In a strangers bed
1303 Words
Elara POV
Five years earlier******
I woke up to the sting of sunlight slashing across my eyelids. My mouth tasted like stale whiskey and regret. Groaning, I rolled onto my side—only to freeze.
There was a man in the bed beside me.
My heart lurched, slamming against my ribs. My vision adjusted to take him in. Jet-black hair mussed over a square jaw, a faint stubble shadowing high cheekbones. His chest rose and fell evenly, bronzed skin rippling over a hard, sculpted torso.
Panic exploded in my veins. My gaze darted around the room—sleek marble floors, a panoramic window looking over the city skyline, the edge of a glass bar lined with empty tumblers. This was nowhere I’d ever been.
And then, the worst of it—my clothes were scattered across the carpet in a trail that led right to the bed. A used condom wrapper gleamed accusingly from the nightstand. My hands shook as I clutched the sheet to my chest.
Oh God. Oh God.
The man stirred. Slowly, his eyes opened. I froze, meeting the coldest silver stare I’d ever seen. For a second, neither of us spoke. My pulse battered my throat.
He looked me up and down, taking in the way I clutched the sheet like armor. His expression didn’t shift—just a flicker of something, maybe disgust or boredom.
Then he moved. A controlled, precise stretch of muscle as he sat up and swung his long legs over the side of the bed. He didn’t bother to cover himself as he reached for something on the dresser.
“Get dressed.” His voice was deep and rough, with a rasp that made me shiver for reasons I didn’t want to examine.
I swallowed, throat raw. “I—I don’t know who you are.”
He looked over his shoulder. Those pale eyes sliced right through me. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Excuse me?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, panic and humiliation tangling in my chest.
He turned fully now, holding something in his hand. My heart sank when I saw it—a thick stack of hundreds, bound neatly in a paper band. He tossed it onto the bed, the bills fanning out across the sheets.
“Take that,” he said flatly. “And don’t contact me again.”
I stared at the money, bile rising in my throat. “You think—I’m not a prostitute.”
He arched a dark brow. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I sucked in a breath, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. My head was splitting open with last night’s alcohol. Images flickered: Natalie shoving another shot into my hand, her laughter too loud in my ear. The dance floor spinning. A stranger’s hand at my waist.
“You—” My voice cracked. “You took advantage. I was drunk.”
He didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. “You walked up to me while I was having a drink. You put your hand on my leg. You whispered that you wanted to forget everything for one night.”
“That’s not true,” I hissed, but my mind betrayed me.
A memory slipped in—me leaning over the bar, the world tilting, Natalie egging me on.
Bet you can’t get that guy to take you home, Elara.
The words made my skin crawl.
He stood up, towering over me, and the sheet slipped lower on my chest. His gaze flickered down, and something—heat, contempt—flared before he looked away.
“Believe what you want,” he said coolly. “But don’t pretend this was anything other than what it was.”
“You bastard,” I spat, voice shaking. “You think you can just throw money at me and make me disappear?”
A humorless smile twisted his mouth. “Worked before and you’re not any different from others.”
I shoved the money off the bed, the bills fluttering to the floor like dead leaves. My legs were unsteady as I stood, dragging the sheet around me like a shield.
“I don’t care who you are,” I said, though my voice was too thin to carry conviction. “I’m not taking your money.”
He moved in a single step, closing the distance. My back hit the cold wall behind me, the sheet nearly slipping from my hands. He planted one palm beside my head, caging me in. His face was so close I could see the pale ring around his irises.
His other hand came up, fingers wrapping lightly around my throat—not squeezing, just holding me there so I couldn’t look away. My pulse thudded beneath his touch.
“Do you remember begging me to stay?” he murmured, his voice low and vicious. “Do you remember telling me you’d do anything to keep me here?”
“No,” I whispered, but even as I denied it, shame flooded me.
His eyes were dead of feeling, flat and cutting as blades. “You don’t get to wake up and decide you’re the victim, little girl.”
I flinched, my nails biting into my palms. His hand fell away from my throat, but the phantom pressure stayed.
He turned from me without another word, bending to gather his watch and phone off the dresser. The finality of his movements made my stomach twist.
This was it. Whatever had happened last night, it was over.
I stumbled toward the scattered pieces of my dress, pulling it over my trembling arms. My panties lay in a crumpled heap by the window. I fought the humiliation and forced myself to walk over, head high even though I wanted to vanish.
When I finally turned back, he was dressed—black slacks, a crisp shirt he buttoned over that infuriatingly perfect body. He didn’t spare me a glance as he slipped a Rolex over his wrist.
“Don’t worry,” he said as I clutched my purse. “I won’t mention this to anyone.”
The calm, detached tone made me want to scream.
“I’m not ashamed,” I lied, lifting my chin.
His lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “Sure.”
Something about that quiet, condescending dismissal shattered the last of my restraint.
“I hope I never see you again,” I spat.
His eyes flicked up at last, meeting mine. And for the smallest instant, something flickered there—surprise, or maybe challenge.
“Likewise,” he murmured.
I stumbled out of the elevator, the morning air hitting my skin like knives. My heels clicked unevenly on the pavement as I walked, dress rumpled, hair tangled, mascara smudged beneath my eyes. Each step felt heavier than the last. I fumbled for my phone with shaking fingers and hit Natalie’s name.
“Come on… pick up, pick up,” I whispered.
Voicemail. Again.
Natalie. She’d know what to say. What to do.
Tears stung my eyes as I dialed her back. “Nat, please, call me. I—I don’t remember everything, and I need—” My voice broke. “I need you.”
The taxi ride home was silent torture. My heart pounded louder the closer we got to that cursed brownstone—home, or what used to be. I thought of the apartment I shared with my mother and her new husband. A place that was supposed to be safe. A place that felt like hell.
I crept through the door, hoping to slip in unnoticed.
“Where the hell have you been?!”
The roar hit me like a slap, the voice sharp and familiar. I froze.
My blood turned to ice.
He was awake. And he was waiting.
- Writer
