Chapter 2 A Bed, a Lie, and a Loaded Card

The sun was higher now, casting an accusing glow through the windows of Suite 1905 at the Crestwood Falls Grand Hotel. The heat of the morning did nothing to settle Blair Thompson's nerves, nor did it ease the pounding in her head or the knot twisting in her stomach.

She huddled beneath the oversized quilt like it was armor, her small frame drawn tight. Every movement reminded her of the night before-her aching limbs, the soreness between her thighs, and the incriminating marks scattered across her skin like fingerprints left on glass.

Blair wanted to vanish.

She had come here with a plan, albeit a half-baked one: seduce her overbearing boss, Nathaniel Renford, and secure the promotion she'd been chasing for two years. A little wine, a little lingerie, and she'd force his hand. After all, he'd been dropping hints for months.

But things had gone terribly, *terribly* wrong.

She sniffled, her mascara-streaked eyes darting to the man now buttoning up his shirt with the calm detachment of someone folding napkins.

Graham Prescott.

Acting mayor. Local powerhouse. Infamous for being untouchable, uninterested, and unbearably difficult.

Also: **the wrong damn man**.

Blair felt the tears begin to well again. Her voice trembled as she whispered, "I... I thought I went into the right room. I thought you were Nathaniel..."

Graham didn't look at her. He tucked in his shirt and rolled his sleeves with precision. "That's not my problem."

She bit her lip and buried her face in the blanket. "I shouldn't have drunk that much. I was stupid. So stupid..."

"I won't argue with that," he said flatly.

Blair's head snapped up, her bottom lip trembling. "How could I have walked into the wrong room? You-you must've seen me, thought I was pretty, and lured me in!"

Graham finally looked at her, a frown creasing his brow. "Are you *seriously* accusing me of seducing a drunk girl who broke into my hotel room?"

Her cheeks flushed red with a mix of shame and anger. She knew she was being irrational, but the reality of what happened was hitting her like a freight train, and she needed someone-*anyone*-to blame.

"I... I lost my virginity to a stranger," she said in a small voice, more to herself than to him.

Graham didn't respond immediately. His jaw tightened, but his expression remained unreadable.

Blair's eyes welled again. She pulled the blanket up to her nose. "You took advantage of me..."

Now he turned fully, the patience in his face evaporating. "Excuse me? *You* took advantage of *me.* Don't twist this."

Blair's voice cracked. "You're older than me. You're stronger than me. You could've stopped me!"

"I *tried* to!" he snapped. "You latched onto me like a koala on a tree, muttering about making things irreversible. You ripped off my shirt and bit me!"

"I don't remember that!"

"That doesn't mean it didn't happen."

Blair's eyes darted to his chest, where faint red welts were still visible through his open shirt. She winced. *Maybe I did bite him...*

But none of it mattered. Not really. Not to her bruised pride. Or her now shattered reputation.

She let out a soft sob and curled deeper into the blanket.

Graham, clearly out of patience, walked to the desk, picked up a pen, and scribbled something on a small hotel notepad. Then he pulled a black card from his wallet and tossed both onto the nightstand beside her.

"There's fifty thousand in that account," he said coolly. "Go to a clinic. Get checked. Fix whatever you feel needs fixing."

Blair's eyes widened. She stared at the card like it was radioactive. "You're trying to pay me off?"

He shrugged. "Consider it compensation for... the inconvenience."

"Inconvenience?" she echoed, stunned. "You think this is an *inconvenience*?"

Graham raised an eyebrow. "I'm not doing this dance with you. You got drunk. You barged in. We both messed up. I'm not proud of it either, believe me."

She shoved the card off the nightstand with a sharp slap. It clattered to the floor. "You bastard. I'm still a minor!"

Graham paused.

His eyes sharpened, darkened, zeroing in on her with sudden intensity. "Say that again."

Blair blinked, stunned by her own words. She hadn't meant to say that. It was a bluff. A reflex. But now that it was out, she decided to double down.

"I'm seventeen," she lied, crossing her arms defiantly. "So congratulations, Mayor. You just committed statutory rape."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Graham slowly straightened, his entire body radiating quiet rage. "Don't play games with me."

Blair's heartbeat thudded in her ears, but she held her ground. "Try me. Let's see how the press reacts when I tell them the mayor molested a teenager."

"You're bluffing," he growled.

"Are you willing to risk it?" she said, chin lifting.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally, he stepped forward. "This could ruin me."

"Good," she said.

He exhaled sharply through his nose and turned away, collecting his jacket from the back of the chair. "Fine. Keep the card. Consider it hush money. But don't push me."

Blair watched as he walked toward the door. His shoulders were rigid, his temper clearly stretched thin.

"Wait," she called after him. "Who the hell even *are* you?"

He turned, looked her dead in the eyes, and said, "The man who'll make your life hell if you breathe a word of this."

Then he left.

The door clicked shut behind him.

The silence that followed felt deafening. Blair sat still, breathing heavily.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from her best friend, Zoe.

Zoe: Blair. You're on every gossip site in the state. What the HELL did you do?!**

Her heart sank. She opened the link Zoe sent.

There it was-again. The same blurry photo of her from the hotel lobby, this time on a much bigger platform. The caption now read:

"Mystery Woman Linked to Mayor Prescott in Shocking Hotel Scandal"**

And beneath it: *Is Crestwood's golden boy hiding a secret relationship? Witnesses say she entered his room late last night and didn't leave until morning...*

Blair clutched her phone in horror.

No, no, no. This is not happening...*

Another message popped up.

**Zoe: Blair, did you SLEEP with the mayor?!**

Blair dropped the phone onto the bed, burying her face in her hands.

She wanted to scream. Or crawl into a hole. Or rewind time by twenty-four hours and slap the wine glass out of her own hand.

Her eyes flicked to the black card lying on the carpet.

Then her phone buzzed again.

This time, a number she didn't recognize.

She picked it up hesitantly.

"Miss Thompson," the voice on the other end said smoothly. "This is David Knox. I'm calling on behalf of Mayor Graham Prescott."

Her stomach twisted.

"He'd like to arrange a private meeting with you. Immediately."

Blair's voice was hoarse. "Why?"

There was a pause. Then, coldly: "To discuss the terms of your silence."

Before she could answer, the call ended.

Blair stared at her reflection in the mirror across the room.

Tangled hair. Tear-streaked face. A hotel blanket barely covering her body.

And now, she was at the center of a political scandal.

With a man who didn't trust her.

And a secret that could destroy them both.