Chapter 2 The Morning After

The morning light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows like a spotlight, intrusive and far too honest. Sophia stirred, the silk sheets tangled around her bare legs, her heart beating in a strange, disoriented rhythm.

For one breathless moment, she forgot where she was.

The bed beneath her was too soft, the scent in the air too unfamiliar-crisp cologne, faintly citrus, and masculine. Then she remembered. The bar. The elevator. His mouth, his hands, his body pressed against hers until everything else faded away.

Sophia's breath caught as she slowly rolled onto her side.

There he was-her mystery man. Still asleep, one arm thrown over the pillow where she had lain. His face, no longer shadowed by low lighting and teasing grins, was striking in the harsh truth of daylight. Defined cheekbones, lashes too long for someone so ruthlessly male, lips slightly parted as he breathed deeply. He looked peaceful.

It unsettled her.

Peace wasn't something Sophia knew. Not anymore.

Panic whispered at the edge of her thoughts. What the hell had she done?

She sat up slowly, careful not to wake him. Her body ached in delicious, forbidden ways. There were faint bruises on her hips where his hands had held her, marks of possession that had no business existing.

No regrets, she reminded herself.

That had been the deal. One night. No names. No attachments.

But as she swung her legs off the bed and stepped onto the cool marble floor, she realized something else: she didn't want to know his name. She couldn't afford to. Names led to memories. Memories led to feelings. And feelings... well, those had only ever led to heartbreak.

Her clothes were scattered across the room like breadcrumbs of recklessness. She gathered them quickly, pulling her skirt on, then buttoning her blouse with shaky fingers. Her bra was missing-she found it tangled in the expensive sheets and stifled a laugh. What a mess.

Sophia paused at the edge of the bed, watching him sleep for one last moment. Her hand hovered near his shoulder, her instinct to say goodbye clashing with the part of her that knew better.

Instead, she tiptoed to the sleek writing desk and found a notepad. She scribbled a short message, her handwriting swift and unapologetic:

Thanks for the distraction. No regrets.

Then she slipped out the door and didn't look back.

---

Ethan Blake woke to silence.

It was rare-he usually rose to the buzz of his phone or the clang of his espresso machine. But this morning, the air felt still. His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the brightness spilling into the suite. For a second, he wasn't sure what had woken him-until he reached for the other side of the bed and found it empty.

No warmth. No woman.

He sat up, raking a hand through his tousled hair. His gaze scanned the room until it landed on the note folded neatly on the nightstand.

Thanks for the distraction. No regrets.

Ethan exhaled, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"No name, no goodbye," he muttered, letting the note fall back onto the table. "Bold."

He should've expected it. From the moment she'd met his gaze across that bar, there had been something in her eyes-fire and sadness, a woman with walls high enough to keep armies out. And yet, she'd let him in. Just for one night.

It was supposed to be simple.

And yet, as he stood, stretching, his muscles sore in the best way, something tugged at his chest. A strange, inexplicable pull. He couldn't stop thinking about her-her laugh, the way she'd moaned his name even though they'd never exchanged them, the way she'd touched him like she'd forgotten how.

He shook it off. He was Ethan Blake-CEO of Blake Dynamics, master of control, lover of detachment. He didn't chase women. Especially not mysterious strangers who fled at dawn.

Still, as he showered and dressed for the day, he found himself glancing once more at the note before slipping it into the pocket of his suit.

Just in case.

---

Sophia didn't speak for the entire cab ride home. She stared out the window, watching the city pass in a blur of steel and sunlight, the echo of last night still humming under her skin.

She had no idea who he was.

And that terrified her.

Not because she feared what might happen-but because a part of her wanted to find out.

Back in her apartment, she showered quickly, scrubbing away the scent of cologne and sweat, but it clung to her memory. Every touch, every whispered plea-it all came back in flashes. Her reflection in the mirror was different this morning. Her eyes softer. Lips swollen. She looked... alive.

Which was exactly why she had to bury it.

Sophia dressed in her usual armor-sleek black dress, power heels, and a deep red lip. She had a pitch meeting this afternoon and no time to entertain thoughts of strangers in penthouse suites.

She grabbed her laptop, her coffee, and strode out the door like nothing had changed.

But something had.

---

Later that night, as Ethan sat at his desk in his corner office, reviewing a last-minute client file for tomorrow's meeting, his assistant buzzed in.

"Your new marketing consultant will be presenting at 9 a.m. I emailed the portfolio to your tablet."

He clicked the file open, scrolling lazily until a familiar photo stopped him cold.

His mystery woman.

Her name: Sophia Carter.

His newest business collaborator.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, a low, amused chuckle escaping his throat.

Well, well.

The game just got a lot more interesting.