THE ONE NIGHT STAND

AVA The first thing Ava Carter registered was warmth — soft, expensive warmth that didn’t belong to her threadbare sheets or cheap comforter back in Queens. Then came the scent. Clean. Masculine. Something like cedarwood and citrus with a hint of danger. Her eyes flew open. This wasn't her bed. The ceiling was high, painted in soft gray with black wood beams. The bedding beneath her was silk, in a color she could only describe as “money.” The room was sleek, modern, and at least three times the size of her apartment. Her heart stuttered. A pit formed in her stomach. Oh no. What did I do? The ache between her thighs was an answer she wasn’t ready to face. Neither was the stretch of bare skin she saw when she pulled the blanket tighter — she was completely naked. She sat up slowly, holding the duvet to her chest like it might shield her from regret. And that’s when the real panic set in. This wasn’t a dream. She’d had a one-night stand. With someone rich. And very, very not her type. Not that she could even remember his name. Fragments came back in flashes. A bar downtown. Her friend Riley’s “forget your ex” night out. One too many tequila shots. A man in a black button-up and tailored pants who looked like he walked out of a billionaire fantasy novel. And those eyes—piercing gray, like a storm ready to break. “s**t,” she whispered. She never did this. She didn’t even date anymore, not after what happened with Liam. One night. One mistake. One gorgeous stranger. And now here she was—in his bed, in some penthouse high above the Manhattan skyline, with a pounding headache and zero dignity. She scanned the room. Her black dress lay crumpled on a nearby chair. Her purse was half-spilled on the floor. And on the nightstand, next to a sleek glass of water and two aspirin, was a note. Drink this. You’ll need it. —D She blinked at the neat handwriting. Her stomach flipped. D? The bathroom door creaked open. Ava whipped her head around—and nearly choked on her own breath. He was… stunning. Tall, shirtless, with a white towel wrapped low around his waist, water dripping from his dark, tousled hair. Every inch of him was carved like a statue—sharp lines, defined muscles, and a confidence that radiated off him in waves. He looked like temptation wrapped in danger. And she’d slept with him. Twice, if the soreness between her thighs was any clue. “Morning,” he said, voice low and calm. Ava gripped the duvet tighter. “Hi.” “You slept like the dead.” He moved toward the dresser, unfazed by her awkwardness. “I… I don’t usually do this,” she blurted. He glanced back, amused. “So you said. Multiple times.” “Right. Of course I did.” He picked up a shirt but didn’t put it on. “You were very honest last night.” Ava groaned and buried her face in the blanket. “Please don’t remind me.” “You also tried to fight a bouncer on your way out of the club.” Her head shot up. “I did what?” He chuckled. “You said he looked like your ex.” She winced. “I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be.” His eyes darkened. “He sounds like an asshole.” She blinked at him. “How would you know?” “You told me about him too.” He paused. “Liam, right?” Ava froze. “I… yeah.” He studied her for a beat too long, then turned back to the dresser and pulled out slacks. She averted her gaze as he dressed, cheeks burning. “You should get going,” he said after a beat. “Unless you’d rather stay.” That made her head snap up. “What?” He shrugged. “I’m not in a rush.” She stood, the duvet wrapped around her like armor. “No. This was a mistake.” “Was it?” His voice was low and calm, but something behind it made her stomach twist. He stepped closer, now fully dressed, his shirt half-buttoned and clinging to his damp skin. She had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. Those eyes. They undressed her faster than his hands ever could. “Don’t worry, Ava,” he said softly. “I’m not the type to chase.” She nodded, clutching her dress. “Good.” “But if I see you again,” he added, smirking slightly, “you owe me breakfast.” She opened her mouth to reply—but nothing came out. He stepped back. “Take the elevator down. It’s private. The driver will take you anywhere you need.” Of course he had a driver. She turned, dress in hand, shoes tucked under her arm, and walked out without another word. As the elevator descended, Ava let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. This would be her secret. A one-time mistake. She’d never see Damien again. --- Two weeks later, she walked into the top floor of Blackwood Enterprises, resume in hand, nerves on fire. It was her final interview for a marketing assistant role—one she desperately needed. A fresh start. Stability. A way to stop worrying about rent and her mother’s medical bills. The receptionist smiled and gestured toward the office at the end of the hall. “Mr. Blackwood will see you now.” She nodded, stepped forward, heels clicking across marble. And then the door opened. And Ava’s world stopped. Damien. In a tailored navy suit. Hair slicked back. Eyes darker than she remembered. Sitting behind a mahogany desk with the skyline behind him like a throne. He looked up, and the second their eyes met, his lips curved into that same smirk. “Ava Carter,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “We meet again.”