Just For Tonight

"Mmh," the woman groaned as sunlight hit her eyes, and a seething headache greeted her good morning. She opened her eyes and forced herself up. The room didn’t belong to her. She knew that before she even opened her eyes. The sheets were wrong. The painting was slightly crooked. The air smelled unfamiliar—something warmer, heavier. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for the man from last night, but not even his silhouette could be found. "When did he leave?" A bitter taste of disappointment lingered in her tongue. She ignored her own question and stood up, secretly muttering curses under her breath. Just as she was about to reach for the door, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Disheveled, exhausted, and full of marks. She traced the patterns he left all over her body. She could still remember the feeling of his rough yet gentle touch. She could barely recognize the woman in the mirror, but strangely, she never felt this real. She stepped out of the room wearing only his polo shirt and was welcomed by a savory aroma. She followed the scent and found a warm bowl of chicken soup served on the table with a note. "Good morning, I had to go. I left something for your hangover. Clothes are in the bathroom. Call if you need anything." -M She stared at the note and the black calling card next to it. Maverick Eustace De Vance A small smile crept into her lips as she took a sip of the soup. She savored every bite until the very last drop of soup was gone. She made her way to the bathroom to wash up and get changed. "Did he prepare a turtle neck on purpose?" She thought to herself while staring at her reflection. The white turtle neck sweater managed to cover all the marks she was worrying about. She could tell that everything was carefully thought out by Maverick, and she appreciated every bit. Oddly, she found herself thinking that even if last night was a mistake, she wouldn't mind doing it all over again. She took a deep breath and gathered all her things. This is not her life. The parties, the impulsiveness, and... him. They all had no place in her perfect little world. She turned her back and left everything in his condo— the sticky notes, the calling card, memories of last night, and everything about him. But she couldn't help but look back. Everything was unfamiliar and imperfect, but strangely, it felt like home. Maverick. She smiled at the thought of the man from last night. His name and presence screamed trouble. She knew that. But the thought of the soup, the notes, and his gentle touch made her hesitate. The weight of her carefully crafted life came crushing down. She is Azienne Yves Solares— she couldn't afford to let him crack her perfect little fantasy. She forced herself to forget his name, which was already engraved in her mind. It didn’t matter who he was. It wasn’t supposed to matter. She remembered her rule. "No names. No promises. Just for tonight." And just like that, she was gone without a trace.