He said: Hold On To Me-Sydney’s POV
1284 Words
Drake doesn’t ask permission when my legs buckle again.
He simply shifts me effortlessly into his arms—one under my knees, one behind my back—as if carrying strangers in emotional ruins is something he does on Thursdays. His grip is warm, steady, almost grounding in a way that feels unfair for a man I’ve known for exactly thirty seconds.
“Hold onto me,” he murmurs.
My fingers curl weakly into the lapel of his charcoal suit. He smells like winter pine and something expensive that hurts my feelings.
He strides down the quiet hallway with controlled precision, each step confident, almost commanding. The distant hum of the gala fades behind us, replaced by the faint echo of our footsteps.
I try to wipe my tears with the back of my shaking hand, but he gently catches my wrist.
“Don’t,” he says softly. “You’ll smudge your makeup more.”
A humorless laugh escapes me. “It’s already wrecked.”
His gaze flicks to my face with a gentleness that surprises me. “Then let it be wrecked. You’ve earned the right to cry tonight.”
God, why did that hit harder than it should?
We reach a private elevator tucked behind a discreet door. He taps a keycard, and it opens instantly. The doors slide shut, sealing us away from the world that just shattered me.
The moment the soft lights hit, he looks straight at me.
“Tell me who did this to you,” he says. Not a demand. Not a question. A vow.
I swallow hard. My throat burns.
“Please don’t ask me that right now.”
His jaw flexes. “Alright.”
Just that. No pressure. No push.
Just… understanding.
It scares me how easy it is to trust someone who feels like danger wrapped in comfort.
The elevator opens into a dim, luxurious lounge—fireplace lit, low amber lights, snowy cityscape visible through the glass wall. A private haven above the chaos of the hotel.
Christmas garlands drape the shelves. A small decorated tree glows in the corner. It should have felt comforting. Instead, it reminds me of everything I was supposed to have tonight.
Drake sets me gently onto a plush couch, kneeling in front of me immediately—as if lowering himself makes it easier for me to breathe.
“Stay here,” he says, voice low. “I’ll get water.”
I nod, hugging my arms around myself.
The room tilts.
The betrayal finally hits fully.
The memory of Marcus’s hands, Tyra’s smile, his silence—
It crushes me.
A sob cracks out of my chest before I can stop it.
I slap a hand over my mouth, shaking uncontrollably.
Drake is back at my side in less than two seconds.
He doesn’t touch me.
Not yet.
He just sits beside me, close enough for warmth, far enough for respect.
“If someone broke your heart tonight,” he says quietly, “then they’re a fool. And I don’t tolerate fools in my hotel.”
A startled, watery laugh bubbles out of me. “You… don’t even know me.”
His eyes find mine—gray, intense, unreadable.
“I know enough.”
I look away. “I shouldn’t be here. I should be downstairs… pretending everything’s fine.”
“You don’t owe anyone pretend,” he counters. “Not tonight.”
“I owe Marcus—” I stop, throat tightening.
Drake’s tone shifts, dangerously soft. “It was him, wasn’t it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Please… don’t say his name right now.”
His hand moves—slowly—and rests over mine. Warm. Large. Steady. Not pressing, not pulling. Just offering.
And something inside me breaks again, but in a different way.
“Breathe,” he says. “You’ve been holding it all in.”
I inhale shakily.
Then—
A loud knock slams against the lounge door.
“Sydney?”
Marcus.
My entire body goes rigid.
“Syd, open the door—please. I know you’re in there.”
Drake’s expression darkens.
Storm clouds gathering.
He stands in one smooth, silent motion.
“Stay here,” he murmurs.
“No—Drake, wait—”
But he’s already crossing the room.
He opens the door just enough to step out, blocking the view inside with his broad frame.
Marcus’s voice rises, frantic. “Where is she? I just want to talk.”
Drake’s tone is cold steel wrapped in velvet.
“You’ve done enough.”
“Who the hell are you to tell me what I’ve done?” Marcus snaps.
“She’s my girlfriend—”
“Was,” Drake cuts sharply. “And if you cared about her at all, you wouldn’t have kissed another woman in my hotel.”
My breath catches.
He’s defending me. For what?
We barely know each other.
Marcus lowers his voice but not the anger. “Sydney and I have seven years. Who are you to interfere?”
Drake’s reply is low, lethal.
“The man who caught her when you didn’t.”
Silence.
I cover my mouth again, emotions slamming into me from every direction.
Marcus tries to push past him. “Move. I need to see her.”
Drake shifts, blocking him again with an ease that makes Marcus stumble.
“She doesn’t need to see you cry apologies you don’t mean.”
“That’s not your call!”
“It is,” Drake says, “because she’s emotionally collapsing and you have no right to add to the damage you already caused.”
Marcus’s breath heaves. “This is between me and Sydney.”
Drake lowers his voice to a quiet knife-edge.
“Then respect the boundaries she’s asking for.”
Marcus hesitates.
Anger falters into guilt.
His voice cracks, softer now.
“She’s… she’s everything to me.”
A painful stab hits my chest.
Because I believed that too.
Drake doesn’t soften.
“Then leave her alone while she’s crushed. And if you have even a trace of decency left, you’ll wait until she chooses to face you — not when you need to fix your pride.”
Silence stretches.
Footsteps retreat.
The soft echo fades.
Drake waits a few seconds, then returns to me.
He closes the door gently and walks back, the intensity in his eyes now tempered with something else—something almost protective.
“He’s gone,” he says.
I nod, wiping my face. “I… heard.”
He sits beside me again, but this time he doesn’t hesitate. He places his jacket around my shoulders, warm from his body.
“You’re freezing.”
I pull it tighter. “Thank you.”
Drake studies me quietly, as if memorizing every tremor.
Then he speaks softly:
“You don’t have to be strong right now. Let someone else hold the weight for a moment.”
My breath trembles.
“Why are you being so kind to me? You don’t know what happened.”
He meets my eyes with devastating calm.
“Because no one deserves to be abandoned and betrayed at Christmas. And because—” His voice drops, subtle and magnetic.
“—you looked like someone worth catching.”
Something inside me flutters violently.
Wrong timing.
Wrong night.
Wrong everything.
But I feel it.
The shift.
The spark.
The dangerous pull.
I look away, blinking back tears. “Drake… you shouldn’t get involved.”
“Too late,” he says quietly.
My heart stutters.
He leans back slightly, giving me space again. “You’re safe with me. No expectations. No pressure. Just… safety.”
And for the first time since the betrayal, I believe it.
- Writer
