Tessa woke up to silence.
Not the comforting kind. Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that felt too clean. Too controlled. Too expensive.
Her lashes fluttered open, and the first thing she noticed was the ceiling,
White. Smooth. Impossibly high.
"This isn't…" Her voice came out hoarse, scraped raw. "This isn't my room."
She pushed herself upright slowly, a dull ache blooming behind her temples. Her head throbbed like someone had taken a hammer to it and forgotten to stop. Every movement sent a sharp reminder through her skull.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. Think."
She took a careful breath and looked around.
The room was massive.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, sunlight pouring in without apology. Dark furniture. Clean lines. Minimalist. Cold. Nothing here held warmth or memory. Nothing said lived in.
Her stomach dropped.
She glanced to her side.
The bed was empty.
No warm body. No stranger breathing beside her. Just rumpled sheets and the unmistakable indentation where someone else had slept.
Her heart kicked into a frantic rhythm.
"Hello?" she called softly.
Nothing.
Louder this time. "Hello?"
Silence answered her.
She swallowed and looked down.
Her breath hitched.
She was naked.
Completely. Utterly. No dress. No underwear. No nothing.
"Oh my God."
She yanked the sheet up to her chest, pulse hammering so loudly she was sure it echoed in the room.
"What happened?" she whispered.
Her mind scrambled, pieces refusing to fit together.
The club.
The drinks.
The shots.
A man.
Tall. Broad. Dark hair. A voice that had curled around her spine like smoke.
She groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples.
"Think, Tessa. Think."
Fragments surfaced—laughing, music vibrating through her bones, heat, his eyes on her. His hands—
She froze.
"No," she breathed. "No, no, no."
Her eyes snapped open.
"I didn't—did I?"
Her body answered before her mind could. A dull soreness. Not pain. Just awareness. The kind that left no room for denial.
Her chest tightened.
"Oh my God."
She flung the covers aside and jumped off the bed, immediately crouching as the cool floor met her bare feet.
"My clothes," she muttered frantically. "Where are my clothes?"
She scanned the room.
Nothing.
"No, no, no. This is not funny."
She dropped to her knees and lifted the edge of the bed. Empty.
She rushed to the chair near the window.
Her dress hung there.
Neatly folded.
Too neatly.
"That's… creepy."
She grabbed it and clutched it to her chest like armor.
"And my underwear?" she asked the empty room, panic creeping higher. "Please tell me I didn't leave without my underwear."
She searched everywhere—the floor, the bedside table, under the chair.
Nothing.
Her face burned.
"Oh my God. Where are my panties?"
She stood and spun slowly, heart racing.
"This is my life now?" she muttered. "I wake up naked in a stranger's house and can't even find my—"
The door opened.
She screamed.
"AH—!"
She lunged for the nearest thing she could grab, yanking a pillow off the bed and pressing it to her chest just as a man walked in.
He stopped short.
The air changed.
He stood there completely unbothered, wearing only gray sweatpants that sat low on his hips, his bare chest exposed to the morning light.
Her breath caught despite herself.
Broad shoulders. Defined arms. A chest carved like discipline itself. Every line sharp, intentional. Morning sunlight traced muscle and shadow like it had been waiting for him.
She stared.
Then reality snapped back into place.
"Focus, Tessa," she muttered under her breath. "Focus."
She glared at him, clutching the pillow tighter.
"Do you mind?"
His gaze swept over her—slow, assessing, unreadable—before deliberately flicking away.
"You're awake," he said calmly.
"That's what screaming usually means."
He didn't apologize.
Didn't look embarrassed.
Instead, he walked past her and opened a drawer on the far side of the bed. He pulled something out, turned, and tossed it onto the mattress.
Money.
Her stomach sank as the bills fluttered and settled.
"There," he said. "Cab fare included."
The room went very, very still.
Tessa stared at the money.
Then at him.
Then back at the money.
"What… is that?" she asked slowly.
His brow creased, faintly impatient. "Payment."
Her chest tightened.
"Payment for what?"
"For last night."
The words struck her like a slap.
She laughed once—sharp, disbelieving.
"You think I'm a—?"
He cut her off with a look.
"You don't have to pretend," he said coolly. "I don't judge."
Heat crawled up her neck, her eyes widening in disbelief.
"Pretend?" she echoed. "Judge?"
He leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, detached.
"You came onto me. You knew what this was."
Her hands shook.
"I was drunk," she said. "That doesn't mean—"
"It means exactly that," he replied flatly. "You did what you came for. You get paid. End of story."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Tessa laughed again—but this time it trembled.
"Oh wow," she whispered. "Wow."
She shook her head slowly. "You really think that's who I am."
He didn't answer.
That hurt more than anything else.
She dropped the pillow and bent down again, searching the floor.
"Where are they?" she muttered.
He frowned. "What are you doing?"
"My panties," she snapped. "I'm looking for my panties."
He blinked. "Your—"
"Yes. My underwear. The thing normal people wear."
She checked under the bed again, mortification burning her cheeks.
"This is humiliating," she muttered. "This is officially the most humiliating moment of my life."
"They're over here."
She froze.
Slowly, she turned.
He held them between two fingers, dangling casually, like they meant nothing.
Her soul left her body.
"Oh my God."
"You dropped them," he said.
"I dropped my dignity," she snapped, snatching them from his hand. "Thanks for holding onto it."
She rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, locking it behind her.
Then she slid down against it, pressing her forehead to her knees.
"Get it together," she whispered. "Get. It. Together."
She dressed quickly, hands shaking, avoiding her reflection.
When she stepped back out, he was already by the door, keys in hand.
The money was still on the bed.
She walked over, picked it up—and dropped it right back where it was.
"I don't want it."
He paused. "Suit yourself."
She didn't look at him again.
She walked out.
The elevator ride felt endless.
The cab ride felt unreal.
As the city blurred past, she hugged herself, staring out the window.
Forget it, she told herself. Forget all of it.
At her friend's apartment, she pulled out her phone with trembling fingers.
Tessa: Hey. I'm coming over. Please don't ask questions.
The reply came instantly.
Friend: Are you okay?
She stared at the screen.
Then typed:
Tessa: I will be. I just need you.
She stepped out of the cab and didn't look back.
She didn't know that across the city, Alexander Reid stood by his window, staring at the untouched money on his bed—
And wondering why, for the first time in years, the silence felt wrong.