I somehow made it home without dying of shame, panic, or both.
The elevator ride down from the penthouse took forever. Every floor ding felt like a countdown to my execution. I kept expecting security to grab me, or worse, for him to appear and drag me back upstairs with that terrifying golden stare.
He didn't.
The doorman didn't even glance at me when I stumbled out into the morning sun. Just another disheveled girl in last night's dress clutching a silver fox mask like a lifeline.
By the time the cab dropped me at my tiny apartment, I had replayed every second of the night at least a hundred times. The way he'd growled my name (wait, I never told him my name). The way his teeth had scraped that spot just below my ear and my entire soul had left my body.
Stop it, Tanya. You had a one-night stand with a stranger. A rich, gorgeous, probably married stranger. Congratulations, you've officially hit rock bottom.
I kicked the door shut behind me, dropped my purse, and screamed into the silence.
My phone buzzed like it was possessed.
137 missed calls. 89 messages. All from Ethan.
I scrolled through the previews with dead eyes.
Ethan❤️: Tanya where are you??
Ethan❤️: Babe please pick up
Ethan❤️: I made a mistake, Lilian means nothing
Ethan❤️: Come back to the hotel, we need to talk
I laughed until I cried, then threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying crack.
Good. Let it stay broken.
I stripped off the silver dress (now wrinkled and smelling like cedar and sin) and stuffed it into the trash bin so hard the liner ripped. Shower. Burn the evidence. Pretend last night never happened.
Except my body wouldn't let me forget. There were marks everywhere. Finger-shaped bruises on my hips. A bite mark on my collarbone that looked suspiciously like a claim. When I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my lips were swollen, my hair was a bird's nest, and my eyes… they looked different. Brighter. Wilder.
I turned the water as hot as it would go and scrubbed until my skin was red.
It didn't help.
By noon I was curled on the couch in my oldest pajamas, eating ice cream straight from the tub and googling "morning after pill how late is too late."
The black card with the silver moon sat on the coffee table like it was mocking me.
I flipped it over a thousand times. No name. No phone number. Just that stupid crescent moon and a faint raised pattern on the back (like it was meant to be scanned or something). I even held it up to the light like a lunatic.
Nothing.
He was a ghost.
A ridiculously hot, panty-melting ghost who had ruined me for all other men and possibly ruined my life in the process.
I was halfway through my second tub of cookie dough when the doorbell rang.
I froze.
No one came to my apartment. Ever. My best friend Rory was out of town, and the only other person who had the address was—
"Tanya Everhart, open this door right now!"
Ethan. Of course.
I considered pretending I wasn't home, but he started pounding like he was trying to break it down.
I yanked the door open, spoon still in my mouth. "What part of 'go to hell' was unclear?"
His blond hair was messy (he'd been running his hands through it, classic Ethan stress move). His blue eyes were red-rimmed. He looked like he hadn't slept.
Good.
"Tanya, baby, please let me explain—"
"There is no explanation, Ethan. You proposed to my sister. In front of me. After I spent three months planning the party. We're done."
"I was drunk! Lilian seduced me, I swear—"
I slammed the door in his face.
He started crying on the other side. Actual sobbing. "I love you, Tanya, I've always loved you, she means nothing—"
I turned the deadbolt, put on headphones, and turned my music up until the bass drowned him out.
By evening he was gone. By night I was throwing up the ice cream.
By the end of the week I had blocked every number he ever used, deleted every photo, and applied for a transfer to a different department at work so I never had to see his face again.
I also bought three different brands of morning-after pills (just in case) and swallowed them with shaking hands while staring at that stupid black card.
Two weeks later my period still hadn't come.
I told myself it was stress.
Three weeks later I peed on a stick in the office bathroom during lunch break because I couldn't wait any longer.
Two pink lines appeared so fast it was almost comical.
I dropped the test. It clattered into the sink like a gunshot.
Pregnant.
I was pregnant with a stranger's baby.
A stranger whose name I didn't know. Whose face I barely saw under the mask. Who left me a black card with a moon on it like some kind of twisted fairy-tale calling card.
I slid down the bathroom wall, hugged my knees, and did the only thing I could do.
I laughed.
Because apparently the universe wasn't done screwing me over yet.
And somewhere across the city, in a glass tower that touched the clouds, a pair of golden eyes snapped open in the dark.
A low, possessive growl rumbled through an empty penthouse.
"Mine."