The first thing Zhao Mei felt was pain.
A deep, aching soreness between her thighs, and a pounding in her skull that made the sunlight slicing through the curtains feel like knives.
She blinked. Slowly. The ceiling was unfamiliar. Too white. Too high.
This wasn't her room.
Panic spiked.
She sat up too fast. The sheet fell. She looked down.
Naked.
Bruises on her thighs. Marks on her wrists.
Her breath stopped.
No.
No no no no no.
She grabbed the sheet, pulled it up, hands shaking so bad she could barely hold it.
Across the room, a man stood by the window.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Shirtless. Back to her.
She didn't recognize him.
Her stomach dropped into free fall.
He turned.
And she saw his face.
Sharp. Handsome in a way that looked carved. Eyes dark and cold and completely unreadable.
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Neither spoke.
The silence was so loud it hurt.
Finally, he broke it.
"You're awake."
His voice was flat. Empty.
Zhao Mei's throat closed. She tried to speak. Couldn't.
He picked up a glass of water from the dresser and held it out.
She didn't take it.
"Who are you?" Her voice cracked. Raw.
"Zhang Wei." He set the glass down. "And you are?"
"I…" She couldn't finish.
Her brain was trying to piece it together. The hotel. Chen Rong. The drink.
The elevator.
The room.
And then nothing.
Just pain when she woke up.
"What happened?" she whispered.
Zhang Wei's jaw tightened. "That's what I'd like to know."
He gestured to the bed. To her. "You were here when I arrived."
"I don't… I don't remember…"
"Neither do I." His voice was clipped. Controlled. But something underneath it simmered. Anger. Confusion. Something else.
Zhao Mei looked down at herself. The marks. The soreness. The way her body felt wrong, used, broken.
She knew what happened.
Even if she couldn't remember it.
Tears burned her eyes.
"I need to leave."
She tried to stand. The room spun. She grabbed the edge of the bed to steady herself.
Zhang Wei didn't move. Didn't offer to help.
Just watched her with those cold, calculating eyes.
She spotted her dress on the floor. Torn. Ruined.
A sob caught in her throat.
She grabbed it anyway. Held it against her chest. The fabric was destroyed. One strap ripped clean off. The hem shredded.
She couldn't wear this.
Couldn't go outside like this.
Zhang Wei must have seen it too.
Without a word, he crossed the room, grabbed his coat from the chair, and held it out.
"Take it."
She stared at it.
"I don't…"
"Take it," he said again. Quieter. Almost gentle.
She took it with shaking hands.
The coat was heavy. Warm. It smelled like him, cologne and something darker, cedar maybe.
It covered everything. The marks. The torn dress.
She pulled it tight around herself.
Their eyes met.
For one second, something passed between them. A recognition.
Two people caught in the same nightmare.
Then Zhao Mei turned and walked to the door.
Her legs barely held her.
She opened it. Stepped into the hallway.
The door clicked shut behind her.
She didn't look back.
In the room, Zhang Wei stood alone.
The scent of her perfume still lingered. Cheap and floral and.
He looked at the bed. The rumpled sheets. The pillow still dented where her head had been.
His phone buzzed.
He ignored it.
His head pounded. His body ached. And somewhere underneath the confusion and the chemical haze lifting from his system, guilt clawed its way up his throat.
He'd done something last night.
Something he couldn't take back.
And he didn't even know her name.