"Room 4017 or 4071?"
Aurora squinted at her phone, but the numbers kept swimming. Everything was blurry. When had she had that last drink? Or the one before that?
"Miss?" The hotel staff member looked concerned. "Are you alright?"
"Fine. I'm fine." Aurora waved him off and stumbled toward the elevator. "Just… need to sleep."
She'd never been drunk like this before. But after the day she'd had—after finding those messages on Piagel's phone, after the fight, after he'd told her she was imagining things—she'd needed to get out. Lelia had dragged her to some exclusive club. There'd been champagne. A lot of champagne.
The elevator doors opened. She got in and pressed a button. Fourth floor. Or was it fortieth?
The hallway stretched forever. She walked slowly, using the wall for balance. 4017. That was it. She fumbled with the key card. It took three tries before the light turned green.
The room was dark. Good. She kicked off her heels and let her purse drop. The bed was right there. She fell onto it face-first.
"Who—"
A man's voice. Deep. Close.
Aurora's head jerked up. There was someone in the bed.
"Oh god." She tried to stand but the room spun. "Wrong room. I'm sorry. I—"
Strong hands caught her before she fell. The man steadied her, and in the dim light from the window, she could just make out his face. Sharp features. Gray-green eyes. Concerned.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm drunk." The words came out slurred. "Very drunk. This isn't my room."
"I can see that." His voice was calmer than it should be. "Can you stand?"
"Not really."
"Sit down before you hurt yourself."
He guided her back to the bed. She sat heavily. Her head was spinning.
"I should go," she said, but she didn't move.
"You can barely walk."
"I know. It's bad." She laughed, and it sounded wrong even to her own ears. "Everything's bad."
"What happened?"
She didn't know why she answered. Maybe because he was a stranger. Maybe because the alcohol had dissolved every filter she had.
"My husband doesn't love me anymore. I think he's cheating. I know he's cheating. I saw the messages." The words tumbled out. "Five years. I gave him five years."
The man was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry."
"Me too." She looked at him. Even drunk, she could see he was handsome. Unfairly handsome. "What are you doing here?"
"I had meetings. This is my room."
"Right. Your room." She should leave. She knew she should leave. But his hand was still on her arm, steadying her, and he smelled good—clean, expensive cologne—and she was so tired of being alone. "I don't want to go home."
"Then don't."
She looked up at him. His eyes were steady on hers.
"I don't even know you."
"Maybe that's better."
And then she kissed him.
Later, she wouldn't remember who moved first. Just that his hands were gentle, that he kept asking if she was sure, that for the first time in years someone touched her like she mattered.
Aurora woke to sunlight and a headache that felt like someone was hammering nails into her skull.
She was in a hotel room. Not her hotel room.
And she was naked.
"Oh no." She sat up too fast and immediately regretted it. "No, no, no."
The bed beside her was empty but still warm. There was a note on the nightstand in sharp, clean handwriting: *Went for coffee. Stay if you want.*
Aurora's stomach dropped. She'd slept with a stranger. She—who'd only ever been with Piagel—had gotten drunk and slept with a man whose name she didn't even know.
She grabbed her clothes from the floor and dressed quickly, fingers shaking. Her phone showed six missed calls from Piagel. It was 7 AM.
She needed to leave. Now.
Her purse—where was her purse? She found it by the door, dug through it frantically. Her wallet was there. She pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and left it on the nightstand.
It felt wrong, leaving money. But everything about this felt wrong. She needed to get home. Needed to shower. Needed to pretend this never happened.
She slipped out of the room and didn't look back.
🪝🪝🪝🪝
BLYTHE RESIDENCE - 8:30 AM
Aurora's hands were still shaking when she unlocked the front door. The house was quiet. Maybe Piagel was still asleep. Maybe she could shower and change and he'd never know she'd been gone all night.
But when she walked into the living room, they were waiting.
Piagel sat on the couch. Next to him was a woman Aurora had never seen before—young, pretty, her hand resting possessively on Piagel's thigh. Mrs. Blythe stood by the window, arms crossed, wearing the expression she reserved for when Aurora had disappointed her.
Which was always.
"Where have you been?" Piagel's voice was cold.
"I—" Aurora's mouth was dry. She still felt dizzy. "I was out with Lelia. We lost track of time."
"All night?" Mrs. Blythe's tone was sharp. "You were out all night?"
"I stayed at her place. I'm sorry, I should have called—"
"Don't bother lying." Piagel stood. The woman beside him stood too, tucking herself against his side. He put his arm around her. "Aurora, this is Emerald. My girlfriend."
The words hit her like cold water.
"Your what?"
"We've been together for six months." Piagel said it casually, like he was discussing the weather. "She's pregnant."
Aurora felt the floor tilt. "You're—she's—"
"With the Blythe heir." Mrs. Blythe moved closer, her eyes bright with satisfaction. "Finally, a woman who can give this family what it needs."
Emerald smiled at Aurora. It was a beautiful smile, sweet and innocent. But her eyes were cold. "I'm so sorry you had to find out this way."
"Six months," Aurora repeated. Her head was pounding. Everything was pounding. "You've been cheating on me for six months?"
"And what were you doing last night?" Piagel's voice dropped. "Coming home at 8 AM, looking like that?"
Aurora looked down at herself. Her dress was wrinkled. Her makeup was smeared. She could smell cologne on her skin—that stranger's cologne.
"That's different—"
"Is it?" Piagel's smile was cruel. "You disappear all night and come home looking like you've been fucked, and I'm supposed to believe you were at Lelia's?"
Aurora's face burned. "I didn't—"
"I don't care what you did." He picked up a folder from the coffee table and held it out. "I want a divorce."
She stared at the folder. "Piagel—"
"Five years, Aurora. You've been a decent wife, I'll give you that. You worked hard. You were obedient." He shrugged. "But Emerald comes from the Leed family. A marriage alliance with them will triple my business connections. You're just a manager at my company. You can't compete with that."
"I built your company." Aurora's voice shook. "I worked eighty-hour weeks. I pulled every string I could reach. Everything you have now is because I—"
"Because you what?" Mrs. Blythe stepped forward. "You did your job. That's what employees do, dear. You're not special."
"Sign the papers." Piagel dropped the folder on the table between them. "My lawyer will contact you about the details. You have three days."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I'll make sure everyone knows what you were doing last night." His eyes were hard. "I wonder how your family would feel about that. The precious Thompson daughter, sleeping around."
Aurora's blood went cold. He didn't know. He couldn't know who she really was. He was bluffing.
But the way he was looking at her—like he knew something—made her stomach twist.
"Get out of my house," Mrs. Blythe said. "Go shower. You smell like cheap cologne and regret."
Aurora picked up the folder with numb fingers and walked upstairs. Behind her, she heard Emerald laugh—high and delighted.
In the bathroom, she turned on the shower and sat on the floor, still fully clothed, and let the water run.
Last night, she had made a mistake. A huge, stupid, drunken mistake with a stranger whose face she could barely remember.
This morning, her marriage was over.
And somehow, she didn't know which one felt worse.