The first thing Zhao Mei felt was pain.
Deep, aching soreness between her thighs, and a pounding in her skull that made the sunlight slicing through the curtains feel like knives.
She blinked slowly, her lashes heavy, the scent of expensive cologne and clean linen flooding her senses. This wasn't her bed.
Her fingers curled against silk sheets.
And then she saw him.
Zhang Wei stood by the window, his broad back to her, shirtless, a tumbler of water in one hand. His reflection in the glass looked like a portrait, tall, lean, dangerously composed. But his eyes in that faint reflection… cold. Calculating.
When he finally turned, his gaze swept over her, lingering on the torn strap of her white dress discarded on the floor. His jaw tightened.
"You're awake," he said flatly.
Zhao Mei scrambled to sit up, clutching the sheet against her chest. "Where am I? What happened?"
His eyes narrowed. "That's what I'd like to know."
Memory came in shards.
Chen Rong's hand on her arm. The drink.
The elevator.
The blur of a stranger's face.
Her breath caught. "You…"
"Don't start," Zhang Wei cut in, his voice like ice. He walked toward the bed, each step measured and deliberate. "I found you in my suite. In my bed. I need to know how you got here."
She shook her head desperately. "I don't… I wasn't…"
"Answer the question." His tone was cold, commanding. The voice of someone used to being obeyed.
Zhao Mei's mind scrambled backward, grasping at fragments.
The hotel lobby. Gold and crystal chandeliers.
Chen Rong smiling too wide. "You came."
The champagne glass he'd pressed into her hand. "Just one drink."
The bitter taste underneath the sweetness.
The room tilting. His voice going distant. "Let's get some air."
Then nothing. Just pieces. The elevator. Someone holding her up. Not Chen Rong. A younger man. Uniform. Nervous eyes.
A bellboy.
And then… darkness.
"My ex-boyfriend," she whispered, the words scraping out of her throat. "Chen Rong. He invited me here. He gave me a drink and after that, everything became blurry. I don't remember how I ended up in your room."
Zhang Wei's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his gaze. Recognition.
"You were drugged."
"I think so." Her voice was barely audible.
"So was I," he said coldly.
Her eyes snapped to his.
He gestured to the nightstand where an empty champagne flute sat. "Someone arranged this. Set both of us up."
Zhao Mei's chest tightened. "You don't remember either?"
"No."
The word hung between them, heavy with implications neither wanted to voice.
"Whatever happened last night," Zhang Wei continued, his tone clipped and businesslike, "was a mistake. We were both drugged."
"Holding on to it won't help either of us," he continued. "It's better if we pretend it never happened."
She stared at him, trying to process his
words through the fog of pain and confusion.
"So you are just going to pretend this never happened."she said voice cracking.
"Believe me, it is for the best." He replied
"I need to leave," she said, panic rising.
She threw the sheet aside and tried to stand. The room spun violently. Her legs gave out.
Zhang Wei moved with startling speed, catching her arm before she hit the floor.
The moment his fingers touched her bare skin, she flinched.
He released her immediately, stepping back.
"You can barely walk," he observed coldly.
"I don't care." She grabbed the bedpost, forcing herself upright. "I need to go."
Her eyes found her dress on the floor, white fabric torn and wrinkled beyond recognition. One strap completely ripped off. The hem shredded.
A choked sound escaped her throat.
She stumbled toward it anyway, grabbing the ruined garment with shaking hands.
Then her fingers touched her neck.
She froze.
Marks. Raised and tender. Multiple.
Hickeys.
Her breath stopped.
If she walked out like this, with a torn dress and marks covering her neck, everyone would know. Everyone would see exactly what had happened.
"I can't…" Her voice broke. "I can't go outside like this."
For a few seconds, Zhang Wei said nothing.
Then he crossed to the chair and picked up his black coat. Without a word, he held it out to her.
"Take it."
She stared at the coat, pride and desperation warring inside her.
"I don't want…"
"The coat covers you, you have to keep your pride aside if you don't want unnecessary attention from onlookers." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "Take it and leave."
Zhao Mei reached out with trembling hands and took the heavy fabric. It was warm, carrying his scent, cedar and something darker.
She wrapped it around herself. It swallowed her, covering everything, The evidence of a night she barely remembers.
She pulled it tight and walked to the door, each step an effort of will.
Her legs barely held her.
She opened it. Stepped into the hallway.
The door clicked shut behind her.
She didn't look back.
In the room, Zhang Wei stood alone.
The scent of her perfume still lingered. Cheap and floral.
He looked at the bed. The rumpled sheets. The pillow still dented where her head had been.
His phone buzzed.
He ignored it.
His head pounded. His body ached. And somewhere underneath the confusion and the chemical haze lifting from his system, guilt clawed its way up his throat.
He'd done something last night.
Something he couldn't take back.
And he didn't even know her name.