Chapter 3 Dahlia's Pov

Blinding sunlight pierced through my eyelids, dragging me out of unconsciousness. A dull throb pulsed in my head, and my body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and... something else.

I groaned, turning over in bed, but the softness of the sheets felt strange. My sheets weren't this silky. My bed didn't smell faintly of expensive cologne.

My eyes flew open, and I sat up so fast my head spun. I wasn't in my room.

The walls were painted a soft grey, the furniture sleek and modern. Everything screamed money. The night came rushing back-flashes of strobe lights, Stacy laughing, and then... him.

Oh god.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping it was just some horrible dream, but no. His face was burned into my memory. Those grey eyes, the way they seemed to pin me in place. His low voice, that smirk. My stomach flipped.

I ran a hand through my tangled hair, trying to steady my breathing. What the hell did I do?

Disgust

Turning my head, I spotted a glass of water on the bedside table. For a second, I thought, At least he cared enough to leave that. Then I saw it-the note.

And the cash.

A thick, neat stack of bills sat beside the folded piece of paper. My chest tightened, and bile rose in my throat.

I grabbed the note with trembling hands, flipping it open.

"You left an impression. Until next time."

I froze, my fingers curling around the paper. Anger and humiliation surged through me, heat rising to my face.

He left me money. Like I was some... I couldn't even finish the thought without my stomach turning.

For a split second, the temptation was there. The money could help. Things were tight, and I wasn't above taking a little help if it meant making ends meet.

But this? No. I wouldn't touch it. Not like this.

My hand shot out, shoving the stack of cash to the far edge of the table as if putting distance between us could erase what it meant.

"This isn't me," I whispered to the empty room, the words breaking in my throat.

I threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed, my movements frantic. My clothes were neatly folded on a chair-his doing, I assumed. That only made my stomach churn more.

I dressed quickly, each piece of clothing feeling like a reminder of my shame. This wasn't me. I didn't do things like this.

I didn't go home with strangers. I didn't sleep with men whose names I didn't even know. And I sure as hell didn't wake up to find cash left for me like I was some kind of transaction.

Grabbing my phone and wallet, I headed for the door without a backward glance. I couldn't stay here a second longer.

The hallway outside was as pristine and impersonal as the room. Everything about this place screamed wealth and power, but it also felt cold. I hated it.

In the elevator, I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls. My makeup was smeared, my hair wild, and my eyes... I looked like someone I didn't recognize. Someone I didn't want to be.

"Never again," I whispered to the empty space.

Outside, the crisp morning air hit me like a slap, clearing my head but doing nothing to dull the shame twisting in my chest. Every step toward home felt heavier, my mind racing with self-loathing.

What had I been thinking? Had I been thinking at all?

I tried to convince myself it was just a mistake, a moment of weakness. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just done something I couldn't take back.

By the time I reached my house, my legs were trembling. I slipped inside, closing the door behind me and leaning against it. The familiar sight of my home offered little comfort.

I exhaled shakily, pressing my forehead against the cool wood.

I'd screwed up. Big time.

And somehow, I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't the last I'd see of him.

The moment I stepped into the living room, the sight stopped me cold.

Delijah.

He was sprawled on the couch, still in his jeans and hoodie from the night before, his arm slung over his face as he slept. A pang of guilt stabbed through my chest.

I should have been here. He must've waited up for me.

My throat tightened, and I hesitated, unsure whether to slip upstairs quietly or wake him. But my subtle movement must have made a noise because he stirred, sitting up groggily and rubbing his eyes. When his gaze landed on me, relief flashed across his face, followed quickly by concern.

"Dahlia?" His voice was thick with sleep. "Where were you? I waited all night."

The weight of his words crushed me. I couldn't tell him the truth. The thought of admitting what I'd done-that I'd spent the night with a complete stranger-was too much to bear.

I forced a weak smile, shifting uncomfortably under his worried gaze. "I'm so sorry, Del," I said, keeping my tone light. "I stayed over at Stacy's. Things got late, and I... forgot to call."

