Chapter 3 The One Night Stand

Deborah's P.O.V

"Why didn't you tell me?"

His hand traced lazy circles on my thigh. Warm and possessive-like he owned every inch of my skin.

"What are you talking about?"

I lay on the silk sheets, staring up at the crystal chandelier. My body still hummed, aching in places I didn't know could ache. My hair clung damp to my face.

He hadn't been gentle.

And I loved it.

"You should have told me you were a virgin," he said suddenly, voice low and rough.

My breath hitched.

"I..." My lips trembled. "I was afraid you'd stop."

He went still. Then a dark laugh escaped his chest. It sent a shiver down my spine.

"Stop?" He tilted my chin up with two fingers.

"Little one, I couldn't have stopped if I tried. Not with you."

Heat flooded my cheeks. I turned away clutching the sheet to my chest like it could shield me from his eyes.

"Look at me." His tone softened, almost tender. "You're so damn beautiful, Deborah."

My stomach flipped. The way he said my name felt dangerous.

Like a promise I didn't understand.

"Your name..." I whispered. "I don't know your name."

He smirked, running his thumb across my swollen lip.

"You can call me Mikael."

Mikael.

The name sank into me, heavy and sharp.

I glanced around the room-high walls of glass overlooking a glittering city I had no part in. Gold fixtures. Plush furniture. It smelled expensive, like leather and danger.

Only the richest people could afford this place.

"What are you thinking?" His voice pulled me back.

"That you... you're rich," I blurted. My face burned hotter.

He chuckled. "Is that all?"

I couldn't speak. My throat felt tight.

"Relax." His lips brushed my temple, and I flinched at the tenderness. He pulled back slightly. "Am I scaring you?"

"Yes," I whispered before I could stop myself.

His eyes darkened. "Good."

Before I could respond, his phone vibrated on the nightstand. The sound shattered the fragile moment.

He grabbed it, frowning at the screen.

"I need to take this," he said, already moving off the bed.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him.

And just like that, reality came crashing down.

I just had sex.

With a stranger.

What have I done?

I sat up, clutching my head. My heart pounded against my ribs.

What is God thinking of me right now? I'm ruined. I'm no better than... than Lucifer now.

My hands shook as I grabbed my dress from the floor. I pulled it on clumsily, my fingers numb.

The room felt colder now.

His voice drifted out from the bathroom-sharp, commanding. A language I didn't understand.

I need to leave.

I grabbed my shoes, stuffed them into my bag, and wrapped my shawl tight over my head.

The mirror caught my reflection-red lips, tangled hair, bruised skin.

I barely recognized the girl staring back.

I turned away.

You're not her. You're not this girl. You're a godly girl.

I slipped out of the bedroom on bare feet, the marble floor icy under me. My pulse roared in my ears.

I moved as quietly as I could, my shawl clutched tight around my head, my feet light on the glossy marble floor. The scent of expensive cologne and fresh lilies filled the air, almost choking me as I tiptoed toward the exit.

My heart was pounding so loud I thought it might give me away.

Just as I reached the corner of the hall-one turn away from the main elevator-I froze.

I pressed myself flat against the cool wall, the edge of a massive decorative pillar shielding me from sight. From here, I could still see the glowing EXIT sign across the lobby, so close it hurt.

But the voices drew nearer, and my breath caught when I recognized one of them.

It was my father.

He's going to be so angry if he catches me here.

"Two days, Jethro. That's all I'm asking," he said, his tone tight, commanding. "We don't have the luxury of time anymore. I want this wedding done and over with."

"I told you already, sir." Jethro's voice was sharp, almost mocking. "I can't just move up a wedding like this. Do you think I don't have a reputation to manage? Or do you think your family's mess doesn't rub off on me?"

"Watch your mouth," my father hissed. "You don't get to speak to me like that. You don't know the kind of fire I'm trying to put out here."

My stomach twisted.

Fire? What fire?

Jethro gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, I know. Everyone knows. You've pissed off the Don, and now you're scrambling. But don't think you can drag me into this chaos just because you're desperate."

