His Virgin Stripper

9- Shattered Remains

Sienna

The first thing I felt when I woke up was pain.

It wasn't something normal, neither was it just a headache.

The kind of migraine that made me question every life decision that had led me to this exact moment.

A tortured groan escaped my lips as I buried my face deeper into the pillow.

Never again.

I was never drinking again.

At least that was what I told myself every single time I got drunk.

Beside me, Roxy was sprawled across the bed like a crime scene, one leg hanging off the mattress and her makeup smeared across half her face.

A snort escaped me despite the pounding in my skull.

How she was still asleep through this headache was beyond me.

I slowly pushed myself upright.

Instant regret.

The room spun.

My stomach threatened mutiny.

I immediately sat back down.

"Fantastic," I muttered.

After several minutes of negotiating with my own body, I finally managed to stand without dying.

Small victories.

The apartment was unusually quiet as I shuffled toward the kitchen.

Sunlight poured through the windows, far brighter than any human being deserved this early in the morning.

My head throbbed harder.

Rude.

I found coffee buried inside one of the cabinets and immediately got to work.

The smell alone felt medicinal.

By the time the coffee finished brewing, I was already clutching the mug like it contained the cure to all suffering.

Maybe it did.

I took a careful sip.

Then another.

And another.

Slowly, mercifully, the fog inside my brain began to clear.

Not completely.

Just enough.

I leaned against the kitchen counter and glanced around the apartment.

The silence suddenly registered.

My brows furrowed.

"Talia?"

Nothing.

I frowned.

Usually Talia was the first person awake after a night out.

Somehow she'd always wake up looking annoyingly fresh while the rest of us resembled roadkill.

Not today apparently.

I checked the living room.

Empty.

Bathroom.

Empty.

The second bedroom.

Empty.

Strange.

Then again, after the disaster that was yesterday, maybe disappearing for a few hours was the healthiest decision any of us could make.

I returned to my coffee. I took two sips and unfortunately… that was when my memories started returning.

Piece by piece.

The club, the performance with Rox, the basement, the morally questionable contract, the hand kiss that made my nerves a wreck.

My stomach tightened immediately.

I stared down into my mug.

No. Absolutely not.

I wasn't thinking about him.

I wasn't.

I set the coffee down harder than necessary.

The movement made my head hurt.

Just great!

I turned away from the kitchen.

The chauffeur had dropped my things off sometime during the night.

Unfortunately, I couldn't remember where Roxy said they were.

Blame the alcohol.

Or the emotional breakdown.

Or Roxy convincing me that taking shots was a personality trait.

Probably all three.

I opened one door, bathroom.

Another, storage closet.

And another.

Bingo!!

My suitcases sat neatly against the wall. The remains of a life I no longer had.

The air suddenly felt too thin.

I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

Silence filled the room.

For a moment, I simply stared.

Then I laughed; it came out short and bitter.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Honestly.

What was actually wrong with me?

Less than twenty-four hours ago, I'd discovered my fiancé was sleeping his way through Las Vegas.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, my entire future had collapsed.

And somehow...

Somehow...

I had spent most of the night thinking about another man.

I groaned loudly before falling backward onto the mattress.

"You're an idiot."

The ceiling offered no argument.

I covered my face with both hands.

"An actual idiot."

I grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked myself in the face with it.

Once.

Twice.

A third time for good measure.

"What is wrong with you?"

The pillow offered no answers.

I threw it across the room.

Then immediately got up and retrieved it because it wasn't the pillow's fault.

I dropped face-first onto the mattress.

Groaned.

Rolled over and groaned again.

Because apparently I was grieving and embarrassing myself simultaneously.

What kind of emotionally unstable person gets their heart broken and immediately starts thinking about another man?

A terrifyingly attractive man.

With stupid eyes and a stupid voice.

And a stupid hand kiss.

God!! I hated him already.

I kicked my legs against the mattress in frustration.

Then buried my face into the pillow and screamed into it.

The scream came out muffled but satisfying.

"Oh my God, Sienna."

I rolled over.

Then rolled back.

Then buried my face again.

The embarrassment alone was enough to kill me.

But underneath that embarrassment was the reality that crashed into me the moment my tantrum died down.

It was cold, sharp, and unavoidable.

Because the moment I stopped thinking about Marcello… No. The moment I stopped distracting myself…

I remembered Dave.

Everything came rushing back instantly.

The engagement ring I exchanged at a pawn shop, the lies I was told for years, the fact that he cheated.

The stage.

The humiliation.

The way my entire world had shattered in a single night.

My chest tightened painfully. The tears arrived before I could stop them. One second I was staring at the ceiling. Next, my vision blurred completely.

A broken sound escaped my throat, then another.

And suddenly I couldn't breathe.

Three years. Three whole years.

Three years of loving him, trusting him, building a future around him.

For what?

To become a joke?

I curled onto my side as sobs tore through me.

The pain felt fresh all over again.

Raw.

Bleeding.

I cried until my pillow was soaked. Until my chest hurt. Until my eyes burned.

Then I cried some more.

Because grief didn't care how much dignity you had left.

It took everything.

And by the time evening arrived, I was still exactly where I'd started.

Curled beneath the blankets.

Heartbroken, alone and crying over a future that no longer existed.