I should’ve checked the room number twice.
But I was exhausted, drenched from the rain, my heels clicking against polished marble as I stumbled down the hall of the Grand Marlowe Hotel. Room 714. That’s what I’d heard the receptionist say. Or maybe it was 741. Hell, I don’t know. The soft buzz in my ears and the pulse between my legs didn’t exactly help me focus.
I reached the door just as a cleaning cart rolled by. The door was already slightly ajar.
I should’ve known something was off. The lights were dim, the air smelled like expensive cologne and bourbon, not my usual lavender. But I was tired. So tired.
I kicked off my heels, peeled off my damp jacket, and left it slung over the back of a velvet chair. My fingers trembled as I unzipped my dress, letting it fall in a puddle at my f
