Chapter 2 Morning After

The first thing Antonella felt was warmth.

It blanketed her, sinking deep into her bones, chasing away the chill that had gripped her for weeks-maybe longer. She shifted slightly, her body sore in places she hadn't realized, and let out a low sigh. For one blissful moment, she forgot everything-the ballroom, the betrayal, the way the world had cracked open under her feet.

But then memory seeped back in, slow and steady like ink bleeding into water.

Her eyes fluttered open.

The room was unfamiliar-dimly lit by the early morning light leaking through heavy curtains. Dark walls, a few minimalist paintings, and the faint scent of leather and cedar in the air. The bed was enormous, the sheets tangled around her bare legs.

And lying next to her, half-covered by the sheets, was him.

The stranger.

Antonella's heart gave a painful lurch. She sat up too quickly, the sheet slipping from her body. She clutched it to her chest, her skin heating with embarrassment even though he was still asleep.

For a moment, she simply stared.

In the hazy light, he looked almost unreal. Strong jawline shadowed with stubble, dark hair mussed from sleep, broad chest rising and falling steadily. He looked peaceful, almost boyish, completely unlike the intense figure he'd been the night before.

Panic flared low in her belly.

What did I do?

God, what was I thinking?

She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead. Her head was clear enough-no alcohol to blame, no foggy haze of bad decisions. This had been all her. Her pain. Her loneliness. Her desperation to feel something-anything-other than betrayal.

And she had sought it in the arms of a stranger.

A soft rustle beside her made her freeze.

He stirred, blinking slowly, his eyes finding her immediately. For a beat, neither of them spoke. The connection that had sparked between them last night still crackled faintly in the air, fragile and raw.

"Hey," he said, voice rough with sleep.

Antonella swallowed, clutching the sheet tighter. "Hi."

Another silence stretched between them, thick and heavy with everything unspoken.

"You okay?" he asked after a moment, his gaze sharp but not unkind.

She nodded too quickly, then regretted it. "Yeah. I just... I should go."

Something flickered across his face-disappointment, maybe-but he only nodded once, slowly, as if he'd expected it.

Antonella swung her legs over the side of the bed, grimacing when her bare feet touched the cold floor. She spotted her dress crumpled on a nearby chair and gathered it quickly, trying to preserve some shred of dignity.

He watched her, unmoving, but not in a leering way. More like... he wanted to say something but didn't know if he should.

When she straightened, still clutching the sheet to her chest, he finally spoke.

"You don't have to rush out. I can drive you wherever you need to go."

The offer was gentle, sincere, and for some reason, it made Antonella's throat tighten painfully.

"I'll call a cab," she said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you, though."

She didn't want his pity. She didn't want anything from anyone ever again.

He nodded, pushing himself up against the headboard. The sheet slid down, revealing the intricate black ink tattooed across his chest-a wolf, fierce and wild, mid-howl. Antonella's stomach twisted strangely at the sight.

"At least let me make you some coffee?" he offered, almost tentative.

Antonella hesitated at the door, her hand on the frame.

Say no, her mind screamed.

Walk away. Forget this ever happened.

But then she heard her own voice, soft and exhausted: "Okay. Coffee would be nice."

The kitchen was sleek and modern-dark granite counters, stainless steel appliances, clean lines that spoke of money but not flash. She perched awkwardly on a stool at the counter, wearing one of his black T-shirts that hung off her like a dress.

He moved around the kitchen with easy efficiency, filling the coffeepot, searching through cupboards. There was something comforting about the way he moved, grounded and sure, like nothing could rattle him.

Antonella watched him silently, her hands wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee when he placed it in front of her.

"Milk? Sugar?" he asked.

"Just black. Thank you."

He nodded, pouring his own cup and leaning against the counter across from her. For a long moment, they just sipped in silence.

Finally, he set his mug down. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. But... if you need to talk, I'm a good listener."

His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like he knew he was offering more than he should to someone he'd just met.

Antonella stared into her coffee, the words lodged in her throat. Part of her wanted to spill everything-to purge the humiliation, the heartbreak, the fury she had no idea what to do with.

Another part of her wanted to pretend she was someone else. Someone stronger, someone who wasn't falling apart.

"I was supposed to get engaged last night," she blurted before she could stop herself.

He didn't react-no widening eyes, no awkward fidgeting. Just quiet, steady attention.

She laughed bitterly, the sound brittle and foreign. "Instead, I got to watch him propose to someone else."

He exhaled slowly, a sound that was almost a growl. "I'm sorry."

The simplicity of it-the lack of judgment, the lack of questions-nearly undid her.

"I gave him five years of my life," she whispered. "Five years believing I mattered. Five years being... patient, supportive, understanding." She shook her head, a humorless smile tugging at her lips. "Turns out, I was just... convenient. Temporary."

His fists clenched subtly against the counter. "Sounds like he's a damn fool."

Antonella blinked, startled by the vehemence in his voice.

"Someone who can't see your worth doesn't deserve you," he said, his eyes fierce and unwavering. "Someone like that doesn't deserve your loyalty. Or your love."

The words struck something deep inside her, something bruised and aching.

"What's your name?" she asked suddenly, realizing she didn't even know the name of the man who had seen her at her worst and held her anyway.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Jason," he said. "Jason Copper."

Antonella let the name settle between them, somehow solid, real.

"I'm Antonella," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

"I know," he said, a spark of something unreadable in his eyes.

She frowned. "How-?"

"You said it in your sleep," Jason said, his voice almost gentle. "Kept whispering it. Like you were trying not to disappear."

Antonella's breath caught painfully.

For the first time in what felt like forever, someone had seen her. Not the polished façade she wore like armor. Not the dutiful daughter, the obedient girlfriend, the perfect hostess.

Her.

The silence stretched, but it wasn't heavy anymore. It was warm, tentative. Like the beginning of something neither of them dared name yet.

Jason pushed off the counter, setting his mug in the sink. "Let me drive you home," he said. "Please."

Antonella hesitated-but this time, it wasn't fear holding her back.

It was the terrifying, exhilarating feeling that maybe... just maybe... she had crashed into exactly who she needed, at exactly the moment her world had fallen apart.

"Okay," she said finally, offering a small, real smile. "I'd like that."

And as she followed Jason out into the morning light, Antonella had no idea that her story wasn't ending.

It was only just beginning.