Alice (POV)
Surprised isn't the right word.
I am shocked.
When I open my eyes and see him standing there, so close that I can feel his breath, my mind refuses to accept reality. Him. Here. In my hometown. In this hotel. It feels unreal, like my exhaustion has finally crossed into hallucination.
How on earth can he be here?
Before I can even process the impossibility of it all, I notice his eyes. They're filled with concern—raw, unmistakable concern—for me. Not curiosity. Not desire. Just worry. And that expression disarms me completely.
Without thinking, I lift my hand and touch his face.
The warmth under my fingertips confirms that he's real.
And that's when my brain starts working again.
What am I doing here?
This isn't my room. This is a VIP suite. A place meant for powerful people, important meetings, rules, boundaries. And I'm just a trainee—someone who doesn't belong in this space at all. Panic rushes through me instantly.
"I'm so sorry," I blurt out, stepping back. "I didn't know this was your room. I swear, I thought—please don't complain. I'll explain to the management."
The words tumble out, one after another, fueled by fear. I don't want trouble. I can't afford it—not here, not now.
Before I can step away completely, he pulls me into his arms.
Out of nowhere.
At first, I protest. My hands press weakly against his chest, my body stiff with confusion. "Wait—please—"
But his hold tightens—not painfully, not forcefully—just enough to make me feel held. Safe. Like he's afraid I'll vanish again if he loosens his grip.
And something inside me gives up.
I stop resisting.
I allow myself to sink into his embrace, and the feeling overwhelms me. It's warm. Steady. Familiar in a way that doesn't make sense. As if I've been missing this exact place without knowing it.
For a moment, the world goes quiet.
When he finally releases me, slowly, reluctantly, he looks straight into my eyes. As if trying to read my thoughts.
The problem is—I don't have any.
My mind feels blank, wiped clean by the intensity of the moment.
Then my stomach betrays me.
A loud, unmistakable rumble fills the silence.
I freeze.
My face heats up instantly, embarrassment spreading like wildfire. I look down, mortified, wishing the ground would swallow me whole. Of all the moments…
But when I look back up, he's smiling.
Not teasing. Not mocking.
Just smiling.
And somehow, that makes it worse—and better at the same time.
"Looks like someone skipped dinner," he says gently.
Before I can respond, he calls the staff and asks for some snacks. I try to stop him, insisting it's fine, but he doesn't listen. Soon, a tray arrives—simple food, nothing extravagant. We sit together on the couch, a safe distance between us, breaking the silence slowly.
That's when we start talking.
Really talking.
I tell him how I ended up here—about my family, my hometown, the internship. He listens intently, not interrupting, not rushing me. When it's his turn, he finally tells me his name.
"Adam Smith."
The name settles into me naturally, like it belongs there.
He explains why he's here—the meeting, the sudden trip, how unhappy he was when he woke up and found me gone. He doesn't accuse me. He doesn't blame me. But I hear the hurt anyway.
"You could've left a note," he says quietly. "I thought I imagined you."
Guilt tugs at my chest, but before I can respond, a loud commotion erupts outside.
Voices. Shouting. Rapid footsteps.
"What's going on?" I ask, standing up instinctively.
Adam frowns. "That doesn't sound good."
We step out into the corridor, only to be met with chaos.
The hotel lobby is in complete disorder.
A stall set up for the international delegates—displaying local handicrafts and refreshments—has collapsed. A wooden frame has given way, sending items crashing to the floor. Tea spills everywhere. Staff members rush around, some trying to clean, others trying to calm irritated guests.
Managers are arguing.
Delegates look annoyed.
Someone shouts, "We need help here!"
Without thinking, I move forward.
Training or not, this is my workplace.
I start directing staff I recognize, helping pick up fallen items, apologizing to guests in a calm voice. Adam watches me for a second, surprised—and then joins in.
He lifts fallen tables, helps redirect guests, even cracks a calm joke to ease tension. Slowly, the chaos settles. The stall is cleared. Apologies are accepted. Damage controlled.
When things finally calm down, I exhale deeply.
Only then do I realize—Adam has been beside me the entire time.
Working with me.
Not above me.
Not distant.
Just… present.
Later, as we walk back, he looks at me thoughtfully. "You handle pressure well," he says. "You don't run."
I smile faintly. "I've had practice."
Back in the quiet, he hesitates before speaking again. "Would you show me around tomorrow? I want to see the place that shaped you."
There's no demand in his voice. Just hope.
And to my own surprise, I nod.
"I'd like that."
Because somewhere between confusion, chaos, and quiet conversations, I realize something important—
My heart wants to know him.
Not the stranger from the club.
Not the man from the VIP room.
But Adam.
And for the first time in a long while, I don't push that feeling away.