Chapter 2 Before the guilt could speak

The morning light spilled through the blinds like molten gold, casting stark, angular shadows across the unfamiliar walls that loomed around her. Felicia blinked against the brightness, a fog of disorientation clouding her thoughts, but the heavy quilt that clung to her bare skin, coupled with the faint ache between her legs, shattered her confusion and plunged her into a sharp, chilling reality. Her heart plummeted like a stone. It wasn't a dream. She was exposed. Laid bare in a stranger's bed.

Not just any stranger-he was a man whose voice dripped with velvet smoothness and whose gaze had held her captive, causing her to forget everything she thought she knew. Zachary. The name slammed into her consciousness, raw and jarring. Her breath caught in her throat. What had she done? With a shaky resolve, she pivoted to sit upright, her pulse racing like a frantic drumbeat. Her gaze swept across the disordered room, landing on the remnants of her previous night: clothes scattered like whispered regrets. Her bra lay tossed near the door, her dress draped over the armrest like an unfinished story, and her heels-where could they have gone? A coil of nausea twisted in her stomach. She had surrendered to a man she hardly knew. She had been the one to ignite the spark, to lure him into the depths of her turmoil and ask him to help her forget the pain. And he had obliged. But now? Now, an acute sense of shame wrapped around her heart like a vise. What kind of woman unravels so completely? What kind of woman allows the jagged edges of heartbreak to lead her into the arms-and bed-of a stranger? Tears bubbled at the corners of her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away, suppressing the emotion that threatened to spill over. She didn't deserve to cry again-not after the night that had just unfolded. Not after what she had relinquished so carelessly. She turned to her right. The bed beside her was empty-a haunting void. Her breath hitched. He's not here. Perhaps he had left. Perhaps the gravity of their shared mistake had driven him away as well. Maybe- The unmistakable sound of running water pulled her attention sharply. A shower. He was still here. Panic surged through her like ice coursing through her veins. She couldn't face him now-not like this. Not under the weight of guilt clawing up her spine and humiliation knotting her throat. Without a second thought, she slipped out of the bed, her heart racing, seizing her underwear, dress, and heels in a frenzied grasp. There was no time for modesty, no time for introspection. Just escape. Her fingers trembled as she pulled the dress over her head. Her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror, and she felt a jolt: smudged makeup tracing a story of desperation, swollen lips betraying her vulnerability, and hair a chaotic silhouette of the night's abandon. She was a stranger to herself. That realization stung. With caution, Felicia crept toward the door, her heart pounding like a war drum in her chest. The apartment was an eerie silence, amplifying every sound she made, each step a stark reminder of her exposure. Her hand faltered on the doorknob. What if he emerged now? What if he asked her to linger a moment longer? What if he offered some measure of kindness? Worse... what if he didn't? Her jaw tightened, resolve hardening within her. You've already made a fool of yourself once. Don't give him the chance to look at you with pity. With a brisk, determined motion, she twisted the knob and slipped out the door, her heels clutched tightly in her palm. Down the hallway. Into the waiting embrace of the elevator. Out into the sun-drenched street of the lavish building. And then she ran. Steam enveloped the bathroom mirrors like a soft mist, distorting Zachary's reflection as he ran a towel through his damp hair. The warmth of the night before still lingered on his skin-Sunanya's lips grazing his, her voice a soothing whisper, the way she had surrendered to his touch, vulnerable yet fierce, a juxtaposition that had shattered his carefully constructed barriers. It wasn't supposed to mean anything. But it did. As he opened the door, hope flickered within him, imagining her still nestled in the sheets, a beautiful storm finally calmed, her dark hair a stunning contrast against the crisp white fabric. Yet the bed lay empty. The room was filled with an unsettling silence. Cold. His heart skipped a beat, disbelief swelling within him. He glanced around-her vibrant dress was gone, the delicate heels absent from the floor, her purse missing. Still, her scent lingered in the air, a delicate trace of warmth surrounding him, as if she had only just slipped away-but she was truly gone. He felt a tightening in his chest. She left? No note. No gentle goodbye. Not even a single cup unmoved to suggest she'd ever been there. She ran. Zachary's fists clenched, his fingers curling into tight balls of frustration. Memories of the previous night spiraled back-how raw and fragile she had seemed, how she had clung to him in her moment of need, the haunting crack in her voice when she whispered, "Make me forget." In that moment, he had handled her with a tenderness that felt unfamiliar, revealing intimate pieces of himself he thought were long buried. And she had left. The realization washed over him like a cold wave, bringing with it an unsettling mix of emotions. He wasn't merely angry-he felt a deep sense of betrayal, a wound cutting deeper than he expected. People didn't just walk away from Zachary Bennett. They didn't vanish into thin air, leaving only shadows behind. He wasn't a fleeting distraction. He had shared something genuine with her last night-even if he couldn't articulate it. And she had slipped away as if it meant nothing. A heavy sigh escaped him as he tossed the damp towel aside, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Her presence hung in the air like a fading dream, leaving behind embers of feeling he couldn't ignore. He didn't even know her full name. She had never shared it. Coward, he thought quietly, grappling with the painful reality. You opened up to me, only to disappear. Like so many others. His jaw tightened as darker thoughts began to creep in, the uncertainty gnawing at the edges of his mind. She thought she could waltz into his life, ignite his senses, and vanish as if it had been inconsequential? No. Not this time. He wouldn't let it end like this. With a resolute stride, he approached the window, his eyes fixed on the sprawling skyline, the city glistening in the gentle morning light. A fire burned within him, fueled by a fusion of anger and a yearning for understanding. "Run all you want, mystery girl," he murmured, his voice heavy but steady. "But I will find you." A promise. Not born of vengeance. But out of a deep need for answers. Because no woman had ever touched Zachary Bennett the way she did-not just physically, but deeply, reaching into the very fabric of his being. He refused to let himself become a mere footnote in her story. Not after last night. Not after her.