Talia stirred against the tangled sheets, the cool weight of silence pressing down on her before her eyes even opened. The warmth that had consumed her through the night was gone. She reached instinctively to the other side of the bed, but it was empty. Cold.
Her lashes fluttered open, blinking against the pale light pouring in through the curtains. The room was quiet—too quiet, as though the storm of last night had been nothing but a fever dream. But the soreness in her body told her it was not.
She pushed herself upright slowly, a wince tugging at her lips. Every muscle ached, her body bearing the aftermath of what had happened. As her gaze drifted down to the sheets, her breath caught in her throat.
There, stark against the pristine white linen, was a stain of crimson.
Her stomach twisted violently. The sight blurred before her eyes as the truth slammed into her chest—she had lost her virginity. To a man whose name she didn't even know.
"No…" The whisper broke from her lips, small and desperate.
Her hands trembled as she shoved the covers aside. Fragments of the night crashed back into her memory—heat, lips, a body pressing her down into the mattress, rough hands gripping her, her own cries echoing against the walls. She clutched her head, shaking, trying to stop the flood, but the images kept coming until she could hardly breathe.
And then another memory broke through.
Her stepsister.
That triumphant smile as she pushed the glass into Talia's hand. The director's eyes gleaming from across the party hall. The way Talia had been cornered, unable to refuse in front of everyone.
Her stepsister hadn't been trying to humiliate her with a little prank. She had been trying to end her career.
The drink. The dizziness. The heat.
Talia staggered out of bed, her knees almost giving way beneath her. Pain lanced through her body with every movement. She stumbled toward the mirror across the room and froze.
The girl who stared back at her was not the one she remembered.
Her hair was a tangled mess, her lips red and swollen, her skin mapped with bruises and dark hickeys. They trailed down her neck, her collarbone, her chest, blooming across her body like damning evidence of everything she had done.
A sob rose in her throat. She pressed a shaking hand against the mirror as though she could steady herself, but the reflection stayed the same: ruined, branded.
Her shredded dress lay crumpled near the bed, little more than scraps. She scrambled to pick up the pieces, trying to cover herself, but it clung awkwardly, leaving her exposed. Her panic sharpened as her gaze swept the room, desperate for something—anything.
And then she saw it.
A man's coat. Black, expensive, draped casually over a chair.
Before she could think, she seized it and pulled it around her shoulders, clutching it closed. The fabric drowned her frame, heavy with his scent—crisp, clean, commanding. It should have comforted her, but instead it burned.
She needed to get out.
Her bare feet padded across the plush carpet, her pulse drumming in her ears as she fumbled for the door. She just had to disappear before anyone saw her.
The elevator chimed as she stepped inside, her reflection distorted in the mirrored walls. She clutched the coat tighter, praying she could slip away unnoticed.
But when the doors slid open—
Flashes exploded in her face.
"Miss Hayes! Miss Hayes, is it true you were with Director Han last night?"
"Are you finally confirming the rumors?"
"Was this how you planned to revive your career?"
Reporters and paparazzi swarmed, their voices overlapping in a cacophony, microphones and cameras shoved toward her. The light was blinding, the noise suffocating.
Talia staggered back, shaking her head. "N-no, it's not— I wasn't—"
Her throat closed around the words, but it didn't matter. No one was listening.
And then a familiar voice cut through the chaos, syrup-sweet and laced with poison.
"Talia?"
Her stepsister. Selena.
She appeared at the front of the crowd, her arm looped possessively through the man beside her—Ethan kane. Talia's Ethan. Her first love. The boy who had once promised her forever, who had whispered dreams of marriage and children under the stars. The boy who now looked at her like she was filth.
Selena's lips curved into a mockery of concern as she glided forward. "Were you… with the director last night?" she asked, tilting her head, feigning innocence. Her hand reached for Talia's arm, patting as if to comfort her. "You should've told me, sister. I would've warned you how dangerous it could be for your reputation."
Talia jerked back, clutching the coat tighter. But Selena's fingers snagged the edge and tugged, just enough to expose the bruises blooming across her skin.
The cameras went wild.
"Look at those marks!"
"She's been with a man!"
"It's true then? She's the director's mistress?"
"No!" Talia cried, shaking her head furiously. "It's not the director—I wasn't with—"
But her voice was drowned out by the roar of questions.
Her gaze flickered to Ethan. For a moment, she prayed—prayed for even a flicker of recognition, of the boy who had once loved her. But all she saw was disgust.
"This is who you are now?" he spat, his arm tightening protectively around Selena. "Dragging your own sister into your mess? Hurting her when she tries to help you?"
"I didn't—" Talia's voice cracked. Her chest felt like it was being ripped apart.
Selena gasped dramatically, clutching Ethan's chest as though wounded. "She… she pushed me away," she whispered, tears trembling on her lashes.
And Ethan believed her. Without hesitation, he swept Selena into his arms, cradling her as though she were the victim. He glared down at Talia with venom. "You're vicious," he snapped. "You've always been jealous. Stay away from her."
The reporters devoured the scene like sharks in bloodied water. Questions fired from every direction, cameras flashing, voices shouting over one another.
Talia stood frozen, her body shaking, the coat slipping lower to reveal more of the damning marks. Her vision blurred with tears. She couldn't breathe.
And then—
A shadow fell over her.
A broad chest blocked the cameras. A tall frame loomed, solid and immovable, shielding her from the chaos.
The CEO.
The man from last night.
His presence was like a wall, commanding silence without a word. His voice was low, cutting, final:
"She was with me."
The crowd hushed.
Every camera swung toward him, every microphone shoved closer, but his glare was enough to silence the boldest reporter. "Anyone who dares harass her," he continued, his tone lethal, "will answer to my family's lawyers."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. His family's lawyers. Everyone knew what that meant. Power. Influence. Untouchable authority.
Talia blinked up at him, stunned. His hand pressed firmly against her back, steadying her trembling body. Without another word, he guided her away, his butler stepping in to manage the reporters.
The elevator doors closed, and for the first time since morning, she could breathe.
Back in the suite, she collapsed onto the sofa, clutching the coat tighter. He stood before her, dark eyes unreadable.
"Shower," he said simply, his voice leaving no room for argument.
When she hesitated, he gestured to the maid waiting by the door. "New clothes. Bring them."
Talia's face burned, but she obeyed. The hot spray of water did little to wash away the shame, but it steadied her enough to face him again.
When she emerged, clean and dressed in soft silk, a cart was being rolled in—laden with food, fruit, and drinks. Her stomach twisted at the sight, but he insisted, his tone brooking no refusal.
"Eat."
She obeyed, because what else could she do?
Silence stretched between them until he set down his glass, his gaze piercing into hers.
"Marry me."
Talia froze, the fork slipping from her fingers. "W-what?"
His eyes didn't waver. His voice was calm,
absolute. "Marry me. You need protection. And I need…" He paused, his jaw tightening. "A bride."
The world tilted again.
And for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Talia Hayes's life was rewritten.