Love My Way

The early morning light poured in through the half-open blinds, casting uneven shadows across the tangled sheets. The king-sized bed was in chaos-pillows on the floor, a discarded shirt hanging off the footboard, and in the middle of it all, a woman lay curled under a blanket, only her bare back exposed.

Blair Walker stirred beneath the covers. Her limbs ached, her mouth tasted like cotton, and her skull throbbed with every heartbeat. A faint blush colored her cheeks-not from modesty, but the kind of heat that clings after a night of wine and bad decisions.

She groaned softly and stretched an arm, blinking groggily as she tried to figure out where she was. Her head was spinning, her throat dry. What time was it?

Her eyes darted to the digital clock on the nightstand.

8:42 a.m.

Panic shot through her. "Crap..."

Work started at nine. And after being late twice this month, another slip-up meant a salary deduction-again. She sat up in a hurry, only to wince as a wave of soreness pulsed through her body.

Her brows knitted.

Something was wrong. Her entire body ached in unfamiliar places. Slowly, she lifted the edge of the blanket and peeked beneath it.

She was naked.

More than that-her skin was marked. Faint bruises, love bites, the unmistakable aftermath of a long, messy night.

Blair's heart dropped into her stomach.

She remembered the wine. A whole bottle. Cheap, strong, and very stupid. She remembered storming out of the restaurant in a haze. She remembered the red hallway of the hotel.

She remembered opening a door. Not her door.

Then-a man, Someone strong, Tall, Sharp shoulders, A fall, And heat, A lot of heat.

She jolted upright, clutching the blanket to her chest. The room was empty now, eerily still. Her eyes scanned the floor for any sign of a familiar pair of shoes, a wallet, a jacket-anything that might confirm who she'd spent the night with.

Nothing.

Her thighs were sore, her legs trembling when she tried to move. She could still feel the dull ache between them, and when she saw a faint trace of dried blood, her stomach twisted into a knot.

She clenched the blanket tighter, feeling exposed in every possible way.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Her breath caught in her throat. She turned toward the sound, hopeful. Maybe it was her boss-Nathaniel Renford-the one she'd meant to ambush. She'd had this whole plan: seduce him, force his hand, secure her position.

Desperate times called for reckless actions. But desperate didn't mean stupid. She wouldn't have slept with a stranger... would she?

The door creaked open.

A tall man stepped into the room, drying his hair with a towel. He was barefoot, dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, exposing toned forearms and a silver watch. His wet hair clung to his forehead, and his sharp features looked carved by a sculptor-calm, cold, and maddeningly attractive.

Blair's heart plummeted. Her fake smile froze mid-bloom.

She had no idea who this man was.

"Who are you?" she demanded, yanking the blanket higher. "Why are you in my room?"

The man raised a brow and crossed his arms casually. "Your room? I live here."

Her stomach flipped.

"Live here?"

Was he housekeeping? Security? Some gigolo her friend set her up with as a joke?

She squinted at him. "Wait... are you Nathaniel's new driver? Assistant? I don't remember him mentioning you."

"I have no idea who that is," the man said, frowning slightly. His voice was low and calm, with a hint of annoyance. "This room was booked under my name."

Blair's head spun. This was not how today was supposed to go.

The man continued, more to himself than to her. "I was at a business dinner last night. Drank too much. Didn't want to drive. Found this hotel nearby. Checked in. Took a shower. And then..." His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, "You barged in."

"I what?"

"You barged in. Drunk. Hugged me. Fell on top of me."

Blair's face burned. "No, no, no. That's not-" she paused, brain trying to catch up with the memories. "You're saying I... broke into your room?"

"Correct."

She opened her mouth to protest, but the memories began to line up. She had pushed open a door. She'd assumed it was Nathaniel's suite. She'd told herself she'd take control of her future. But the man standing in front of her now was most definitely not Nathaniel Renford.

As if reading her expression, he added, "You kept clinging to me, muttering something about making it a done deal."

Blair's jaw dropped.

"I tried to get you off me," he continued calmly. "But you were like... sticky candy. And you bit me." He unbuttoned his shirt and pointed to a faint red mark on his chest. "Here."

Her eyes widened.

He buttoned the shirt again slowly, eyes never leaving hers.

"I told you to stop. You didn't listen."

Blair stared, speechless.

"I tried to do the right thing," he said softly, as if trying to convince himself more than her. "But I was drunk too. And you weren't exactly... resisting."

She swallowed hard. "You still should've stopped."

"I know."

They stood in silence.

Then she snapped. "This is sexual assault. You-"

He held up a hand. "Let's not pretend you're the victim here. You stormed into my room."

"Because I thought you were someone else!"

"Doesn't change what happened."

Her voice shook. "If this gets out, my job, my reputation-"

He cut in. "Mine too."

She paused. "Who are you?"

The man hesitated for a long second. "Graham Marcus. Acting Mayor of Crestwood Falls."

