Chapter 1
POV: Jaden Cole
If someone had told me that my life would nosedive in less than seventy-two hours, I would’ve laughed and offered them a glass of something expensive, because I had it all.
At twenty-five, I was living what most people only dared to dream. My start-up had just closed its third round of funding. My face had been featured in one of those flashy business magazines, the kind that loved slapping headlines like “The Golden Boy of Tech” over smiling portraits. I had a beautiful girlfriend, a thriving business, and a loft in the heart of the city with floor-to-ceiling windows that made you feel like you were living above the world.
I had made it, or so I thought.
Now I sit here, staring at the glass walls of my office as if they’ll protect me from the storm brewing on the other side. My phone buzzes on the desk for the fifth time in the last ten minutes, but I’ve refused to pick it up, I don’t need to. I already know what the notifications say because the headlines are everywhere.
“Young Tech CEO Accused of s****l Assault by Latina club goer.”
That’s how quickly the world turns on you, one headline, one night and one decision under the influence of alcohol has potentially altered my life’s trajectory.
But let me backtrack a little, just so you understand how a night meant to distract me from a shitty day at the office turned into the beginning of my downfall.
It was a Friday, the kind of Friday where nothing goes your way. I’d had two major client meetings tank, my CFO had sent in her resignation without warning, and to top it off, my girlfriend, Melanie, had just left for a weekend business trip. I was exhausted, frustrated and lonely.
And in a moment of weakness, I did what I often did when the world felt too loud: I hit the bar. It was called the Westin Lounge, not my proudest haunt, but familiar enough to be comfortable and dark enough to be forgettable.
That’s where I saw her, Camila Reyes, not for the first time but I paid too much attention this time. She had this presence that made the room quieter without trying. Tan skin, a black dress that clung to her curves like sin, and eyes that made you forget what you came in for. She laughed easily, talked slick, and moved with the confidence of someone who’d been told too many times that they were dangerous.
She felt to me like the perfect solution to my pending weekend of disaster from which I needed to unwind. We had drinks, we talked and laughed over jokes which I wasn’t sure if they were funny or it was just the influence of the Blanton’s we were taking alongside Beluga Gold Line Vodka.
The night had set off well, and suddenly, I wanted more, in the midst of laughs and jokes, I suggested a one-night stand. She didn’t hesitate, no fuss, no drama, just a whispered “Let’s go,” and we were gone.
And then we were behind closed doors in a dimly-lit executive room, we didn’t waste time, her eyes were daring, the next second she was on me, lips hungry. Then clothes hit the floor like confetti.
Her moans were low and breathy, like she didn’t want to lose control but wanted me to take it. I pinned her against the wall, then the bed. Her legs wrapped around my waist as I sank into her – tight, warm and wet. While she gasped, nails digging into my back, guiding me to go deeper.
It wasn’t sweet, it was raw, rough and desperate – sweat, skin, lips, teeth, everything colliding while I whispered filthy things in her ears. She begged me not to stop and we didn’t, not for hours. Different positions, new angles, chasing that high again and again until we collapsed tangled and panting.
The next morning, she was gone before I woke up, no note, no number, just the faint scent of her perfume. I didn’t think much of it. Hell, I even chuckled, chalked it up to being exactly what it was: one night but it’s turning to be more than that.
By Sunday evening, rumours started swirling. Monday morning, the blogs picked it up. By Monday afternoon, every news outlet had my face plastered next to the word r****t in bold letters. There were explicit photos of me and Camila, suggesting I was trying to assert dominance and audio clips of filthy things I said – everything backing up the story.
None of it looked good and truth is, I had no idea how deep this rabbit hole was about to go.
I stand now, hands in my pockets, staring at the screensaver dancing across my monitor. My assistant knocks once and peeks in with that nervous expression I’ve come to hate.
“There are... officers here to see you, sir,” she says, barely above a whisper.
I swallow the stone in my throat and nod. “Let them in.”
A moment later, two uniformed police officers step inside. One male, one female. The room seems to shrink around them. They’re polite, but there’s no hesitation in their tone.
“Jaden Cole,” the male officer says, “You are under arrest for the alleged s****l assault of Miss Camila Reyes. You have the right to remain silent, and you’re entitled to an attorney, if you can’t afford one, one would be appointed for you”
I blinked while everything slowed down, I had only heard those lines in movies, but there I was, trying to process everything because this was no script
I felt my assistant gasp behind me. I hear the words, but they don’t make sense. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. It was a night, not a crime.
They cuff my wrists in front of me like I’m a danger to society and walked me out past the glass doors of my company, cameras already waiting outside, I catch my reflection.
This wasn’t supposed to be my story, but I guess that’s the thing about falling, you never quite see the ground coming until you hit it
