Chapter 3: I Thought About It.
1121 Words
The first thing Seraphina felt was pain. A pounding behind her eyes, sharp enough to make her wince. She groaned softly, pressing a hand to her temple.
The second thing was warmth from a blanket she didn’t own.
Her lashes fluttered open.
This wasn’t her apartment.
Her heart lurched as her gaze darted across the room. High ceilings, dark wooden floors, and a skyline view of the city. This suite was far too expensive to belong to her.
She bolted upright, clutching the blanket to her chest. Her dress still clung to her body from the night before, wrinkled from sleep. Her heels were missing, and her purse was gone.
Her eyes darted across the room and she froze.
Across the room, in the armchair by the window, a man sat with one leg crossed, his posture composed, a phone resting idly in his hand. His eyes weren’t on the screen, though. They were on her.
Her lips parted as her brain finally connected the dots. “What—what did you do to me?”
His expression didn’t change. He set the phone down on the side table with deliberate calm, then leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving hers.
“Good morning,” he said dryly, his voice low and smooth.
Her chest tightened. “Answer me,” she demanded angrily, her fingers clutching the blanket so tightly her knuckles whitened.
He tilted his head, his brows lifting a fraction. “What do you think I did?” he asked, clear amusement in his voice.
Seraphina’s stomach flipped as heat rushed into her cheeks. “If you—Is you touch me?”
Slowly, he rose from the chair. The movement was unhurried and his height seemed to fill the room.
Seraphina’s back hit the wall before she even realized she was moving.
“I didn’t touch you,” he said at last, his tone certain, final. His eyes narrowed slightly, sharp as a blade. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”
She sighed with relief.
“Then why am I here?” Her voice cracked despite her attempt at control.
“Because you passed out in public surrounded by cameras,” he said coldly, but his gaze locked onto hers with quiet intensity. “I carried you out before you ended up as tomorrow’s headline,” He added.
Images flooded her mind—the paparazzi waiting outside with their hungry flashes. She could already imagine the captions. Fallen Angel Cavalli: Drunk, Alone, Discarded.
Seraphina was glad that this stranger had saved her, but she still kept her guard up.
“You could have called someone,” she muttered in a low voice. “My manager, or a car. You didn’t have to bring me here.”
He frowned. He couldn’t believe this woman. He had saved himself from public humiliation, yet she still treated him like a threat: “I couldn’t find your phone and your purse was gone. You couldn’t even stand.”
Her cheeks burned hotter, humiliation prickling her skin. She turned her head away, biting down on her lip.
“You expect me to believe you did all this out of kindness?” she asked, her thinning out with each word.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. He stepped closer, slowly filling the distance between them.
“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t expect you to believe anything.”
Her breath caught as he stopped just a step away. He raised his hand, pressing it against the wall beside her, his body leaning close but not touching. The air shifted, heavy with the strength of him, the sharp scent of his cologne wrapping around her.
“I don’t care what you believe,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, brushing over her like velvet steel. “But don’t confuse me with someone who would take advantage of a drunk woman.”
Her throat closed. Her lashes fluttered, caught in the intensity of his gaze.
Finally, he pulled back, stepping away as though the moment had never happened.
The sudden distance made her knees weak with release. She clutched the blanket tighter and hurried to snatch her heels from the floor.
“I should go,” she said quickly, her voice uneven.
“Of course,” his reply was smooth, unbothered, as though her panic amused him. “Do you remember where you live?”
She stiffened. Her phone was dead. Her purse missing. She couldn’t even remember how far she had walked the night before.
His smirk deepened as his eyes caught her hesitation. “Thought so.”
“I’ll figure it out,” she snapped, lifting her chin.
He tilted his head, his eyes glinting faintly. “In that dress? At nine a.m.? With paparazzi still circling the streets?”
Her cheeks flamed. She hated that he was right.
Nicholas stepped back, giving her space, his expression unreadable once more. “Stay or leave. That’s your choice. But don’t insult me by thinking I carried you here just to use you.”
The steadiness in his tone cut through the storm raging inside her. For the first time, she found herself lowering her eyes, her shoulders softening ever so slightly.
Her gaze flicked toward the chair. His jacket lay draped across the armrest, faintly rumpled. A memory flashed,the warmth of fabric in her sleep, her hand clutching it desperately.
Her lips trembled. “You… really didn’t touch me?” she asked quietly.
His smirk returned, slow and deliberate. “Oh, I thought about it.”
Her head jerked up, eyes wide, heat rushing to her face.
He held her gaze, his voice low and certain. “But no. I didn’t. ”
Seraphina chest squeezed, the words twisting inside her. She hated how much she wanted to believe him.
She turned sharply toward the window, hiding the flush on her cheeks. “You’re still a stranger.”
“True.” He moved back toward the chair, his stride unhurried, casual. “But not for long.”
Her stomach flipped at the certainty in his voice.
She turned back quickly, her eyes narrowing. “Who are you?”
He glanced at her over his shoulder, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
The way he said it made her shiver.
And before she could push further, his phone buzzed. He picked it up smoothly, his voice shifting into something sharper, colder as he spoke.
She watched him, unease prickling under her skin. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t ordinary.
And for the first time since last night, Seraphina wasn’t sure if she should run from him… or if she was already too entangled to escape.
- Writer