Blair blinked.

The Graham Marcus?

She stared at him, mouth slightly open.

Oh, she was so screwed.

Before she could respond, the door to the suite opened again. They both turned toward it.

A sharply dressed woman in a black suit stepped inside. Her eyes flicked between the two of them, landing on Blair-bare shoulders, tousled hair, wrapped in a hotel quilt.

The woman's lips curved into a faint smirk.

"Mayor Marcus," she said, "The press is waiting downstairs. You're already ten minutes late for your conference."

Blair's blood turned to ice.

Marcus glanced at her, then nodded. "I'll be right down."

As the woman left, he turned back to Blair. "We'll talk later."

And with that, he slipped on his jacket and walked out the door.

Blair sat frozen, wrapped in silence and linen.

The Mayor. The actual mayor.

Her stomach churned. Her plan had gone nuclear. She hadn't seduced her boss. She hadn't secured her job.

She'd accidentally slept with the most powerful man in town.

And now the press was involved.

She barely had time to process it before her phone buzzed. A message from her best friend lit up the screen:

"Blair. Have you seen the news? You're trending."

Blair's heart stopped as she clicked the link.

And there it was.

A blurry photo of her stepping into the hotel last night, hand clutching the collar of a very familiar white shirt.

The headline read:

"Mayor's Secret Mistress? Exclusive Photo Reveals Late-Night Rendezvous With Mystery Woman"

Blair stared at the screen, her fingers trembling.

She was in trouble.

But she had no idea just how much...

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 Walker'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 Marcus.

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..."

Marcus 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!"

Marcus 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.

Marcus 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.

Marcus, 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*?"

Marcus 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!"

Marcus 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.

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

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.

Blair Walker didn't notice the quilt sliding off her shoulder until the air chilled her bare skin-and by then, it was too late. Graham Marcus's eyes, usually so unreadable, flickered with something like alarm. His gaze landed on the bruises scattered along her petite shoulders, blooming like violets in the snow.

The expression on his face shifted almost imperceptibly: discomfort, maybe even guilt.

For a second, Blair could've sworn he looked... sorry.

Then she noticed the exposure and panicked, yanking the comforter up with one hand and shielding herself like a scalded cat. Her cheeks flamed.

"What the hell are you looking at?" she snapped. "You want your eyes dug out and used as decorative lightbulbs on my boots?"

Marcus coughed, awkward and uncharacteristically flustered. "Relax. It's not like I haven't already-" He caught himself before finishing the sentence and turned away sharply. "Forget it."

He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair, sliding it over his shoulders with mechanical precision.

Blair didn't waste the opportunity. She scooped up her scattered clothes from the carpet and ducked under the quilt, rustling as she wrestled her limbs into jeans and a wrinkled blouse. When she finally stood, fully dressed but sore in all the worst ways, she nearly collapsed.

She bit back a wince as pain shot through her legs. *Damn him. Couldn't he tell it was my first time? What was he, some sort of animal?*

She glared at his back, lean and muscular beneath his tailored shirt, and-for a split second-her anger faltered. *Okay... he was hot. But that doesn't make any of this okay.*

He turned around. Their eyes met.

For the second time that morning, she hated herself for blushing.

*Get it together, Blair.*

She took a steadying breath and reached for the card still lying on the nightstand. If they were going to be square, then so be it. She'd take the money. No one owed anyone anything. The night had been-*what it was.* But she wasn't about to walk away broke and humiliated.

Even if the taste she'd given him had been unforgettable-and it probably had-he was too old, too powerful, and too dangerous to be around. She needed to disappear from his orbit.

Marcus began to speak. "Keep the card safe. Later-"

"I don't need your instructions," she cut in, sharp and fast. "If anyone's walking away first, it's me. I know crying and screaming won't rewind time, and I'm not about to play the victim. What happened last night?"

She squared her shoulders, eyes flashing.

"I'll chalk it up to getting bitten by a dog. So don't expect me to act grateful or broken. Once I leave this room, we're strangers. I won't recognize you. Don't recognize me."

Her tone was ice. Her eyes were fire.

Only the flush on her cheeks and the redness in her eyes betrayed the storm behind her brave facade.

Graham blinked, caught off guard. "I was just going to say we should keep our distance."

"Well, congrats," she snapped, snatching the card and shoving it into her purse. "Great minds think alike."

She wasn't going to be one of those women who rejected hush money for pride. *Dignity doesn't pay rent.*

But she wasn't about to let him feel superior, either.

An idea struck her like lightning.

She pulled a handful of coins from her pocket-quarters, dimes, pennies, and even a dusty subway token-and stomped across the room. Graham watched in disbelief as she opened his collar, leaned forward, and shoved the handful of loose change into his breast pocket.

He stepped back, stunned.

"There," she said, dusting off her hands. "That's what your performance last night was worth. A few coins and maybe a soda machine. Don't flatter yourself."