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

He frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You forgot to call?"

"I know, I know," I said quickly, waving my hand dismissively. "It was stupid. I should've let you know. I'm sorry."

His expression softened, but the hurt in his eyes didn't fade entirely. "I was worried, Dahlia. You're always the one telling me to let you know where I am. And then you don't come home?"

Guilt coiled tighter in my chest, threatening to choke me. He had every right to be upset. I'd been reckless, and now I was lying to him on top of it.

"I know, Del," I said quietly, sitting down beside him. "I messed up. I'm sorry. It won't happen again, okay?"

He studied me for a moment, his brow furrowed, but finally, he sighed. "Fine. Just... don't do that again. I'm serious, Dahl. I don't care if it's Stacy's or wherever-just call me next time, okay?"

"Okay," I promised, forcing a small smile.

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood. "I'll make some coffee. You look like you could use it."

I laughed weakly, watching him head to the kitchen. Once he was out of sight, I sank into the couch, burying my face in my hands.

The guilt was suffocating. I'd let him down, and for what? A mistake I wished I could erase.

But no matter how hard I tried to forget, I couldn't shake the feeling of those grey eyes, that smirk, and the note he'd left behind.

"Never again," I whispered to myself.

But deep down, I already knew it wouldn't be that simple.

I was still curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the coffee table when my phone buzzed. Delijah was upstairs in his room now, thankfully giving me some space to breathe.

Stacy's name flashed on the screen. I hesitated for a moment before answering.

"Hey," I said, my voice hoarse.

"Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Stacy teased, but I could hear the curiosity behind her light tone. "So, are you going to tell me what happened after you left with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous, or do I have to drag it out of you?"

I winced, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead. "Stace, please."

There was a pause, and then her voice softened. "Oh no. What happened? Was it bad?"

I sighed heavily, leaning back into the cushions. "I don't know, Stacy. I mean, it wasn't bad, but..." I trailed off, biting my lip.

"But what? Dahlia, spill it."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "I woke up in his bed, alone, with a headache from hell. He left a note and... cash."

"Wait. What?" Her voice shot up an octave.

"Yeah. A whole stack of it. Like I was... like I was someone he hired for the night." The bitterness in my voice was impossible to hide.

"Dahlia." Stacy's tone was horrified. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I never should've-"

"No," I cut her off quickly. "Don't. This isn't on you. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But I pushed you to meet someone! I practically dared you to go after him. If I hadn't-"

"Stacy," I interrupted, more firmly this time. "Stop. You didn't do anything wrong. I made the choice. And maybe... maybe I needed that night. I don't know."

There was a moment of silence on the other end before she spoke again, her voice cautious. "You really think so?"

I sighed, my fingers curling around the edge of a throw pillow. "I don't know, Stace. I feel like an idiot. I regret it, yeah. But maybe... maybe it was a wake-up call. I've been so stuck in my own head lately, so wrapped up in everything going wrong. I don't know."

"Dahlia..." she said softly, the guilt still thick in her voice.

"Seriously, Stace," I said, forcing a weak laugh. "Don't beat yourself up about it. I'll be fine. It's just... I didn't think I'd feel this crappy after."

"Of course you feel crappy," she said, her usual sass creeping back into her tone. "The guy's a jerk for leaving you money like that. But for what it's worth, you're stronger than this. You'll move on."

I closed my eyes, letting her words sink in. "Thanks."

"Always," she said. "And if I ever see that guy again, I'm giving him a piece of my mind. I don't care how hot he is."

That got a small laugh out of me. "You'd probably scare him off."

"Damn right, I would," she said, and I could picture her smirking. "You deserve better than some mystery man who thinks money can cover up being an ass."

"Yeah," I murmured, though deep down, a part of me wondered if I'd really seen the last of him.

"Listen," she said, her tone brightening. "When you're ready, let's hang out. Coffee, shopping, whatever. My treat."

"Okay," I said. "I'll let you know."

After we hung up, I set the phone aside and leaned back into the couch. Stacy was right-I'd get over it. I had to.