Chapter 5 ONE NIGHTSTAND

CHAPTER Five

One Nightstand

A hand suddenly gripped Eleanor's mouth, holding on to her tightly. The coldness of the fingers, firm and unrelenting, pressed against her lips, preventing her from uttering a sound. Her heart raced, thudding painfully against her chest as fear overtook her. The scent of his skin was intoxicating, a mix of cologne and something deeper-something dangerous. Eleanor tried to twist her head, to break free, but the grip tightened, dragging her further into the unknown. Her body stiffened in panic, her breath coming in short, rapid bursts through her nose.

Then, without warning, she was flung away. The abrupt force sent her stumbling back, a cry escaping her lips, but before she could regain her balance, she felt herself falling-falling straight to the bed. The softness of the mattress caught her like a gentle hand, though it did nothing to calm her racing heart. The whole scene was surreal, as if she were caught in some twisted, half-formed dream, where everything felt real, yet she couldn't make sense of any of it.

She lay there, her breath still shallow, eyes wide in disbelief. Eleanor's gaze flicked up to meet the stranger's eyes-his presence commanding, magnetic, yet unsettling. The room felt like it was spinning around her as her body trembled in the aftermath of what had just happened.

The man, his expression a mixture of dominance and something softer beneath the surface, gazed at her with intense focus. His eyes-dark and almost unreadable-shifted from her face to her lips. His presence seemed to fill every corner of the room, suffocating yet oddly comforting. He moved without hesitation, slow but purposeful, and Eleanor couldn't help but watch, her breath caught in her throat as he drew closer.

With a sudden intensity, he slammed his lips against hers, his kiss urgent, demanding. Eleanor's body froze, as if unsure how to react to the force of the moment. But something within her stirred. Maybe it was the way his mouth claimed hers with such certainty, or maybe it was the desperation that flickered in her chest. Her mind, still clouded by confusion and disbelief, couldn't process everything at once, but instinct drove her forward.

Her lips parted slightly, and with that, the kiss deepened. She felt his hands, gentle at first, cupping her face before sliding down the sides of her neck, down to her shoulders, and further still, tracing the lines of her body. It was as if they were both drowning in the moment, each breath taken between kisses, each touch an invitation to forget everything else.

As the seconds ticked by, Eleanor's thoughts scattered, lost in the intensity of what was happening. It was reckless. It was impulsive. But in that moment, it felt like the only thing that mattered.

Then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the man pulled away. Eleanor's eyes fluttered open, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she stared at him, her chest heaving with the aftermath of the kiss. His eyes, still locked on hers, were full of something unreadable, a mixture of hunger and admiration. His hand moved to her jacket, fingers brushing against the fabric before he slowly, deliberately, began to peel it away from her shoulders. The movement was almost tender, as if he were savoring the moment, savoring her.

Eleanor's breath hitched as he revealed the small birthmark on her skin. It was a mark she had always been self-conscious about, but in that moment, under his gaze, it felt different. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the mark, his kiss soft, reverent.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and husky, and Eleanor could do nothing but shudder beneath him. His hands, though gentle at first, grew bolder, sliding down her body, finding their way to her chest. Eleanor's heart raced in a mixture of confusion, desire, and fear. Her body was betraying her, responding to him in ways she hadn't expected.

The kiss returned, this time more urgent, more demanding. Their lips moved together like they were two pieces of a puzzle-imperfect, but somehow made to fit. His hands roamed over her body, exploring with the same hunger in his eyes. Eleanor found herself lost in the rhythm of it all, her hands moving to his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt.

The night, the stranger, the wildness of it all-it was overwhelming. But in this moment, Eleanor was no longer thinking. She was simply feeling, simply existing in the space between their bodies.

**MORNING**

7:30 a.m.

