the ghost of his touch.
Tomorrow, I'll be Audrey Lane again—professional, composed, in control.
I leaned my forehead against the cool window glass, watching London fade into the distance.
One night of passion with a stranger.
No one would ever know. And I would never see that man again.
But little did I know how wrong I was.
