CHAPTER TWO—THE MORNING AFTER
1245 Words
Dianne groaned softly as the morning light stabbed through the half-drawn curtains, slicing into her pounding head.
Her eyelids fluttered open. The room spun. The air was thick with the sour scent of whiskey and regret.
Empty bottles littered the table, her makeup was smeared across her cheeks, and her once-elegant hair hung in wild tangles. Her phone buzzed faintly somewhere under a pillow. She lunged for it, ignoring the pain screaming through her temples.
Maybe he called… please, Damian, please…
Her thumb trembled as she unlocked the screen.
Nothing. No calls. No texts.
Just dozens of notifications — gossip blogs, pitying messages, and headlines that made her stomach twist.
“Runaway Bride or Scandalous Affair? The Dianne-Roy Saga Deepens.”
“Billionaire’s One-Night Scandal Wrecks London Wedding.”
Her chest tightened. She threw the phone onto the couch and pressed her palms against her eyes. “This can’t be happening,” she whispered.
She tried to remember. Tried to force the images of that night into focus. But every time she did, a sharp pain shot through her skull. Her mind was a fog — laughter, flashing lights, a hotel bar… and then nothing.
Think, Dianne. Think.
Her heart raced as she grabbed her phone again and scrolled through her contacts. One name stood out — Chloe — her best friend and maid of honor. The one person she trusted. She hit call.
“Chloe, thank God—”
A groggy voice cut her off. “Dianne? What time is it?”
“It’s almost ten. Listen, about last night, do you remember anything? Anything at all?”
There was a pause. A long sigh. “Honestly, babe, we were all wasted after the rehearsal dinner. You insisted on staying back at the bar… I thought you would go to your room.”
“So you don’t remember me leaving with anyone? Or seeing—”
“No, nothing,” Chloe murmured, still half-asleep. “We were drunk out of our minds. Dianne… what’s going on?”
Dianne hesitated, her throat tightening. “It’s all over the internet, Chloe. Everyone thinks I slept with that man. Damian— he called off the wedding.”
A gasp. “Oh my God, Di. I— I’m so sorry.”
Dianne’s voice trembled. “I didn’t do anything. I swear I didn’t. I just… don’t remember.”
“Maybe the hotel’s CCTV can help?” Chloe suggested softly.
That flicker of hope was all Dianne needed. She hung up, dragged herself to her feet, and staggered toward the bathroom.
The cold shower hit her like ice, shocking her system awake. Her thoughts spiraled as the water poured down her skin. How did I get there? Did someone spike my drink?
When she stepped out, she wrapped herself in a towel, her reflection almost unrecognizable. Puffy eyes. Pale skin. A stranger.
“Get it together,” she muttered to herself, forcing deep breaths. “You’re not going down like this.”
She dressed in simple jeans and a white blouse, tied her hair into a low bun, and grabbed her purse. Her heart thudded as she dialed Damian’s number.
One ring. Two. Three.
Voicemail.
“Damian, please,” she said shakily into the phone. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Just… call me, please.”
No reply. Only silence.
She exhaled slowly, holding back tears, then set out for the hotel.
The lobby was bustling when she arrived, but Dianne’s world felt muted. Her heels echoed on the marble floor as she approached the front desk.
“Good morning,” she began, trying to sound calm. “I need to speak to your manager. It’s urgent — I was here two nights ago, and I need access to the security footage for that night.”
The young receptionist blinked. “Um, do you have a police report, ma’am?”
“No,” Dianne admitted. “I just… need to know what happened in my room. Please.”
The woman gave an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Miss, but the cameras on that floor were under maintenance. There’s no footage.”
Dianne stared at her, stunned. “No footage? None at all?”
The woman shook her head gently. “I’m afraid not.”
Her last shred of hope slipped away. The room tilted. Her throat burned as she whispered, “Thank you,” and turned to leave.
Outside, the wind whipped through her hair, and the tears she’d been fighting finally spilled. She walked aimlessly through the London streets, the city blurring around her.
No evidence. No memory. No Damian.
She felt hollow. Her phone buzzed again — more headlines, more gossip, more judgment.
People she once called friends were reposting the scandal with captions like ‘Never expected this from her.’
Her hand shook as she turned the phone off completely. She wanted to disappear.
Across the city, in a glass-walled penthouse overlooking the Thames, Roy Sinclair nursed a cup of black coffee, scrolling through his phone with a grim expression.
“Mate, you’re trending everywhere,” his friend Aaron said from the couch, smirking. “Not the kind of PR you like, huh? ‘Mystery Billionaire Spends Night with Bride-to-Be.’ Classic.”
Roy shot him a sharp glare. “It’s not funny.”
Aaron chuckled. “You could’ve fooled me. The press loves a scandal.”
Roy tossed his phone onto the table. “She wasn’t supposed to be anyone important. I thought she was just—” he hesitated, jaw tightening, “—someone looking for a night.”
Aaron raised a brow. “A s*x worker, you mean.”
Roy’s expression darkened. “I didn’t know she was engaged. Or that her wedding was the next damn morning.”
Aaron leaned back, amused. “Still… you sure she didn’t set you up? People would do anything for a headline with your name attached.”
Roy exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s what I need to find out. My company’s already warning me to keep quiet. If she decides to play the victim, my reputation’s finished.”
Aaron’s grin faded. “You think she’ll talk?”
Roy’s gaze hardened, his voice low and cold. “If she does, I’ll make sure she regrets it.”
He stood, sliding on his suit jacket. The morning sunlight poured across his features — sharp jawline, cold eyes, composed but clearly burning inside.
Aaron whistled. “So what’s the plan?”
Roy’s lips curved into a thin smile. “Find her. I want to know exactly who Dianne Blake is — and why the hell she was in my bed.”
“Sounds like trouble,” Aaron muttered, smirking.
Roy’s smirk deepened. “Trouble doesn’t scare me. But lies do. And I’ll find out if she’s telling one.”
As he grabbed his car keys, he paused by the window, staring out at the sprawling city. The headlines flashing on his phone screen reflected faintly against the glass — his name tangled with hers.
He clenched his jaw. I don’t care who she is. She’s not taking me down with her.
He pocketed his phone, straightened his cufflinks, and walked out — every step measured, confident, dangerous.
Across town, unaware of what was coming, Dianne sat by her window, hugging her knees to her chest. Her world had shattered overnight, and somewhere deep down, she felt it — their paths weren’t done crossing. Not yet.
- Writer
