Serena Stanton thought she would never see Adrian Shaw again in this lifetime.
She never expected that not only would they meet again, but it would be in the same hotel room.
That day, the first typhoon of the year, "Butterfly", struck the southern coast with force.
The international airport's display board was covered with red alerts—every flight, without exception, was either delayed or cancelled.
Serena was trapped in the city ravaged by wind and rain, forced to find a hotel at the last minute.
But all the nearby hotels were overflowing; even the room she'd checked out of that afternoon had already been taken by someone else.
Only one ultra-luxury hotel still had rooms available.
In the emergency, the hotel wasn't accepting online bookings.
Serena hurried over, but was still a step too late.
The staff apologized politely, "Sorry, there are no available rooms right now."
"It's okay."
Serena looked a little lost, but quickly adjusted, calmly asking, "Could I use the restroom?"
The hotel lobby had a public restroom—spacious, lavishly decorated, adorned in dazzling gold and brilliance.
"Of course." In uniform, a staff member gestured, "Please, follow me."
The typhoon had created dire conditions outside. The sky was dim, rain pelted down in hail-sized drops, so destructive it felt as if all of Portryn would collapse.
It only took Serena a few dozen seconds outside between airport and hotel, but she was already soaked to the bone.
A white slip dress clung to her waist, the wet fabric outlining a slender, graceful figure, making her look like a stunning work of ink-wash art.
"Who's that? She looks kind of familiar." Sean Wallace came down in a high-thread-count silk robe, easily flipping up the service counter partition, asking as he passed.
The staff, hearing his voice, turned and was startled to see him. "Boss, why are you down here again?"
"Bored. Came down for a walk."
Sean held a cigar between his fingers in one hand, in the other he picked up a rectangular card left on the marble worktop.
The staff, respectfully, reported: "A guest left this Portryn-Macau permit. She's in the restroom right now. We'll return it to her when she's back."
The permit showed the photo and name of the holder at a glance.
"Serena Stanton." Sean narrowed his eyes. "What's her situation?"
"Miss Stanton wanted to check in, but there are no rooms available at the moment."
Sean lifted his chin. "Give her a room."
"Which one?"
"8888."
But isn't that Presidential Suite already occupied by our distinguished guest?
The staff was immediately alarmed, thinking Sean had forgotten, and whispered a reminder: "Boss, Mr. Shaw is staying in 8888."
"You think I don't know something that obvious?" Sean said. "Do as I say. If anything goes wrong, I'll handle it."
"Yes, sir!"
The staff took the order immediately, not daring to say more.
When Serena came back, the front desk informed her a room was available—the Presidential Suite—would she like to check in?
Serena felt quietly relieved. At least money avoided disaster: "Please help me with the check-in."
The front desk attendant was immaculate from clothes to makeup, hair perfectly tied at the nape of her neck, her face bearing a flawless professional smile.
While she processed the paperwork, she couldn't stop feeling uneasy inside.
Maybe Mr. Shaw from the mainland had already left?
The hotel's decor was resplendent—Austrian crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, turning the interior bright as day.
It was a stark contrast to the thick black clouds pressing down outside.
The front desk handed her a champagne-gold room card with wishes for a pleasant stay.
Serena accepted, declining the staff's assistance, and pulled her suitcase alone toward the elevators.
Normally, staff would escort distinguished guests to their suites, but Sean Wallace's instructions from earlier still rang in her ears.
So, she could only give up on that.
Inside the elegantly understated elevator, Serena stared at the number 8888 on the card, her temples suddenly throbbing dully.
"Ding—"
She reached her floor as the elevator doors opened, snapping her back to herself.
She stopped at the Presidential Suite, swiped her card, and pushed the door open.
The suite's air was chilly, faintly laced with notes of citrus and sandalwood, clean and understated.
Serena quietly closed the door, dragging her suitcase inside.
The enormous, double-height living room offered an effortless panoramic view of Portryn Harbour's beauty. Outside, a lavish infinity pool faced the sea.
The bedroom was upstairs. She climbed halfway before stopping abruptly—she'd noticed something.
The room was supposed to be empty, but faint lights spilled out within.
Maybe because she'd finally secured a room, Serena only hesitated a moment, not questioning the rookie mistake.
Yet the instant she pushed open the bedroom door, Serena realized something was wrong.
In front of the panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows, a man stood with his back to her, making a phone call—one hand in his pocket, casual yet exuding noble pressure.
The man seemed to sense movement.
He lifted his gaze to her.
It was like a slow-motion film, every frame so sharp it stole her breath away.
A face she could never forget her whole life.
Distinct, handsome features—sharp cheekbones, deep eyes, a high nose, thin lips, and phoenix eyes, narrow and slightly upturned—his looks startled with impact.
In an instant, their eyes met.
The howling typhoon rattled the window glass, Serena froze, ears ringing, deaf to all sound.
Worst of all, she found she couldn't even speak—not a word, not even a syllable.
He's back…
Adrian's gaze locked onto Serena, his face shadowed, indifferent; the hand gripping his phone was long-fingered and tense, veins leaping under his skin.
Sean Wallace's voice kept chattering through the receiver: "Guess who I just ran into in the hotel lobby?"
"Your ex-girlfriend, Serena Stanton!"
"She came to check in but there were no rooms. My guess? Her flight was cancelled, she's stuck in Portryn, nowhere to go."
"Me? The most charitable man in the district. I did a good deed and found her a place to stay—plus sent you a surprise gift. You should've received it by now, right?"
"Don't get too emotional, but if you want to thank me…"
Adrian coldly hung up, leaving Sean Wallace talking to himself on the other end.
The suite was silent, luxurious, bright yet weighed down with gloom.
By the time Serena found her voice, the two had already stared at each other for several moments.
She was at a loss, doing her best to stay calm: "Sorry, I might be in the wrong room."
"Stop."
The man's voice was low, rougher than usual, almost raspy.
Serena acted as if she hadn't heard, her blood feeling frozen—she just wanted to escape.
But before she could turn to leave, the man's tall, straight figure blocked her path.
The familiar chilled aura swept over her, falling like a net, ready to swallow her whole.
All at once, memories Serena thought she'd forgotten surged forth, roaring, crashing over her until she could barely breathe.
Adrian's gaze bore down from above; she was wearing nothing but a thin dress, damp with rain, the fabric faintly revealing her lingerie underneath.
He looked away impassively, his voice brooking no argument, filled with quiet menace.
"Room card."
It was only natural for someone to be suspicious when you barged into their space by mistake.
Serena handed over the card. Normally, she might have explained everything, calm and organized.
But this sudden reunion had left her shaken, her heart in chaos.
Adrian only glanced at the card briefly, looking at her with such detached scrutiny, as if he hadn't recognized her at all.
Five years apart—it made sense, maybe, that he no longer knew her.