Chapter 3: The Stranger in the Suite (Part Two – Valerie's POV)
She turned back to the bar, why should she lose her innocence to prove a point.
What if the man humiliate her? When her skills for trying to seduce is zero.
She has never tried this before...
she went back to the bar to drink her sorrow away.
The bar was dimly lit, humming with low jazz and the clink of glasses. Valerie sat curled into the corner booth, her legs crossed, her fingers wrapped around a second glass of whatever the bartender had offered. The burn in her throat felt better than the ache in her chest.
Sophia's voice still rang in her ears:
"Do this for the family. For our future. You're not even doing anything with your life."
Her stepmother had nodded in cruel agreement. Her own father—silent as always.
They wanted her to sell herself for a contract.
To warm the bed of a director from Albanian Group like she was disposable, just a tool to be traded for power.
And the worst part?
They didn't even hide it.
Valerie tipped back her drink.
Her world blurred gently. The sharp lights softened into golden clouds. Her head felt like a balloon—light, distant, far from all the expectations that had chained her since childhood.
She wasn't just a girl in red tonight. She was a woman on the edge.
She could walk out of this hotel right now and disappear.
Or—
She could do something reckless.
Something real.
> "What if I choose… instead of being chosen?"
That single whisper in her head tightened her throat. For years, she had crafted lives in the shadows. The Healer everyone whispered about online. The anonymous jewelry designer whose custom pieces sold out in hours. The masked fashion artist known for stunning haute couture.
No one knew. Not her family. Not Sophia. Not even the clients she saved or dressed or healed.
But tonight wasn't about secrets.
It was about choice.
Valerie drained the last of her drink, a fire burning through her limbs.
She could give her body to someone.
But not the man they picked.
She wanted someone who wouldn't ask questions. A stranger. Someone she found. Someone she wanted.
But when she stood up to find him, her legs wobbled. The room tilted. Her vision blurred.
No. This wasn't the time.
"You're drunk, Valerie. Too drunk," she muttered to herself.
She leaned against the marble bar, her breath catching as nausea and regret warred inside her.
She couldn't do this tonight. Not like this.
But she also couldn't go home.
Not to them. Not to that house where silence screamed louder than words.
She fumbled in her purse, pulling out a slim hotel keycard—her backup. She hadn't planned to use it. But her friend—her one safe contact in the city—had given it to her months ago.
Just in case.
A stylist. A woman she had once designed a secret collection with. Someone in the industry, discreet and loyal.
She'd booked a suite under the stylist's name, just in case she ever needed a place to crash without leaving a trace.
And tonight, she needed it more than ever.
No questions. No names. No trail.
Valerie pushed herself off the bar, heels in hand, her dress swaying as she stumbled toward the elevator.
She pressed the number to the top floor.
She wouldn't let them break her.
Not tonight.