Room 607: A Night To Remember

Chapter 2

Boarding pass, please.”

Aria forced a smile, handing it over. The gate agent scanned it, and she stepped onto the jet bridge, the hum of voices behind her blending into white noise.

Her heart hadn’t slowed since the terminal. That stare,those eyes were still branded in her mind like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

You’re just being dramatic, she told herself. Men stare at women all the time. Doesn’t mean he’s following you.

But when she reached her seat in economy and shoved her carry-on into the overhead bin, the uneasy knot in her stomach didn’t loosen. She sat down, buckled in, and exhaled hard.

Forget him. He’s gone.

When the curtain separating economy from first class swayed open, she found herself peeking. Just a glance. Just to prove he wasn’t there.

Her blood froze.

For a heartbeat, she saw him. The same dark suit, the same unblinking stare. He sat perfectly straight,his gaze aimed right down the aisle at her.

Her chest tightened. “No way,” she whispered.

The curtain fell back into place.

She blinked, leaned into the aisle for another look. A different man sat in the seat now. Gray-haired with reading nodding off over a newspaper.

Aria slumped back. Her pulse thudded in her ears. You’re losing it. First class? Please. As if a man like that would even fly commercial. He’s probably halfway across the city by now. She tried to console herself.

The plane lurched as the engines powered up. She closed her eyes, gripping the armrest as the crew went through safety instructions. Around her, other passengers whispered, laughed, fiddled with seatbelts. To them, it was just another flight. To her, it felt like she was being haunted by a pair of phantom eyes.

As the plane climbed, she tried to distract herself with her phone, then with the in-flight magazine, then with the ridiculous rom-com playing on the seatback screen. None of it worked.

Every so often, her eyes flicked to the curtain. Each time, it stayed closed. No glimpse of him. Yet no proof.

When the meal cart rattled past and she accepted a foil-covered tray, she managed to laugh at herself. “You’re paranoid,” she muttered. “Creeps in airports aren’t villains in movies. Get over it.”

The flight stretched on. Hours later, when the captain announced their descent, Aria pressed her forehead to the cool window. City lights glittered below, a promise of distraction and an escape.

She clung to the thought, It's a new place. A rresh start alone.

The wheels hit the runway with a jolt, and she exhaled.Maybe the stranger was just a figment of her exhaustion. Maybe she’d never see him again.

She almost believed it.

“Welcome to Barcelona,” the captain’s voice announced overhead.

The cabin erupted with the usual chaos, seatbelts unbuckling, overhead bins creaking, passengers squeezing into the aisle before the plane even stopped. Aria stayed seated, clutching her bag. She didn’t feel the rush to get off. Not when her nerves were still rattled by phantom eyes.

Eventually, she joined the shuffle, trailing behind a woman with a screaming toddler. The jet bridge was hot and crowded, but the moment she stepped into the terminal, the atmosphere shifted. Bright lights, polished floors, announcements in Spanish and English echoing through the cavernous space.

Aria’s suitcase finally clunked onto the carousel. She grabbed it with both hands, tugged it upright, then paused, scanning the crowd.

She couldn’t stop herself. Her gaze swept the groups of travelers, the couples holding hands, the businessmen rushing past.

There was no black suit. No one was staring. Just a bunch of people heading to their final destinations.

She let out a shaky laugh, hugging the handle of her suitcase. “See? Ghosts. Aria, you’re literally haunted by your imagination now.”

She wheeled her bag outside to the taxi line, inhaling the scent of exhaust and sea air. Sunlight shimmered off the glass walls of the terminal. For the first time since Ryan’s betrayal, she let her shoulders ease.

When it was her turn, the driver opened the trunk. “Hotel?” he asked, his Spanish accent was thick.

“Yes, uh.. Hotel Monteluna,” Aria answered, sliding into the backseat.

The car pulled away, merging into the bustle of traffic. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and watched the city unfold, the narrow streets, balconies draped with laundry, bursts of bougainvillea spilling over stone walls.

Something inside her loosened. Maybe she really could reset here.

Her phone buzzed. A text from her best friend lit up the screen, Did you land okay? Are you alive?

Aria smirked, typing back, “I'm alive and single. I feel weird.”

The reply came instantly, “Screw Ryan, order sangria and live your life.”

Aria grinned and shoved her phone away. “Maybe I will.”

The taxi slowed in front of a sleek stone building with wrought-iron balconies. The driver hoisted her suitcase out with a grunt. “Monteluna,” he announced.

She tipped him, thanked him, then stood on the curb staring up at the hotel. It looked elegant and peaceful.

Her chest eased again. For once, everything was simple.

She rolled her bag through the glass doors into the lobby. She noticed the cool air, soft jazz, the faint perfume of lilies.

Behind the desk, a sharply dressed clerk smiled. “Welcome, señorita. Checking in?”

Aria let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Yes. Aria Ryan.”

The check-in was smooth and almost soothing. The clerk handed her a key card with a flourish. “Room 607. Enjoy your stay.”

For the first time in days, Aria smiled genuinely. “Thank you.”

