Chapter3-the morning after
1182 Words
James Devon’s POV)
I don’t wake up disoriented.
That’s not something I allow.
Sleep, for me, is structured. Timed. Controlled down to the hour. I don’t oversleep. I don’t wake up in stages. I don’t lie there trying to figure out where I am.
I wake up, and I know.
Except this morning—
I didn’t.
It wasn’t dramatic. No confusion, no panic. Just a slight delay. A fraction of a second where something didn’t align the way it should have.
And that was enough.
I stayed still, eyes closed, letting the awareness settle properly before I moved. The room was quiet. Too quiet, maybe. Or maybe I was just noticing it more than usual.
There was a faint pressure at the back of my head. Not a hangover. I don’t drink enough for that to happen.
Just… a reminder.
That something about last night hadn’t followed structure.
That alone irritated me.
I opened my eyes slowly.
The ceiling came into focus first. Clean lines. Neutral colors. Everything exactly where it should be.
Controlled.
Predictable.
Reliable.
My gaze shifted to the side.
The other half of the bed was empty.
That didn’t surprise me.
What did, Was how easily I noticed it.
I sat up, running a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly as I forced my thoughts into order.
Reconstruct.
That’s how this works.
You don’t dwell—you assess.
Last night.
The event.
Endless conversations that meant nothing.
People who needed something.
Always something.
Then—
The balcony.
The quiet.
And her.
Scarlett.
The name came back too quickly.
Too clearly.
That was the first problem.
I don’t remember names like that unless they serve a purpose.
And she shouldn’t have.
I turned slightly, scanning the room out of habit.
Nothing out of place.
No dress draped over a chair. No heels left near the door. No trace that someone else had even been here.
She had left clean.
Efficient.
Like it meant nothing.
That—
I didn’t like.
I stood up, the movement automatic, controlled. The slight tension in my shoulders had nothing to do with sleep.
It was irritation.
At the lack of structure.
At the fact that I allowed something unnecessary to happen.
That doesn’t happen.
Not with me.
The bathroom light was too bright when I turned it on, but I didn’t adjust it.
I stepped in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection for a second longer than necessary.
“You don’t do that,” I said quietly.
Not like that.
Not without planning.
Not without control.
I turned on the sink, letting the water run before splashing it over my face.
Cold.
Sharp.
Enough to bring everything into focus.
I braced my hands against the counter, head lowered for a second as the memory came back—clearer this time.
Not everything.
Just enough.
Her voice.
Sharp. Controlled.
The way she didn’t hesitate, but didn’t give in either.
The way she looked at me like I wasn’t something to be impressed by.
That part—
Stayed.
I straightened slowly.
Last night wasn’t strategic.
It wasn’t necessary.
Which meant—
It was a mistake.
And I don’t ignore mistakes.
I correct them.
I reached for a towel, drying my hands methodically, already moving through the next steps in my head.
Then—
Something else surfaced.
Slower.
But more important.
I went still.
Completely still.
Because this wasn’t about preference or irritation.
This was about risk.
Protection.
Or the lack of it.
My grip tightened slightly around the towel.
That hadn’t been considered.
Hadn’t been accounted for.
Hadn’t been controlled.
And that—
Was unacceptable.
I dropped the towel onto the counter, already reaching for my phone.
Lucas answered immediately.
“Sir.”
“I need information.”
No explanation.
None needed.
“Name?”
“Scarlett Johnson.”
A pause.
Short.
Efficient.
“From last night’s event?”
“Yes.”
“Understood.”
I walked back into the room, already pulling on a shirt, movements precise, automatic.
“What exactly do you need?” he asked.
“Everything,” I said. “Background. Contact. Who arranged her presence.”
“Discreet?”
I exhaled lightly.
“Obviously.”
“Give me an hour.”
“Thirty minutes.”
A brief pause.
“Yes, sir.”
I ended the call.
The room felt quieter now.
Not empty.
Just… incomplete.
I ignored that.
By the time I finished dressing, control had settled back into place.
Or at least, it looked like it had.
The drive to the office was routine.
Predictable.
The city moving around me exactly the way it always did.
None of it required attention.
Which left my mind with too much space.
And that’s when it happened again.
Her.
Not in fragments this time.
Clearer.
The way she stood her ground.
The way she didn’t respond the way most people did.
No hesitation.
No attempt to impress.
No interest in what I represented.
Just—
Presence.
I frowned slightly, adjusting my grip on the steering wheel.
Irrelevant.
That part didn’t matter.
What mattered was the situation.
The risk.
The variable.
Still—
The fact that she left without saying anything stayed.
Not because I expected something.
Because I didn’t.
But because it broke pattern.
And I don’t like broken patterns.
Lucas was already waiting when I stepped into the office.
Of course he was.
Tablet in hand. Expression neutral.
Reliable.
“Scarlett Johnson,” he began. “Mid-twenties. No criminal record. No public controversies.”
Expected.
“She works through a private agency. High-end clientele. Selective engagement.”
“What kind of engagement?” I asked.
“Companionship. Event attendance. Discreet services.”
That tracked.
“She doesn’t take long-term arrangements,” he added. “Prefers independence. Minimal repeat clients.”
That made me pause.
“Minimal?” I repeated.
“Yes.”
Unusual.
“Contact?” I asked.
“She doesn’t provide direct access. Everything goes through the agency.”
Of course.
“That won’t be an issue.”
“No.”
Lucas hesitated slightly.
“There’s something else.”
I looked up.
“She left early last night. No incident. No complaints.”
“I’m aware.”
He studied me briefly.
Not questioning.
Just observing.
“Schedule a meeting,” I said.
“With her?”
“Yes.”
“Through the agency?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Direct contact may not be well received.”
“I’m not asking for approval.”
“No, sir.”
He didn’t move immediately.
“May I ask why this requires urgency?”
“You may.”
He waited.
I didn’t answer.
That was enough.
By midday, everything was arranged.
Location.
Timing.
Access.
Clean.
Controlled.
Handled.
This ends with one conversation.
That’s all it is.
Clarification.
Confirmation.
Resolution.
I reached for my keys—
Then stopped.
Just for a second.
Because something didn’t sit right.
She hadn’t looked back.
Not once.
And for some reason—
That bothered me more than it should have.
I pushed the thought aside immediately.
Irrelevant.
And walked out.
Already on my way to find her.
- Writer
