AFTER ONE NIGHT

CHAPTER 1

• THE NIGHT •

It's been a week since the wedding fiasco, and Ashley has hardly left her room, soaking her pillows with tears. But tonight, she promised herself a fresh start. Here she was, sitting at the far end of Ember lounge, in front of the counter, one of her favorite places to relax, sipping her fourth glass of wine.

I may be broken, but I'll keep it classy.

She repeated those words like a mantra, wearing her favorite red dress and red heels, giving her lips a bold red tint. The goal wasn't to attract anyone but to remind herself of who she was, with or without Anthony.

Videos of their failed wedding spread across the internet, painting her as the bad guy—jobless and probably cheating—exactly what Anthony wanted. He used his power and wealth to clear his name while hers was dragged through the mud, as she wasn't rich and lacked loyal supporters.

A tear rolled down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away, reminding herself of her mantra. She picked up her phone for distraction but immediately hesitated, fearing what she might see next.

Just yesterday, she found the courage to check i********: after days of ignoring her phone. As she scrolled, she came across photos that shattered her. At first, it seemed unbelievable, but as she kept going, reality hit hard.

It was Claire's i********:. There were pictures of Anthony and her best friend cuddling on a beach, captioned "On A Baecation With My Sugar."

Apparently, they traveled to the Maldives a few days ago, which explained why Claire hadn’t contacted her since she became a disgraceful celebrity. It was all a setup.

As those memories flashed back, it felt like her heart was tearing apart again. Yes, she'd noticed their closeness but never thought her best friend would go that far. And Anthony? She remembered how he always disliked Claire, even warning her to stay away from that unpleasant person. He had bragged about how models weren’t his type—especially not ones like Claire—and how he felt sick whenever he saw her. What a lie!

Ashley had always loved modeling but quit due to Anthony's constant putdowns. She found another job just to please him, which led to her gaining weight. He never let her forget it, even calling her a "ball" at times. Still, she chose to focus on his good side...until now.

"Aren't I just a fool!" she muttered, gulping the wine in her glass, wincing slightly as it burned down her throat.

"Another," Ashley signaled the bartender, hoping this drink would come quicker before she completely lost it.

"That's your fifth, ma'am," the plump man behind the counter raised an eyebrow, surprised.

"Then make it six. Lucky number, right?" She rolled her eyes.

If only he knew.

Tonight was about her trying to stay sane, keeping it classy, and filling her emptiness with alcohol. She glanced around, but that was a mistake. The sight of couples leaning on each other and chatting happily did more harm than good to her broken heart. Even worse, the love song playing in the background made her feel sick with self-pity. Then suddenly, her gaze fell on a stunning man.

Wow! He must have stepped out of a fashion magazine!

Maybe she was hurt or drunk, but none of that mattered. Her eyes were locked on the most handsome man she had ever seen. He stood across the bar, dressed in a sharp black tuxedo, his features perfect—black hair softly touching his forehead, a strong jawline, broad shoulders. Ashley’s eyes moved over him, top to bottom and back again. Anthony didn’t compare to this guy.

Would it be weird if she suddenly felt excited?

No. No way!

Was he staring too?

Her breath caught as heat rushed to her cheeks, and seeing that he wasn’t looking away anytime soon, she quickly glanced away. But when the bartender slid her drink over, she caught his reflection in the mirror behind the counter. He was still staring. Great!

Ashley lifted her glass for a sip, hoping the cool liquid would dull the sensations crawling over her skin. Just then, she heard a smooth, deep voice behind her, almost a whisper. "Hello, beautiful! You'll regret the sixth glass."

Was that her imagination? She felt dazed.

Maybe it was just a guess. But how could it be when his presence, already magnetic from afar, made her stomach flutter with him so close? His scent was intoxicating.

She turned to the side and met a pair of fiery green, intense eyes.

"Excuse me?" She struggled to maintain her composure, trying not to focus on his slightly revealed, tanned, hairy chest, especially since he was standing just a hand's width away from her.

He smiled at her discomfort; her reaction was not unusual, and he was familiar with it, especially from women.

"You'll regret it. That much alcohol won’t take the pain away," he leaned closer. "It'll only make tomorrow worse." Who was this man? Why did it feel like he understood her pain?

Ashley swallowed hard. "And what exactly do you know about my pain?"

"Enough to see you're trying hard to forget."

"And you are... a bar therapist in a designer suit?" She let out a short, sarcastic laugh.

"No...just a man who knows what regret looks like—and it doesn't look good on you." His fingers brushed her cheek lightly, then his gaze fell to her exposed chest, partly covered by her red sleeveless midi dress.

Her pulse raced, which was strange considering how she felt. Every fiber of her being urged her to get up and leave before she did something impulsive, but instead, she found herself captivated by his fiery green eyes, imagining the taste of his thin, pink lips. Maybe it was the alcohol, but...

"May I?" He gestured toward the empty stool next to her.

She hesitated before nodding. She couldn't trust herself right now, nor her voice.

Once he sat down, the bartender appeared with a smile, setting down a glass of something expensive without asking. That told her enough. Whoever this man was, he had to be important and a regular here.

They sat in silence for a while, his eyes roaming over her like they were dancing. Ashley noticed but pretended not to. But when the silence became unbearable, someone needed to speak.

"Why do you keep staring at me, stranger?"

That was supposed to be a question; perhaps it sounded flirty because, in an instant, he closed the space between them. She could feel the heat radiating off him as his sweet, minty breath brushed against her lips, completely shutting down her brain.

The music played on, but all she could hear was her own racing pulse as his mouth claimed hers hungrily. Nothing else mattered—not even the glass slipping from her grip. He was intoxicating her with his hot kisses.

It had to be the alcohol or heartbreak. Either way, she knew she should pull back. She should call it a night. Anything but sitting there like some loose woman. But her body betrayed her, leaning in, surrendering to his demands and craving more. She needed this—more than alcohol, she needed a kiss to forget her pain, and it surprisingly worked.

He paused, his eyes darkening with a mix of satisfaction and desire as he peered into hers. Then he stood, extending his hand,

"Come with me."