Eleanor's eyes fluttered open, her head pounding as if someone had taken a hammer to it. The remnants of the night before hung heavy in the air around her. The memories felt blurry, distorted, like a dream she couldn't quite grasp. She groaned softly, reaching up to rub at her temples, willing the headache to subside. But the more she tried to focus, the worse it seemed to get. A terrible nightmare, or at least she hoped it was a nightmare.

Her eyes snapped open, and suddenly, something caught her attention. A man's leg-long, muscular, draped across the bed beside her. Eleanor froze, her heart skipping a beat as her gaze slowly trailed upward. She followed the line of his leg, past his thigh, until her eyes finally landed on his face. His features were buried in the pillow, his back to her, but it was enough to make her blood run cold.

Eleanor's mind screamed in panic. She wasn't sure if she wanted to wake him or run far, far away. But as her thoughts scrambled, one clear realization hit her like a slap across the face. She wasn't dreaming. The events of the previous night had been real. She had slept with a stranger. A one-night stand-no, she had no idea who this man was.

"Oh no," she whispered under her breath, her voice barely audible, thick with disbelief. Her body sprang into action, moving without thought. She scrambled to the edge of the bed, stumbling as she stood, disoriented and terrified of the consequences of her actions. She grabbed her dress, throwing it on hastily, the fabric wrinkling beneath her trembling fingers. She didn't even care.

The door. She needed to get out.

With a burst of adrenaline, Eleanor rushed toward the door, her mind still spinning as she grabbed the handle. She threw it open, nearly slamming it in her haste to escape. She didn't look back. She couldn't. The room behind her felt like a prison, and she had no intention of staying any longer.

**

She stumbled into the house, her heart still racing, her chest tight with anxiety. She could hear the voices of her family members echoing down the hallway. Panic gripped her once more. Where would she say she had been? What excuse could she possibly give for disappearing the way she had?

"Ohh yes, she's so dumb!" The voice of her stepmother reached her ears, cutting through the haze of her thoughts. Eleanor winced, taking another step back, but the sound of laughter rang in her ears. It felt like everything she knew was slipping away.

"How could she not recognize that dad had always been using her?" Ethan's voice was laced with sarcasm, the words biting into her chest.

"Yeah, I mean, it's so obvious, and all she does is act like a fool. Dad, thank you; I love you, Dad!" Mia mocked, her voice dripping with venom.

Eleanor stood frozen in the doorway, her hands on the hinges as she tried to steady herself. She could hear them all-her family. But they weren't the people she had thought they were. They were something else entirely.

"That's because dad got a special talent," Mr. Wilson added, his voice low but full of malicious intent.

"We just have to wait four more days, and I'll make her sign the documents. She'll be signing everything over to me-her fortune, both the company and this house, and then..." His smile was dark, cold. "We'll throw her out on the street."

The words hit Eleanor like a ton of bricks. She stood there, unmoving, trying to process what she had just heard. The family she had trusted, the ones who had always treated her with such fake warmth, were after her wealth? They were plotting against her?

Her hand flew to her mouth, a gasp escaping her lips. She couldn't breathe.

Mrs. Wilson's phone rang, and her attention shifted. The smile on her face was sickeningly satisfied. "He must have been so satisfied with her," she said with a chuckle, making the others burst into laughter.

Eleanor's hands shook as she listened to her stepmother answer the call, the words coming through the speaker.

"Hello, Mr. Taylor..." Mrs. Wilson greeted, her tone sickly sweet.

Then, suddenly, the mood shifted.

"What's the meaning of the stunt you guys are trying to play with me? You said the girl knew everything about it!" Mr. Taylor's voice roared through the speaker, furious.

"How dare she harm me and run away from the hotel room!"

Eleanor's heart clenched as she stood there, her face pale. The world was collapsing around her. She had been used-ruined. But worse, her mother had been involved in it.

She blinked rapidly, trying to push back the tears.

"She ran away?" Mrs. Wilson mouthed, disbelief written across her face.

Tears welled up in Eleanor's eyes. Her voice shook with a mix of fury and sadness. "