A One Nightstand To Live For

Chapter2

Claire

The house was quiet when I got back. Lyla was waiting for me in the living room, a cup of coffee in her hands and a worried expression on her face.

"You’ve been crying again," she said softly.

I sank onto the couch, my body too heavy with exhaustion to care. "I can’t do this anymore, Lyla. It’s too much."

"You can," she insisted, setting her coffee down and leaning forward. "Claire, you’re the strongest person I know."

I scoffed, the sound bitter even to my own ears. "Strong? Look at me. I’m drowning in debt, my house is falling apart, and my son is…" My voice broke, and I covered my face with my hands.

Lyla reached over, placing a comforting hand on my arm. "You don't have to do this alone, you know? There’s someone you can still turn to."

My head snapped up, anger flaring in my chest. "No."

"You haven’t even let me finish!"

"I know what you’re going to say, and the answer is no. I’m not going to Danny."

"Claire—"

"No!" I shouted, standing abruptly. Memories of Danny’s cruelty flooded back, each one more painful than the last. The constant emotional abuse and manipulation was repellant enough to keep me away from him. "I’d rather lose everything than go crawling back to my crazy ex."

Lyla sighed, her shoulders sagging in defeat. "Then what’s your plan? Because you can’t keep going like this."

I didn’t have an answer.

Lyla’s words echoed in my mind long after she left. I paced the living room, my hands trembling as I stared at the stack of bills on the table. They weren’t enough—not even close.

Every corner of my life was collapsing in on itself. The house, the medical bills, the debt collectors—they all pressed down on me, suffocating me. And through it all, there was Ted, fighting for his life while I fought to keep my sanity.

I paused in front of the mirror hanging on the wall. The woman staring back at me wasn’t the Claire Sunderland I used to know. Her once-long, glossy blonde hair was now cut to her shoulders, dull and lifeless. Her blue eyes, which had once been full of fire, were swollen from crying. The oversized t-shirt and leggings she wore only added to the picture of a woman who was barely holding it together.

I didn’t recognize myself.

"Seven years ago," I whispered bitterly, "I had everything. Confidence. A future. A life."

But seven years ago, I hadn’t had Ted. And for him, I would trade it all again in a heartbeat.

The memories came rushing back as I sat on the couch, staring blankly at the wall.

It had been my first day of work—my first real job after college. I’d spent hours perfecting my resume, obsessing over every little detail, and finally, it had paid off. I’d landed a position as a business manager at one of the most prestigious companies in the city.

The morning had been perfect. I wore a tailored pencil skirt, a crisp white blouse, and a pair of pink stilettos that made me feel like I could take on the world. My office was spacious and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city.

Everything felt like it was falling into place.

"Ms. Sunderland," a young man’s voice had interrupted my thoughts.

I looked up to see him standing in the doorway. He was slim, with neatly combed hair and a clipboard tucked under his arm.

"Welcome to Duke Enterprises," he said with a friendly smile. "I’m Oliver, your assistant. I’ll help you with scheduling and let you know when you have meetings. Speaking of which, Mr. Duke is ready to see you now."

Excitement bubbled in my chest as I followed Oliver through the maze of hallways. This was it—the start of my career, the beginning of a brighter future.

But when I stepped into the office and turned around, the air was sucked from my lungs.

There he was.

The same man from the club. The man who had given me the best night of my life.

He looked different now. The leather jacket and smug smile were gone, replaced by a tailored suit and a stern expression. But there was no mistaking those dark eyes or the confident way he carried himself.

Dr. Rowen Duke.

My breath hitched as he rose from behind his desk, his gaze locking onto mine.

"Ms. Sunderland," he said, his voice deep and commanding. It sent a shiver down my spine, just like it had that night.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to step further into the room. "Good morning, Dr. Duke. I’m Claire Sunderland, your new business manager."

I extended my hand, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight tremor. His eyes flicked to it before he moved closer, the weight of his presence suffocating.

"I know who you are," he said smoothly.

I froze. Did he mean professionally? Or—

Before I could finish the thought, he leaned in slightly, his lips curling into a smirk that made my stomach twist. "We’ve met before, haven’t we?"

Panic surged through me. My mind scrambled for a response, something professional, something that wouldn’t confirm what he already seemed to know.

"I’m not sure what you mean," I said, my voice too high-pitched to be convincing.

He took another step closer, erasing the space between us. His cologne filled the air—a heady mix of confidence and warmth that made it impossible to think straight.

"You don’t remember?" he asked, his tone deceptively light.

"I—"

Before I could stammer out another denial, his hand was at my waist, pulling me against him. My breath caught as his other hand trailed up my ass, his touch both familiar and maddening.

"I remember," he murmured, his lips dangerously close to my ear. "Every second of that night."

Heat surged through me—anger, humiliation, and something I couldn’t quite name. I shoved him hard, breaking free from his grasp.

"Don’t touch me," I snapped, my voice shaking.

His smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew wider, more arrogant.

"Interesting," he said, taking a step back as if to study me. "You didn’t seem to mind my hands on you before."

The slap came before I could stop it. My palm connected with his cheek, the sound sharp and echoing in the room.

For a moment, there was silence.

"I—I’m sorry," I stammered, horror crashing over me as I realized what I’d just done.

"You’re going to regret that," he said, his voice low and rough.

The memory burned as I sat on the couch, staring at the eviction notice in my hands.

I’d walked out of that office and never looked back. I told myself I’d find another job, a better one, somewhere far away from Rowen Duke and the humiliation of that encounter.

But now, seven years later, I was at the end of my rope. Ted was sick. The house was crumbling. And my debts were piling higher with every passing day.

I had no choice.

I needed his help.

Tears blurred my vision as I folded the letter and set it aside. I would swallow my pride, go to his office, and beg if I had to. But I would not tell him about Ted.

Some secrets were too dangerous to share.