She followed the bellboy to the elevator, her suitcase clicking across marble tiles. The boy rattled off tourist spots,cathedrals, markets, hidden tapas bars. She nodded politely, but her mind was elsewhere.

She thought of Ryan, of course. She thought of the box still in her bag, the watch engraved with All my time is yours. She wondered if she’d ever be able to look at it without wanting to smash it against the wall.

But mostly, she thought about freedom. About being alone in a strange city, with no one to answer to.

As the elevator chimed and the doors slid open, she allowed herself a tiny smile. Maybe the trip wouldn’t heal everything. But at least it was hers.

The elevator glided to a stop on the seventh floor, the soft ding echoing in the quiet hallway. Aria wheeled her suitcase out, following the bellboy until they reached her door.

“Room 607,” he announced, sliding her bag neatly against the wall. His grin was wide and eager, like he enjoyed being the unofficial welcome committee. “Best view in the hotel. If you look to the left from your balcony, you can see the cathedral spire. Very romantic.”

Aria snorted softly. “Romantic isn’t really on my list right now.”

The boy blinked, then quickly smoothed his expression. “Ah, well the sangria is still good.” He tipped his cap and disappeared back toward the elevator.

When she was finally alone, Aria slid the key card into the slot. The green light blinked, and she pushed open the door.

Her first breath caught.

The room was gorgeous, high ceilings, tall windows draped with sheer curtains, a balcony with a wrought-iron railing overlooking the street below. The bed was king-sized, the linens crisp and white. Warm light glowed from golden sconces, and the faintest scent of lavender lingered in the air.

For the first time in weeks, her chest loosened. She dragged her suitcase inside and let herself fall backward onto the bed. The mattress swallowed her whole, cool sheets pressing against her skin. She stared at the ceiling and laughed under her breath.

“Finally, something goes right.”

For a few minutes, she just lay there, letting the silence wrap around her. There was no Ryan, no excuses and no phantom eyes drilling into her from across a terminal. Just her, a bed too big for one person, and the sound of muffled city life outside the window.

Eventually, she rolled up and wandered to the balcony, pushing the curtain aside. The boy hadn’t been lying. The cathedral spire rose in the distance, glowing faintly in the evening light. Below, the street buzzed with chatter and clinking glasses.

She rested her arms on the railing, inhaling the air. Salt from the sea, smoke from roasting chestnuts, perfume from passing tourists, it was messy and alive and so much better than the sterile walls of Ryan’s apartment.

Her phone buzzed again. A text from her friend. “Don’t think about him. Think about what comes next.

Aria stared at the screen, then shoved it in her pocket. “What comes next,” she whispered, “is wine, a shower, and pretending men don’t exist.”

She closed the curtains, unzipped her suitcase, and pulled out her toiletries. A hot shower sounded like salvation.

When the water roared to life in the bathroom, steam filling the air, Aria let her robe slide from her shoulders. She stepped under the spray and sighed as the heat pounded against her skin.

The day melted away. The fight with Ryan, the haunting eyes at the airport, the paranoia all of it seemed to swirl down the drain with the suds.

Her head fell back under the stream. “This is my trip now,” she murmured, almost convincing herself.

She wrapped herself in a towel and padded back into the room, skin flushed from the heat, hair damp against her neck. The room glowed softly in the lamplight, a cocoon of calm.

She sank onto the bed, the towel slipping a little. For the first time since she caught Ryan cheating, she felt something dangerous, loneliness mixing with defiance, an urge she’d ignored too long.

And she gave in to it. The towel slipped from Aria’s hips as she sank deeper into the bed. Her skin still burned from the shower, steam clinging to her hair. She pressed her palm flat against her stomach, then lower, her breath catching as she finally let the loneliness unravel into something else.

“God, Ryan,” she muttered, half bitter, half aroused, “you don’t deserve a single thought of me.”

Her hand moved slower, heat pooling, the quietness of the hotel room wrapping around her like a secret. Every muscle in her body tensed with anticipation. Her breath caught in her chest as her fingers ventured down, under the black lace of her panties. She thought back to her white cotton underpants that night at Ryan's house, and she giggled to herself. If anyone had told me back then that she’d walk into the room and catch her boyfriend with her another lady in bed. She wouldn’t have believed he would have the nerve to cheat on her.

She closed her eyes and stroked two fingers down her slit. Her hips lifted. She'd been so eager for this moment, now it seemed like her skin was too sensitive to touch. She thought of what Ryan would have done if he walked in, and she remembered the undisguised appreciation in his eyes while he’d watched her hands on her body. Her stomach fluttered with nervous butterflies. What if he had been cheating on her from the beginning? She missed his touch, his kiss and how good he would have f****d her right there.

“Oh shut up” she scolded herself. Would you really want to f**k a guy who was cheating on you and saw nothing wrong in his actions? No, that would be weird. She wouldn't dare to do that.

Her fingertips circled her c**t, and a shaky breath stuttered across her lips. Her flesh felt hot and heavy under her hand, and she cupped herself, letting her fingers slip between the folds of her s*x.

The door swung open, weight of desire became like an electric current. Her lungs seized, her limbs quivered. She opened her eyes, a soft groan escaping her when she saw someone standing there.