Sophie's POV
I woke up to sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows and an arm wrapped around my waist.
For one perfect second, I forgot everything. Then reality crashed back—Marcus, Victoria, my mother's betrayal, the hotel bar. And the stranger currently holding me like I was something precious.
I should have panicked. Should have felt awkward or embarrassed about what we'd done. Instead, I felt... safe.
His breathing was steady against my neck. Still asleep. I turned carefully to look at him.
In the morning light, he looked different. Younger. The hard lines around his mouth had softened, and he seemed almost peaceful. Whatever demons chased him were quiet now.
My chest tightened. I didn't even know his name, but something about him called to parts of me I'd forgotten existed.
His eyes opened slowly, those silver-gray depths focusing on my face. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Morning, he said, his voice rough with sleep.
Hi.
We stared at each other, and I waited for awkwardness to arrive. It didn't.
Any regrets? he asked quietly.
I thought about it honestly. About the reckless choice I'd made, the stranger I'd trusted with my body and pieces of my broken heart.
No, I said. You?
Not even one. His hand moved to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. You're beautiful.
I felt my cheeks heat. You don't have to—
I'm not saying it because I have to. His eyes were serious. I'm saying it because it's true. You're beautiful, and you're strong, and whoever that man was who made you doubt that is an idiot.
Tears pricked my eyes. You don't know me.
I know enough. He pulled me closer. I know you're brilliant, the way you talked about economics and history showed that. I know you're brave, you walked into a bar alone after your world fell apart. And I know you deserve better than people who betray you.
So do you, I whispered.
Something flickered across his face, vulnerability he tried to hide. Maybe we both deserve better than we got.
We kissed, slow and gentle, and it felt different than last night's desperate passion. This felt like a promise neither of us could keep.
When we finally broke apart, he said, Stay. We could order breakfast. Talk more. This doesn't have to end yet.
I wanted to say yes. Wanted to stay in this bubble where the real world couldn't touch us. But fear crept in—cold and suffocating.
What if staying ruined everything? What if morning light revealed that last night was just pity, or worse, just physical? What if he was only being nice because he felt sorry for the pathetic girl crying in a bar?
I should go, I said, pulling away slightly.
His expression shuttered. Of course. I understand.
Did he? Did he hear the fear in my voice, or did he think I was running because last night meant nothing?
I wanted to explain. Wanted to tell him that this—whatever this was—scared me more than Marcus's betrayal because it felt real. But the words stuck in my throat.
Instead, I gathered my clothes and dressed quickly while he watched from the bed. The silence felt heavy.
Thank you, I said at the door. For last night. For listening. For making me feel...
Human? he offered softly.
Seen, I corrected. You made me feel seen.
So did you. He sat up, and I forced myself not to stare at his bare chest. Can I ask you something?
As long as it's not my name or number, I said, trying for lightness.
He didn't smile. If you could do last night over, would you still choose to walk into that bar?
I looked at him—this beautiful, broken stranger who'd held me through the darkness and made me forget pain existed.
Yes, I said honestly. I'd choose it every time.
Something in his eyes softened. Good. Because I would too.
I should have asked his name then. Should have given him my number. Should have been brave enough to see if last night could become something more.
Instead, I walked out the door.
I made it to the elevator before the tears started. What was wrong with me? Why was I running from the first person in years who'd made me feel truly alive?
Because you're terrified, a voice whispered. Terrified that he'll hurt you like Marcus did. Terrified that trusting him will destroy you.
I went back to the suite. Raised my hand to knock.
And froze.
What would I even say? Hi, I don't know your name but I think I felt more in one night with you than five years with my ex-fiancé? That sounded insane.
I lowered my hand and walked away.
Outside the hotel, the morning air was cold. My phone buzzed with messages—seventeen from Marcus, twelve from my mother, thirty-four from numbers I didn't recognize. I deleted them all without reading.
Rachel's apartment was across town. I'd stayed there last week when Marcus and I fought about wedding venues. She'd understand. She always understood.
I hailed a cab and climbed in, watching the hotel disappear behind me.
I just had the most incredible night of my life with a man whose name I didn't know. And I'd walked away because I was too scared to find out if it could be real.
The tears came harder now, and I didn't try to stop them.
You okay, miss? the cab driver asked.
No, I said honestly. But I will be.
I had to be. Starting Monday, I had a new job at Ross Industries—a fresh start where nobody knew about Marcus or Victoria or my spectacular public humiliation. I'd rebuild my life. Prove I was more than the girl whose fiancé cheated.
And maybe, someday, I'd stop wondering about the stranger with silver-gray eyes who'd held me like I mattered.
Three weeks. That's all I needed to get my life together. Three weeks to become someone strong enough to survive without him.
I didn't know that in exactly twenty-one days, I'd walk into a boardroom and see those eyes again.
Didn't know that the stranger I'd left sleeping in a hotel suite was Damien Ross—CEO of the company I'd just been hired to work for.
Didn't know that by the time we met again, I'd be carrying a secret that would bind us together forever.
But as the cab drove through Manhattan's morning traffic, I felt something shift inside me. Last night I'd been broken. This morning, I was beginning to heal.
And somehow, impossibly, the stranger who didn't even know my name had started that healing.
My phone buzzed again. A text from an unknown number: I searched the hotel registry. You didn't give a real name, did you? Smart. But I will find you. We're not finished.
My heart stopped.
The stranger was looking for me.
And I had no idea if that was the best thing that could happen—or the most dangerous.
I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the reply button.
Then I turned off my phone.
Some things were better left in the past, even when they felt like the future you'd been searching for your entire life.
Even when walking away felt like leaving a piece of yourself behind.
Even when you knew, deep in your bones, that you'd just made either the smartest decision of your life—or the biggest mistake.
Only time would tell which one it was.