The lights of the city blurred into streaks of gold and red behind her half tidded eyes. Music pulsed through the floor, a deep, throbbing beat that mirrored the ache in her chest. Mia Wren didn't know how many shots she'd taken. She didn't care.
All she knew was that she wanted to forget, forget the lies, forget the headlines, forget the father who sold her future for power, and the fiance who'd smiled sweetly while stabbing her in the back.
She stumbled into the corner of the vip lounge, the world spinning slightly as strong arms steadied her
"I've got you," a voice said, low. Smooth, commanding.
She looked up. The man was tall, dressed in tailored black, the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a hint of toned chest and inked skin. His jawline could cut a glass. His eyes dark and unreadable locked with hers.
She didn't ask his name
He didn't ask for hers
When his mouth met hers, it was fire and fury. His hands found her waist, her back, her hair. She tasted sin and whiskey, and still, she wanted more. They crashed into the hotel suite like a storm mouths, limbs, heat. Clothes dropped to the floor in forgotten trails. Her breath hitched. His lips traced her neck
It wasn't love
It wasn't even lust
It was escape
And for one night, she let herself fall.
THE NEXT MORNING
Mia blinked against the sunlight filtering through floor -to-ceiling-windows. Her head throbbed. Her limbs aches. The silk sheets were cool beneath her bare skin.
But the space beside her was empty.
She say up abruptly. No trace of the man, no scent, not even a note. Jus silence.
Confused, she reached for her phone on the night stand. Her heart stopped.
20 missed calls -jenny
And then it hit her like a slap.
The gala
Her father's betrayal
The engagement that wasn't real
She covered her mouth with her hand, memories coming back in broken flashes. The bar, the man, his eyes, his touch.
Mia Wren, heiress to the wren fortune had just slept with a stranger. And now....he was gone.
She let herself fall back on to the vast hotel mattress, the sheets sighing around her as the ceiling blurred. A fresh wave of nausea rolled through her, not from last night's whiskey kissed stranger, but from the memory that has driven her to the club in the first place.
[FLASHBACK -THE NIGHT OF THE PARTY]
Three hours before midnight, uptown.
Ethan's message has been simple: " Dress to impress. Driver at 7"
No mention of a party, let alone an engagement.
So mia Wren had slipped into an ice-blue silk column gown cut by a Milanese atelier for a showing on the Paris runway. Diamond dust shimmered across the bodice in a constellation that traced her collarbone, and a low back dipped to the curve of her spine, elegant, lethal. Tempered - gold cuff bracelets. Maison Boucheron framed her wrists. A pair of drop sapphires dangled at her ears, dark as midnight sea.
Her hair, waist length, ebony waves had been coaxed into a half - up twist that showed off the swan line of her neck. A single vintage hairpin, platinum with a tiny star sapphire, anchored the style.
And on her feet, the heels Ethan had once said made her "float like a secret"; glossy black Christian louboutin stilettos, their red lacquered soles flickering with each step like a warning light.
***** ***** ***** *****
The Rolls pulled to the curb outside the Aria Towers ballroom, and the night exploded.
Flashbulbs, microphones, reporters, shouting her name.
"_mia, how does it feel to be engaged?"
"Are you two announcing tonight?"
The words hit her like icy champagne. Engage? She'd spoken to Ethan barely few hours ago and he said nothing.
Her personal guards formed a wall, muscling cameras back, hustling her towards the brass framed doors. A slice of marble lobby, brighter than day, swallowed her whole. Still the questions chased her, muffled by grass.
In the mirrored elevator she finally found her breath. The chrome doors slid shut on the chaos, her alone, just her reflection and the hush of ascending floors. She smoothed a trembling hand over her gown, caught the glint of diamonds on her wrist, the impossible calm on her own perfectly contoured face.
What game is this Ethan?.
The elevator shivered to a stop on the pent house level. As the doors parted, the first notes of string quartet drifted in opulent, triumphant. The scent of lilies, applause and beyond the foyer arch, a sea of guests turned towards her as though they'd rehearsed the moment.
At the center stood Ethan Hale, Hollywood smile perfect... holding an engagement ring box already open.
She felt blood drain from her cheeks even as every camera in the room homed in. Somewhere behind the orchestra, her father, Senator Malcolm Wren watched with cool approval, a half nod to the photographers.
But mia barely saw them.
Because just behind Ethan, stepping out of the shadows in a crimson dress that clashed with every floral arrangement, was a woman brandishing a folded marriage certificate and a truth that would detonate the pristine scene in seconds.
Everything went silent
A thousand crystal glasses froze mid-tilt, the quarters final note hung in the chandeliers and the woman in crimson hurled her champagne flute at Mia's face.
Cold brut splashed across Mia's cheek and soaked the ice blue silk of her gown. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Cameras clicked like gun fire.
Before the woman could claw at mia, Ethan grabbed her wrists from behind. "Emily, stop_"
"How could she agree to marry you?" Emily Hale, his wife screamed, twisting in his hold. "How could you two stand here smiling while I carry your child?".
Mia reeled, blinking champagne from her lashes, heart pounding so loudly she almost missed the next voice.
Senator Malcolm Wren stepped onto the dais, unruffled, palm raised for calm.
" My daughter has endured a difficult year", he announced to the flashing lights. " Please respect her privacy during this emotional time".
Privacy? He was already rewriting the story and painting her as the weak link
Emily wrenched free long enough to fling a folded document at Mia's chest. It hit, bounced, and landed on the parquet floor. The certificate unfolded in the fall. Ethan Christopher Hale, Emily Louise Hale, married. The ink still glossy.
Ethan dragged Emily backward towards security, she fought him every step, shouting over her shoulder. "I made you, Ethan! You, me, and our unborn child, remember that when you're on every front page tomorrow!"
The room erupted: reporters surging, socialites whispering, a swarm of paparazzi crowding closer. Red wine dripped from Mia's dress, a dark blossom of humiliation.
Flash
Flash
Flash
She bolted.
Down the marble stairs, past the gold leaf lobby, through the revolving doors, cameras chasing, headlines already writing themselves.
HEIRESS IN MELTDOWN! BRIDE-TO-BE FLEES ENGAGEMENT SCANDAL!
Her driver tried to follow, but mia darted into a taxi instead. "Anywhere but here" she told the bewildered driver, tears mixing with champagne in her skin.
An hour later she was in a downtown club she barely remembered entering, knocking back shots that burned the betrayal from her throat. Neon, bass, strangers. And then the dark eyed man who would change everything.