Marcus looked down at the jingling mess in his pocket. He exhaled slowly through his nose, lips twitching in something between amusement and exasperation.

"I'll make sure to declare it on my taxes."

"Do that," she said sweetly. "And remember: if you so much as whisper this to anyone, I'll tell the world you're a broke gigolo who couldn't afford a decent hotel room without a sugar mama."

Then she bolted.

She didn't look back.

By the time she reached the café two blocks down, her adrenaline was gone and her feet were screaming in protest. She locked herself in the bathroom stall, sat on the closed toilet seat, and tried to breathe.

She was broke.

Not figuratively-literally.

All she had was that stupid card.

"No money for the bus, no change for coffee," she muttered. "At this point I'd trade my soul for a croissant."

She wiped her forehead. She was sweating. Her phone was at one percent.

*Fantastic.*

Then, as if the universe hadn't humiliated her enough, she heard a voice in the distance. Familiar. Grating.

"Blair?"

She froze.

Her father.

She opened the stall door slowly. In the reflection of the grimy mirror, she saw him-David Walker. Unshaven. Slightly bloated. Wearing the same shirt he'd been photographed in two Christmases ago.

"Blair, sweetheart! I thought that was you."

Her shoulders slumped. "Dad."

"Don't look so sour," he said, reaching out as though they were close. "How've you been, huh? Got that promotion yet? I know they pay you interns at the end of the month. You've got some pocket change now, right?"

"I'm still unpaid," she said flatly. "I'm working for experience."

David's grin twitched, but he held it in place. "Right, right. Well, listen. I haven't eaten in two days. Think you could spot your old man a twenty? Just for lunch. I'll pay you back next week."

Blair hesitated.

He didn't look like he was starving.

He looked like he'd had three too many beers.

Her heart ached. This wasn't the man she remembered. This wasn't the father who used to take her to the park and pretend he was a pirate captain. Somewhere between the gambling, the lies, and the divorce, he'd turned into someone else entirely.

"I really don't have any cash, Dad."

He frowned, then perked up. "But your stepdad's loaded, isn't he? You must get an allowance, right?"

"No," she said firmly. "I work to cover my own stuff. I'm not some spoiled rich girl."

His grip on her arm tightened. "Blair, I'm desperate."

"I can't."

He looked like he might cry. "Then ask your mother. Just a little. For me."

"Don't do this."

"Please."

She sighed. Then reached for her purse, pulled out the black card, and held it up.

"I'll take some out," she said. "But this is it."

The second his eyes landed on the card, they changed.

He snatched it from her fingers.

"Hey!" she shouted. "What are you-"

"I'll hold onto it," he said, voice trembling with excitement. "Just to keep it safe. I'll withdraw some cash and give it right back."

"Dad, don't-!"

But he was already gone.

She chased him outside, but he vanished into a cab, waving the card like it was a winning lottery ticket.

Blair stood frozen on the sidewalk.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to cry.

*That card was her only safety net.*

And now it was gone.

*Taken by the man who was supposed to protect her.*

She had no choice. She turned and walked toward the house she never felt at home in.

The Walker estate.

Her mother's new family. Big house. Perfect lawn. Cold atmosphere.

Her stepfather, William Walker, had two children from his first marriage-Simon, who barely acknowledged her, and Claire, who was away studying in Paris most of the year.

Her mother, Veronica, tried too hard to make everyone happy.

Which meant she forgot to take care of Blair.

Blair stood outside the gate and stared up at the looming building.

She was so tired.

So angry.

So **done**.

But before she could reach the front door, it opened-and there stood Simon.

Handsome, smug, ice-blue eyes that always made her uneasy.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, well," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "If it isn't the runaway princess."

"I'm not in the mood."

"Too bad. Because your little scandal's already hit the internet."

Blair's blood ran cold.

"What?"

He smirked, pulling out his phone.

"Mayor's Night Visitor Identified: Social Media Intern Linked to Marcus Fiasco"**

The article had her name.

Her face.

Her work history.

Simon tilted his head. "You really screwed up this time, Blair."

She stared at the screen in horror.

"Did... did Mom see this?"

"Oh, she saw it."

"And?"

"She's upstairs," he said, the smirk fading. "Crying. Stepdad's yelling at her. Says you've humiliated the whole family."

The front door slammed shut behind her.

Blair stood on the doorstep, the echo still ringing in her ears.

She clenched her fists.

She had no card.

No money.

No support.

And now, the whole world knew.

But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part?

Her phone buzzed again.

An unknown number.

She picked it up.

"Miss Walker," said the voice on the line. "This is Graham Marcus. We have a problem."

She didn't say a word.

"There's a video," he said.

"A *what*?"

"A recording. From the hotel. Someone leaked footage of you entering my suite. It's already in the hands of someone who wants to use it."

Blair's mouth went dry. "Use it how?"

He didn't answer right away.

Then, coldly: "Blackmail."