My father's voice dropped lower, harsher.

"You don't get it. That man is not just angry-he's coming for blood. Do you know what they're calling him now? The Devil. He signed the message himself. And it's all because of those idiots."

"That's unfortunate. But it's none of my business."

"You'll do as I say," Father snapped.

Jethro's laugh was bitter. "You don't control me like your wife and daughters. I'm not afraid of you."

"Deborah has to be married before I can get the money from the will," Father growled. "All you need to do is marry her sooner."

There was silence for a heartbeat too long. I pressed my hand over my mouth, terrified they might hear my shaky breaths

"What exactly happened with the Don?" Jethro asked, quieter now, more cautious.

My father exhaled sharply. "Do I need to spell it out for you? My men handled the job. But they made a mistake and shot the Don's sister. She was pregnant. And now her blood is on my hands."

The world tilted beneath me.

Pregnant?

My father killed a pregnant woman? No. No, this can't be true.

Jethro let out a low whistle. "Wow. You've outdone yourself. But don't expect me to clean up after you. I'll marry the girl, but I want more."

"How much?" my father demanded, voice cracking like a whip.

"Seventy million."

"Seventy? Are you mad? The deal was twenty-five!"

"That was before you turned your family into a target. If I'm going to marry your prized little lamb and paint a target on my back, it better be worth my while."

A painful silence stretched again. Then my father spoke, cold and final.

"Fine. Seventy million. But you better handle her. I don't care what you do as long as you marry her."

Jethro chuckled darkly. "You're sure she's still untouched? I don't want damaged goods.

"Of course she is," my father snapped. "You think I'd let my investment spoil? She's been under lock and key her whole life."

My hands shook violently as I clutched my bag tighter to my chest.

Investment? That's all I am to him?

"I can't wait to find out," Jethro said. "She'll be fun to break in."

"Do whatever you like once you're married. Just make it happen in two days."

Their footsteps began to move away.

I stayed frozen, pressed into the shadows, every word searing into me like a brand. My chest felt tight, my head light.

Father sold me.

I swallowed hard.

I can't marry Jethro. I won't. I'll find a way out. I'll go to medical school. I'll-

Jethro strode out first, and Father followed close behind, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture stiff with the kind of cold authority that had ruled our home all my life.

I pressed myself tighter against the wall, willing my body to disappear into the smooth surface as they passed. Their voices faded slightly as they moved toward the elevators, but I could still make out fragments-money, marriage, promises.

Each word felt like a nail driven deeper into my chest.

The moment their figures turned the corner, I exhaled shakily and crept forward. My hands clutched my bag so tightly my knuckles ached.

Every step felt louder than it should have, the soft soles of my shoes whispering against the expensive floor as I trailed them at a careful distance.

If I bolt now, they'll hear me. God, please, I don't want to die like this.

They stopped near the glass double doors at the end of the hall. My father leaned in to say something low to Jethro, his voice too faint now for me to hear.

I ducked behind a large decorative plant, its broad leaves trembling as if they shared my fear.

Just a few more steps, Deborah. Then you're out. You're free.

They started walking again. I moved when they moved, hiding behind a luggage cart this time, then slipping behind a stone column as a hotel staff member wheeled a tray of drinks past.

My heart was pounding so hard it thudded in my ears, drowning out everything else.

Don't look back. Please don't look back. Just go.

Jethro reached the elevator first and pressed the button. The soft ding echoed down the hallway.

I inched forward, staying low, my breath caught in my throat.

But then, just as they were about to step inside, my father paused.

Something-some sixth sense maybe-seemed to ripple through him. He turned his head slightly, scanning the hall with sharp, calculating eyes.

I froze, half-hidden behind a gilded luggage rack, praying to a God I wasn't sure would listen anymore.

His gaze swept past once, then again-slower this time, like a predator sniffing the air for prey.

And then his eyes found me.

For one terrible, breathless moment, we stared at each other.

His expression didn't change, but his dark eyes hardened in a way that made my blood turn to ice.

I'm so dead.