Chapter three
1142 Words
Khloe’s POV
There was a time I loved airports.
The smell of newness. The promise of a different place. The idea of leaving everything behind,even for a little while.
But this time, it felt like an ambush.
“w***e!”
“Mistress!”
“Homewrecker!”
The words hit me like tiny knives as Mia and I walked toward our boarding gate. People didn’t even try to whisper. Some pointed their phones at me, filming. Others just sneered.
I kept my head down beneath the brim of my sunglasses, tightening my grip on my carry-on.
Mia wrapped her arm around mine. “Ignore them. They're not even worth the dirt on your heels.”
I tried to nod, but every whisper, every glare echoed the one thing I couldn’t shake: the world believed Colin's version.
Not the truth. Not mine.
When we finally got on the plane, I exhaled for the first time in what felt like forever. The cabin was quiet, and the flight attendant offered us champagne, but I declined. My stomach was already twisted into knots.
Spain was supposed to be a fresh start.
God, I hoped it would be.
The flight took nearly eight hours, and by the time we arrived in Madrid, it was already dusk. The sky bled pink and gold above us, the kind of view that used to inspire my old self,the version of me who dreamed big, laughed easily, and didn’t walk around with her heart in shards.
Our hotel was tucked away in the city’s luxurious district.
The room was cozy and elegant, with a balcony overlooking the glittering city below. For a moment, I felt… okay.
After unpacking and taking hot showers, we made our way downstairs for dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. The scent of grilled seafood and saffron hit me the moment we entered.
The waiter led us to a private table near the window. Candles flickered. The wine was chilled. The atmosphere was perfect.
But I barely tasted the food.
“Earth to Khloe,” Mia teased, raising a brow. “You’ve been poking that lobster for the past ten minutes.”
I blinked. “Sorry. I just… it still feels unreal.”
Mia placed her glass down. “That’s why we’re here. To make new memories. To remind you who the hell you are, you should get laid.” She whispered and I finally chuckled.
I smiled faintly. “You sound like a motivational coach.”
“Damn right I do. And Coach Mia says,tonight, we drink like queens and dance like sinners.”
I laughed softly. “What?”
“There’s a bar just across the hallway,part of the hotel. Chic. Classy. And full of Spanish eye candy. We’re not wasting this view. Go change into something short and dangerous.”
---
Back in the room, I hesitated in front of the closet. Mia tossed a slinky red dress at me. “That. Wear that.”
I held it up with two fingers. “It’s practically a napkin.”
“It’s revenge couture.”
Reluctantly, I slipped into it. The fabric hugged my curves, showing more thigh than I usually dared. I added heels, red gloss, and just enough mascara to lift the exhaustion off my eyes.
When we entered the bar, the energy shifted.
It was dark and sultry,jazz playing low, lights dimmed to gold. Couples danced on the small floor. Groups of tourists drank, laughed, flirted.
I wasn’t used to the attention I got,men turning to glance, women whispering,but this time, I wasn’t the disgraced ex. I was just a woman in red.
Mia grabbed two drinks from the bar and passed one to me.
“To forgetting that jackass exists,” she toasted.
I clinked her glass weakly. “To not waking up with a regret hangover.”
Mia winked. “Speak for yourself. I’ve already spotted tonight’s regret.”
She nodded across the room, where a tall, bronze-skinned man was watching her like she was dessert.
“You go, tiger,” I laughed.
“Damn right I will.” She tossed back her drink, fixed her curls, and slinked away.
I was alone now.
The music had shifted to something more upbeat. I found myself swaying a little, just enough to feel something like joy. A smile crept onto my lips,tiny but real.
I drank another cocktail. Then another. Soon, the warmth spread through my chest and limbs, and I was dancing.
Eyes closed. Arms in the air. For once, I wasn’t thinking about Colin or Camille or headlines.
Just the beat. The escape.
I lost track of time. Maybe minutes. Maybe an hour.
But when I opened my eyes again, Mia was gone. Probably tangled up with Regret 1.
I needed air.
Stumbling a little, I made my way to the bar and slid onto a stool, waving for another drink.
The bartender raised a brow. “You sure, señorita?”
I nodded. “Make it strong.”
Just as he turned to prepare it, a thud echoed beside me.
I turned.
A man had just flown,literally,across the room and landed on the floor a few feet from me.
“What the—”
He groaned, clutching his side, blood staining the edge of his shirt.
The music cut off like a record scratch.
Gasps erupted. Screams. Chairs scraped as people jumped to their feet.
I stood frozen as men in black suits poured into the bar from both entrances. At least six of them. Big. Armed. Eyes scanning.
Two immediately grabbed the bleeding man, dragging him out like garbage.
Another walked toward me, towering and silent. My heart raced.
What the hell was going on?
Then, he stepped in.
A man with the kind of presence that made silence louder.
He was tall, dressed in a charcoal blazer and dark slacks, a black shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of sculpted chest. His hair was thick, raven-black, swept back effortlessly. A clean-cut beard shadowed his strong jaw.
But it was his eyes that froze me.
Icy. Steel-blue. Calculating.
He looked straight at me.
Everyone else seemed to disappear.
And for a second, I couldn’t breathe.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice smooth and deep, accented,Spanish, maybe?
“N-No,” I stammered, heart thundering. “What just happened?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he turned to the bartender. “This woman’s drinks are on me.”
Then he turned back to me. “You should go upstairs. It’s about to get… unpleasant.”
With that, he walked away, surrounded by his guards, disappearing through the side door like a shadow melting into darkness.
The bar remained silent for a few moments.
And I sat there, stunned, my drink untouched.
What the hell had I just walked into?
And more importantly…
Who the hell was that man?
- Writer
