My eyes fluttered. Open. Close. Open again.
Everything felt off, like I was stuck somewhere between a dream and a panic attack.
The ceiling stared back at me.
This wasn't my room.
The silence? Too clean. Too still.
I blinked fast, trying to adjust.
Then I turned to my left. Then my right.
My chest tightened.
Where the hell am I?
I sat up fast, too fast.
My head throbbed. My stomach twisted.
I grabbed the blanket, pulling it over my chest.
I was half-naked. But… not touched .
I did a quick check. Nothing felt out of place.
No bruises. No pain. Just the weight of confusion.
Phew ..Thank God.
I tried to piece the night together.
The bar. The drinks. The stage. The photo.
His face.
The man who pulled me off.
"Kitten".
That word echoed in my head.
I pushed the blanket off and placed one foot on the ground.
Then the other.
My balance wobbled. Everything felt like it was spinning again.
I saw a door and staggered toward it.
My hand was already on the knob when,
Boom.
A figure filled the doorway.
I froze.
My heart jumped into my throat.
"Wh-who are you?" I snapped, backing up. "What am I doing here?"
His voice was calm. "Easy, kitten…"
Kitten.
There it is again.
My brain tried to fight for clarity, but thinking only made my head pound worse.
He stepped closer and gently guided me back to the bed.
"Relax. You're okay. You were drunk last night. You blacked out. I brought you here , nothing happened. You're safe."
His hands didn't linger. His voice didn't creep.
Everything about him was controlled. Gentle, but firm.
"I made you breakfast. There's a bathroom to your left if you need a shower. Over there," he pointed at another sleek door, "is the wardrobe. Take your time."
I couldn't say anything. I just nodded like an idiot.
My body didn't feel in danger, but my mind was still catching up.
He left the room, only to return with a tray.
French toast. Hot coffee. No sarcasm. No pressure. Just… calm.
"Here," he said, setting it down beside me.
"Thank you, sir," I muttered without thinking.
He smiled. A real one.
"Not 'sir.' Call me Maddox."
"Okay… Maddox," I said softly.
He turned toward the door.
"I'll give you space. Catch you later, kitten."
Then he disappeared, leaving me in a stranger's room…
feeling oddly safer than I had in my own home.
I finished the toast slowly, savoring the quiet, trying not to think too hard about how I got here.
A hot shower helped. The steam cleared just enough of the fog in my head, though my thoughts still felt tangled.
Wrapped in a towel, I padded into the wardrobe.
My jaw dropped.
A walk-in wardrobe?
Not just any, this was straight out of a Vogue fantasy. Floor-to-ceiling shelves, glass cases, coordinated racks.
Chanel. Dior. Off-White. Alexander McQueen. The real stuff. Not knockoffs. Not flex.
I walked through it like I was in a museum, afraid to touch.
Then curiosity took over.
I reached for a red silk dress, tight, daring, with a slit that whispered problems.
Tried it. Didn't fit. Not even close.
Another. Still too tight.
Was I gaining weight? No… just not tailored for me.
I drifted to the casual side, relieved to find a soft black cropped top and a faded pair of denim bum shorts. No logos. No stress. Just comfort.
That, I could work with.
I tied my hair up into a messy bun and took a deep breath.
Now what?
I sat on the edge of the bed, legs bouncing.
An awkwardness settled over me like fog.
How do I go downstairs? Dressed like this?
What if he has a girlfriend? Or a wife?
God, what if she thinks I'm the problem? What if she attacks me?
I rolled my eyes at myself. "You've survived worse, Maya," I whispered.
I stood, walked to the door, hand trembling as it touched the knob.
I pushed it open.
A hallway stretched before me, silent and sunlit. I stepped out and followed it to a wide staircase.
Then I saw it, the house.
No… not a house. A mansion.
Marble floors. Gold-trimmed railings. Tall windows framed with linen curtains that danced in the breeze.
The air smelled like vanilla and money.
Not new money either, old money. Generational. Clean. Quietly loud.
As I stepped down the stairs, I spotted him.
Maddox.
He stood near the living room, phone in one hand, sipping coffee with the other.
When he looked up, our eyes met.
His gaze traveled slowly, stopping at my legs before coming back to my face.
He swallowed.
I looked away first.
Butterflies?
God. It had been years since a man looked at me like that.
Not with judgment. Not with entitlement.
Just… stunned.
I cleared my throat. "Sir—uh, Maddox, I'm sorry. This was the only outfit that fit. I didn't mean to be disrespectful. I'll leave before your wife gets the wrong idea."
He blinked once, then smiled like I said something ridiculous.
"Oh, kitten," he said, setting his coffee down, "calm your clitoris."
I choked. "Excuse me?"
He smirked. "There's no wife. No girlfriend. No one's walking in to beat you up. Relax. You're good. You can dress however you want here."
He motioned toward the kitchen.
"Come sit. Eat something real this time."
I followed him to the dinning unsure if my legs were moving out of politeness or curiosity.