A huge yawn escaped my mouth as I sat up, my stomach twisting like it was trying to eat itself. My head throbbed as though a marching band was performing inside it.
"What… what happened? Where am I?" I muttered, rubbing my temple.
The room was unfamiliar too fancy, too clean. Morning light poured in through tall glass windows, hitting the marble floors like gold. I blinked a few times before my eyes caught something that made my soul leave my body.
A body.
A huge, bare-chested body lying on the other side of the bed.
My brain short-circuited.
I looked at him once. Then twice. Then again, just to be sure.
"Slavy?" I whispered, the name crawling out of my throat like a curse.
Then my gaze followed the trail of discarded clothes ,the black shirt on the floor… his pants half-folded on a chair… my dress… torn in half like it had lost a fight with a tiger.
My. Dress.
My mind screamed it over and over again. My eyes widened, and a cold wave of realization slammed through me.
"Oh no. Oh no no no no no…"
I yanked the blanket up, peeking underneath—and froze.
Clothes. Gone.
Gone. Completely.
"I," I gasped, staring at him, then at me, then back at him like my eyes were trying to solve a crime scene. "Oh my God. I slept with him!"
The words echoed inside my head. I slept with Slavy. The most complicated, dangerous, infuriating man I'd ever met.
"How? When? Where?!" I stuttered, like I was trying to interrogate my own memory.
The clock on the wall read 7:30 a.m.
And I knew right then I was dead. My father would kill me. Then resurrect me just to kill me again.
Clutching the blanket around me like armor, I scrambled off the bed. My legs wobbled as I grabbed the torn dress from the floor. "What in the—?" I whispered, holding it up like a crime exhibit.
"Wake up!" I shouted directly in his ear.
Slavy jolted upright, startled, his dark hair a messy halo, eyes half-open. Even half-asleep, he looked dangerously good. Which, honestly, was rude.
"What the hell was that for?" he muttered, rubbing his ear.
"What happened to my dress?" I demanded, ignoring his question.
He squinted at it, then shrugged. "Uh… I ripped it."
"You ripped it?" I echoed, my voice rising an octave. "You couldn't just take it off like a normal person? Why am I half-naked, Slavy? Did we… did you—?" I couldn't even finish the sentence.
He tilted his head, smirking faintly. "You don't remember anything?"
"Remember what?" I snapped. "All I remember is drinking six shots, then… blackout. Did you take advantage of me?"
His smirk faded. His expression turned cold, serious mafia serious. "Come on, Testimony. You think I'd do that?" His tone was sharp, his eyes narrowing. "I might be a lot of things, but I'm not that."
I froze. The weight of his voice made the air feel heavy.
But still, how was I supposed to know he was telling the truth?
Before I could think of a comeback, my stomach twisted violently.
"Oh no," I groaned, rushing to the nearest bin and threw up.
Slavy blinked, then moved fast. "Testimony, are you okay?"
I couldn't answer. My body had turned against me.
"Let me help you," he said, kneeling beside me and pulling my hair back. His large hand was surprisingly gentle, steady against my shaking shoulder.
"I feel awful," I managed to whisper between breaths.
"Well, honey," he said with a chuckle, "that's what happens when you drink like you're trying to prove something."
"I hate this," I cried, tears streaming down my face. "I hate vomiting! I hate it when things I hate happen to me!"
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "You're a mess."
"No, I'm a disaster," I mumbled into the bin.
"Stay there," he said, standing up. "I'll get you something."
I sat beside the bin, wrapped in a blanket, regretting every life choice I'd made. The sunlight streaming through the window was way too bright for the level of misery I felt.
When Slavy returned, he had a glass of something brownish that looked like it came from another planet. He was grinning like a villain.
"Drink this. It'll help with your hangover," he said proudly.
I blinked at the glass. "What is that?"
"Raw eggs, hot sauce, and a few secret ingredients," he said.
"It looks like regret in liquid form," I said flatly. "I'm not drinking that."
He raised a brow. "Then enjoy your hangover."
My stomach twisted again, and I ran back to the bin.
He sighed, amused. "Testimony, just drink it."
"No!" I groaned.
He chuckled. "You're stubborn."
"You ripped my dress," I shot back. "You don't get to call me stubborn."
He smirked. "Fine. Get up. I'll buy you food instead."
My head snapped up. "Food?"
"Yeah. Hot wings."
I hesitated. "I can't go out like this. I'm naked, genius."
"Well, that idiot who ripped your dress might have a solution." He shrugged out of his jacket, revealing lean muscle and that quiet confidence that came from someone who could command fear without raising his voice.
He handed me a black T-shirt. "Wear this."
"I can't wear that," I protested, clutching the blanket tighter.
"I'm not asking," he said, calm but firm the tone of a man who was used to obedience.
I narrowed my eyes. "Do you always get what you want?"
He smirked, leaning slightly closer. "When I want something badly enough."
I exhaled sharply. "Fine," I muttered, yanking the shirt over my head. It fell past my thighs like a short dress, smelling faintly of his cologne q1smoke, spice, and danger.
"Happy now?" I said, glaring.
He looked me up and down, that small, infuriating smirk still playing at his lips. "More than you know."
I tried not to blush. Failed miserably.
We headed downstairs, and the living room looked like a war zone. Bottles everywhere. Someone's shoe was hanging from the chandelier.
I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and just when I took a sip
"Can you give me one too?" a sleepy voice mumbled.
I turned. Ashly stood there, hair tangled, makeup smudged. We looked at each other for two seconds before bursting into laughter.
"We're so dead," she said, giggling.
"I know," I replied. "Funeral's at my house."
"Christian girl finally learning to have fun," she teased, sipping her water.
"Yeah," I said softly, the words stinging more than I expected.
Before I could think too much about it, Slavy's deep voice echoed from the hallway. "Tess, let's go."
Ashly's laughter stopped instantly. Her gaze darted between ushis commanding tone, my oversized shirt, my guilty face.
Her smile faded. "We need to talk," she said, her tone serious now, and turned away.
I blinked after her, confused, my stomach tightening again but this time, it wasn't from the hangover.
"What… just happened?" I whispered.
Slavy just chuckled behind me, sliding on his watch like a man who owned the world. "Welcome to my kind of morning, sweetheart."