Chapter Three: Aftermath
Talia POV
I woke up with a violent ache drilling through my skull.
Light spilled through tall windows I didn't recognize, sharp and unforgiving. I squeezed my eyes shut, groaning as the pain pulsed harder, then forced myself to look again.
Nothing was familiar.
The curtains were too heavy.
The ceiling too high.
The air carried a scent that wasn't mine, clean, masculine, expensive.
This wasn't my room.
I pushed myself upright, moving carefully. The bed was enormous, the sheets too soft,
the light wrong. My body ached, not the familiar soreness of a hangover, but something deeper.
Lower. Intimate.
The last thing I remembered clearly was the club. Ash's laughter. Michael joke, The burn of alcohol.
Music vibrating through my chest.
Then... nothing. Just blank spaces where memory should be.
And warmth at my back.
I froze.
Turned my head slowly.
A man lay beside me. Asleep. Naked. Real.
The scream caught in my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth,
heart hammering so loud I was sure it would wake him.
Bare skin. Tangled sheets. Blood on white linen.
Understanding hit like a fist to the chest.
I'd lost my virginity. To a stranger. And I couldn't even remember his face clearly.
A sob threatened, hot and humiliating, but I forced it down, pressing my forehead to my knees as shame and panic crashed together. My hands trembled.
What did I do?
What did they do to me?
My phone lit up on the bedside table, the sudden glow making me flinch.
Mira.
I grabbed it like a lifeline, turning away from the man as I answered.
"M… Mira," I whispered.
"Where are you?" she snapped immediately. "Do you know what time it is? The team leader is losing his mind. You were supposed to present this morning."
"I—slow down," I breathed. "I was with Ash last night. We had drinks. I don't even know where I am."
Silence.
Then, sharper. "Why would you drink? You know your tolerance."
"It wasn't my idea," I said quickly. "I promise."
"I knew it," Mira muttered. "That girl never misses a chance to ruin something. Why didn't she bring you home?"
"I don't know. My head feels like it's splitting open."
The man beside me shifted, a low sound leaving his throat as he turned.
I froze.
Clapped my hand over the speaker.
"Is someone with you?" Mira asked.
"No," I said too fast. "Just.... just my head."
Another pause.
"Find out where you are," she said finally. "I'll send a driver. Get to the office before the director starts asking questions."
"Thank you," I whispered. "I owe you."
The call ended.
I sat frozen, phone still pressed to my ear, listening to dead air.
The silence felt heavier now, suffocating.
I forced myself to look at him again.
Even in sleep, he looked dangerous. Sharp jaw. Broad shoulders.
The kind of face you'd remember if you saw it across a boardroom. Or a courtroom.
But I didn't recognize him.
Fragments stirred, broken flashes of hands grabbing me, a corridor spinning, fear choking me breathless. Then warmth. Strength. Arms lifting me as everything else blurred.
Him.
A flash of memory cut through the fog... his voice, low and rough: "This is wrong." And my own, desperate: "I don't care."
Had I said that?
My stomach turned.
The way he'd looked at me. The way I'd clung to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.
A chill ran through me.
Something was very wrong.
I moved quickly, quietly. Slid out of bed, pulled on the glossy black dress.
My fingers fumbled with the zipper, it caught twice before sliding home.
I grabbed my heels, my bag, checked for my phone.
Paused at the door.
For one insane second, I thought about leaving a note. Explaining. Apologizing.
But what would I even say?
I didn't look back.
The hallway was empty. Soft carpet muffled my footsteps as I ran toward the elevator,
heart in my throat, expecting him to call out behind me.
He didn't.
The lobby was marble and glass and cold morning light. A doorman nodded as I passed.
I wondered what he saw, just another woman leaving after a night she'd regret.
He wasn't wrong.
Outside, the city was waking up. Traffic hummed. A vendor sold coffee on the corner.
Everything looked normal.
I stood on the curb, shaking, and pulled out my phone.
Mira had already sent a car.
Dominic POV
The bed was cold.
That was the first thing I noticed when I turned and reached for her.
Empty sheets. No warmth. No weight.
For a split second, I wondered if I'd imagined everything.
Then I sat up.
Blood stained the white sheets, proof of what she'd told me, what I'd taken anyway.
My jaw clenched.
I'd known. And I'd done it anyway.
I remembered her, every broken breath, every desperate look. The way she'd clung to me like I was the last thing keeping her anchored. I remembered holding back until there was nothing left to hold.
I swore under my breath.
She was real.
And she was gone.
I moved through the suite fast, controlled. Bathroom... empty.
Closet... untouched.
Her bag was missing. So were her heels.
She'd left on her own.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Who is it?"
"Scorpion," came the answer. "Sir."
I opened it. "Did you see the woman I was with last night?"
His brow furrowed. "No, boss. I escorted Miss Vivienne home like you asked."
That confirmed it.
"Get the hotel manager," I said. "Now. I want CCTV access."
"Yes, boss."
I turned back into the room, irritation curling hot in my chest. As I dressed, my hand went instinctively to my neck.
Nothing.
I went completely still.
I checked again, fingers pressing flat against my chest where the chain always rested, warm from my skin, constant as breathing. The one thing I'd never removed. Not in boardrooms. Not in war rooms. Not in nine years of violence and survival.
Gone.
Something cold moved through me that had nothing to do with rage and everything to do with grief I refused to name.
I swept the room once, twice. Bedsheets. Floor. Bathroom counter. Every surface.
Gone.
My jaw tightened until it ached.
"So," I said quietly to the empty room. "That's who you are."
A sharp, humorless laugh left me.
"So you're not just a victim," I muttered. "You're a thief too."
Or maybe… something else.
Minutes later, I stood in the manager's office, watching security footage roll back frame by frame. There she was, slipping out of the suite, hair loose, dress wrinkled, eyes wide and haunted.
She didn't look triumphant.
She looked terrified.
That only made the knot in my chest tighten.
I printed the still image and handed it to my men.
"Find her," I said. "Quietly. I want everything, name, work, family. Trace her movements."
"And if she doesn't want to be found?" Scorpion asked.
My jaw tightened.
"She will be."
Because whether she liked it or not, she'd walked out of my bed with more than my medallion.
She'd taken my attention.
And I had never been good at letting go.