The Morning After
948 Words
Adrian Sinclair’s POV
The sunlight stabbed through the curtains like punishment.
I winced, dragging the sheets over my face, but the damage was done. My head pounded—a brutal drumbeat of regret, wine, and the words I hadn’t said last night. The party was a blur, but one memory stood out in sickening clarity:
Rowan, standing beside Charlotte.
Rowan, with that maddening smirk like he knew everything.
Rowan… her brother.
I groaned and rolled onto my side, arm flopping over the edge of the bed as if I could physically toss out the truth. It stayed. It burned.
“Nice to meet you. For the first time.”
Bastard.
I sat up too fast, regretted it instantly. The mirror across the hotel room mocked me with the image of a man who looked like he’d just survived a car crash—rumpled shirt still half-buttoned, lips swollen from god knows how many drinks, and eyes too tired for a guy who hadn’t done anything but survive a night of fake smiles and social chess.
There was a knock at the door.
I froze.
“Adrian?” Charlotte’s voice filtered through, muffled by the heavy wood.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah?”
“We need to talk. It’s… important.”
I scrubbed my face with both hands. Great. Just what I needed.
When I opened the door, she stepped in like she owned the room, in heels and a sharp pantsuit that probably cost more than most people made in a month. Charlotte looked composed. Polished. But not happy.
She didn’t sit.
“I need to know if you’re going to screw this up,” she said flatly.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Adrian.” She crossed her arms. “You looked like you were going to pass out last night. And then I noticed you looking at Rowan like he’d murdered your cat.”
I said nothing.
“Do you know my brother?” she asked.
I considered lying.
But my body still ached from where Rowan had kissed me—throat, collarbone, hips—and the taste of him still lingered like a ghost.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “I know him.”
Charlotte’s brow furrowed. “From where?”
“I’d rather not talk about that.”
“Too bad.” She stepped closer. “Because whatever history you two have, I need to know if it’s going to blow up this engagement.”
I gave her a bitter smile. “Why? You don’t want to marry me either.”
“Of course not,” she snapped. “But this is about business, not romance. And I don’t need some awkward ex-boyfriend drama undermining our deal.”
“I’m not the dramatic one.”
“You’re clearly hung up on him.”
I didn’t deny it.
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Look. Rowan didn’t tell me anything. He showed up to support me. That’s all he said.”
My heart twisted.
“He didn’t tell you we slept together?”
She blinked. “Wait—you what?”
“Yeah.” I laughed bitterly. “The night before our engagement party. I got drunk. We met at a bar. One thing led to another…”
Charlotte stared at me like I’d sprouted wings. “Jesus Christ, Adrian.”
“Didn’t plan it.”
“No, I’m sure you didn’t.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay. Well, now I know why he kept looking at you like he wanted to rip your clothes off.”
That threw me. “He was?”
“Adrian. I’m not blind.”
A silence settled between us.
Then Charlotte sighed and dropped onto the edge of the couch.
“I don’t care who you sleep with,” she said. “I don’t care if you’re in love with my brother. But I do care about whether this engagement works.”
“You think we can still pull it off?”
“I think,” she said slowly, “that you and I both want to get through this with our dignity intact. So yeah—we fake the relationship, we keep things civil, and we don’t make headlines.”
“And Rowan?”
She glanced at me, expression unreadable. “He’s a grown man. Whatever happens between you two… just don’t let it interfere with our deal.”
I nodded, though it felt like swallowing glass.
After she left, I stood at the window, watching the city buzz below me. My phone buzzed on the table.
Unknown Number:
You look good in a tux.
But you looked better on my sheets.
I stared at the screen, blood rushing to my ears.
Rowan.
I shouldn’t reply. Every part of me screamed to delete the text, to shove the feelings into a box and lock them tight.
Instead, my fingers moved.
Me:
You knew exactly who I was when I walked into that party, didn’t you?
The dots popped up immediately.
Rowan:
Maybe. But I wanted to see the look on your face.
Me:
So you thought you’d humiliate me?
Rowan:
No. I wanted to see if you’d pretend we didn’t exist.
I needed to know if I was a mistake to you.
That stopped me.
Because that’s exactly what I’d tried to do—erase him. Pretend the night hadn’t mattered. But it had. More than I’d let myself admit.
Me:
You weren’t a mistake.
A long pause.
Then—
Rowan:
Good. Then maybe we’re not done yet.
I stared at the message, pulse thudding in my throat.
What the hell was I supposed to do now?
- Writer
