Chapter 1
946 Words
Kelly’s POV
Pain.
That was the first thing I felt.
A slow, merciless throb behind my eyes, like someone beating a drum against my skull. I peeled my eyelids open and found myself lying on my bed, shoes still on, hoodie tangled around me like a defeated flag.
The room was dim.
My memories were worse.
Fragments flickered in my mind like shards of broken glass:
The bartender’s teasing smile.
The music pounding in my veins.
A man—tall, cold, impossibly composed.
Wine stolen from his glass.
Me—laughing, asking him if he could kiss the moon.
Oh God.
What had I done?
I pressed both hands to my face, groaning.
A knock echoed through the apartment.
Sharp. Firm. Unfamiliar.
I froze.
No one knocked like that. Not neighbors. Not Mel. Not anyone I knew.
Another knock.
This time harder.
I dragged myself to the door, opened it—
—and the world seemed to hush.
There he was.
The man from the bar.
The carved jaw. The silent storm.
His presence filled my doorway like he was too big for the world that built him.
Mr. Wells.
Not a rumor.
Not a story.
A reality standing in front of me in an immaculate black suit, two guards waiting behind him like shadows.
My breath faltered.
“You,” I whispered, horrified.
“Yes.” His voice was silk over steel. “Me.”
“What—what are you doing here?”
He stared at me, eyes dark as winter oceans.
“You left this.”
He held up my ID card.
My heart plummeted.
How…?
Why…?
“I meant to return it last night,” he said calmly, “but you ran out before you even remembered your own name.”
“I wasn’t that drunk,” I muttered defensively.
One corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile—just the ghost of one.
“You asked me if I could swallow the stars and kiss the moon. I assure you, you were intoxicated.”
Heat flooded my cheeks.
I wanted the earth to open and swallow me whole.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I whispered, grabbing the ID from him. “Embarrassing. Thank you. You can go now.”
But he didn’t move.
Instead, he studied me—slowly, like he was reading a book written in a language only he understood.
“You live here?” he asked quietly.
I stiffened. “What’s it to you?”
His eyes flicked past me into the apartment, taking in the peeling paint, the thin curtains, the dim light struggling to fill the room.
“This place is… small.”
His tone wasn’t mocking.
It was observing.
Analytical.
Almost concerned—but only almost.
“It’s what I can afford,” I snapped. “Not everyone has a mansion built out of their ego.”
A soft exhale—not amusement, but surprise—escaped him.
“You have a sharp tongue for someone who spilled half my drink and insulted my patience.”
“And you have a huge ego for someone who thinks the world should bow when he walks.”
His eyes lingered on me.
Not offended.
Not angry.
Intrigued.
The kind of intrigue that raised every hair on my skin.
“Kelly Parker,” he said slowly, tasting my name like a puzzle, “you fascinate me.”
My heart kicked.
I took a step back. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m something you… want to understand.”
He didn’t deny it.
He didn’t even try.
Instead, he tilted his head, voice low and deceptively calm.
“You called me rude yesterday.”
“You were.” My voice wavered.
“Perhaps.”
He stepped closer.
“But you—drunk, fragile, utterly reckless—walked up to a man you should have feared.”
He leaned just slightly forward, enough for me to feel the gravity of him.
“Tell me… why?”
“I… don’t know.”
“Try.”
I swallowed hard.
Because you looked untouchable.
Because your presence felt like an escape.
Because I am tired of life only giving me pain, and you looked like a distraction from it.
Instead, I whispered, “Because I had nothing left to lose.”
Something flickered across his face—brief, sharp, quickly hidden.
He stepped back.
“My driver will take you to the clinic,” he said.
“What? Why?”
“You were vomiting outside the bar. You’re dehydrated. You look pale.”
His tone softened just a fraction.
“And I don’t like debts. Consider your health one of them.”
“I don’t need your help—”
“You do.”
The firmness in his voice stopped me.
He signaled to the guard.
A black car pulled up outside my building, sleek and polished, completely wrong for the cracked pavement and rusted gates.
“What if I say no?” I challenged.
Wells held my gaze, unwavering.
“Then I’ll stand here until you say yes.”
My heart stumbled.
Who was this man?
Why was he here?
And why did his presence feel like the beginning of something dangerous?
I exhaled, defeated. “Fine. Just this once.”
He nodded.
As I stepped past him, he spoke again—low, unreadable.
“You’re different from most people I meet.”
“And that’s good?” I asked cautiously.
He studied me for a moment that felt like an eternity.
“It’s… inconvenient,” he said.
Then he turned away, leaving me breathless
- Writer
