Warmth lingered against her skin, unfamiliar yet oddly comforting. Elara Wynn instinctively curled closer, her body aching from exhaustion but her heart strangely content. Sleep had evaded her all night, but she had no regrets.
She'd planned this moment for weeks. A gift—herself—offered without hesitation.
For two years, she'd cherished Archer Lang in silence. Every time he hinted at taking things further, she had gently refused. She'd wanted it to be special, meaningful.
But tonight was different.
Archer was leaving for Berlin tomorrow, and it was also her twenty-third birthday. A night like this wouldn't come again. Pushed by her best friend's relentless encouragement, she'd booked a suite at the Virelli Grand Hotel and prepared herself for the moment.
Smiling softly, Elara slipped her arms around the man beside her. To her surprise, he was perfectly sculpted—not overly muscular, not too lean. Just right.
She sighed happily.
"Mmm… Selene, are you awake?" murmured a deep voice above her. "You were amazing last night."
Elara's heart skipped. That voice wasn't Archer's.
She blinked. "Archer…?"
Both of them froze.
Silence stretched.
Then they pulled apart like lightning.
Elara fumbled for the lamp on the nightstand, flicking it on in a panic. Light spilled across the room—and she froze in horror.
A stranger lay beside her. Broad-shouldered, handsome, half-covered by the sheets—but utterly unfamiliar.
She screamed.
Clutching the covers to her chest, she stared wide-eyed. "Who are you?!"
The man sat up, equally shocked. "Me? Who the hell are you? This is my suite!"
"No—it's room 1216! My friend gave me the key. I was supposed to meet someone—my boyfriend—Archer Lang!"
He laughed coldly, incredulously. "That's a new one. Let me guess—you picked the one billionaire suite in the hotel by accident?"
Elara's breath caught in her throat. His tone cut deeper than she expected. She could barely hold back the tears building behind her eyes.
Her memory rushed back in fragments: dinner with Selene, champagne to celebrate both her upcoming fashion show in Milan and Elara's birthday. Selene had insisted—this was her chance before Archer left. She remembered taking the keycard, too dazed from wine to question it.
But why had the man in the room not been Archer?
"I don't want money," she whispered, trembling. "I just want Archer…"
The stranger—Damien Rourke—studied her closely. She had said Archer's name before. Was this a setup?
Last night, he'd been expecting Selene. She always used that same perfume. The lights had stayed off. He hadn't questioned it.
Now, his phone rang.It was his girlfriend Selene Clark.
He answered sharply. "Selene. Start talking."
Her voice was light and unapologetic. "Damien, I'm so sorry. Milan called. They bumped me to the final model. It's everything I've worked for—I had to fly out last night."
"You vanished without a word."
"I left you something instead. My gift," she said with a soft laugh. "You enjoyed her, didn't you?"
Damien's gaze flicked back to the devastated woman in his bed. "Thoughtful gift," he said coldly. "Good luck in Milan."
The call ended.
Elara had collapsed into the corner of the room, knees hugged to her chest, eyes shining with disbelief and silent grief.
She had given herself to a complete stranger. There was no undoing it.
What would she say to Archer? What face could she show him now?
Damien turned away, jaw clenched. Whoever this woman was, it was clear she hadn't meant to be there. Selene's idea of a "gift" had clearly crossed the line.
But damage was done—and he couldn't afford a scandal.
He retrieved his coat, pulled out a checkbook, scribbled a figure without a word, and tore the page free.
It should be enough to make her forget this ever happened.