Chapter1
Audrey's POV:
The bar's lighting was dim and seductive as I raised my third glass of champagne, savoring the playful dance of bubbles on my tongue.
This was my last night in London. Tomorrow I'd be flying back to New York, back to that city filled with painful memories.
"To Audrey!" Finley raised his glass high, his posh British accent echoing through the private booth. "Here's to our brilliant artist conquering New York!"
"To Audrey!" The chorus of friends around us joined in, crystal glasses clinking with crisp, melodic chimes.
I forced a smile. Finley was one of London's most renowned gallery owners and a dear friend of many years. When we'd unexpectedly reunited four years ago in London, he'd taken me in when I had absolutely nothing. Now, he was throwing this grand farewell party for me, having invited numerous friends from London's art scene.
"Are you really sure about going back?" Finley leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Your career here is just taking off. The Starry Night Series has been getting serious attention."
I took a sip of champagne and felt an odd wave of dizziness. "I have to go back, Finley. Grandma Margaret's health is deteriorating, and besides..."
Besides, I had a husband in name only—a contractual partner I'd never met in four years. Samuel West. The name flickered through my mind before fading away.
Five years ago, when I discovered I wasn't the Bailey family's biological daughter and they found their real daughter Sienna, their attitude toward me completely changed. To save the Bailey family's crumbling business empire, I was pushed into signing a five-year marriage contract with this complete stranger.
Strangely enough, he'd never contacted me once in four years, as if this marriage existed only on paper. And now, just as the contract was about to expire, he'd suddenly requested a meeting.
"I get it." Finley patted my shoulder. "Either way, London's doors will always be open for you."
I nodded, then suddenly felt a wave of intense dizziness wash over me. The champagne flute wobbled in my hand, golden droplets splashing onto my dress.
"You alright?" Finley asked with concern.
"I... I think I need to lie down for a bit." I pressed my hand to my forehead as the entire room seemed to spin. "I might've had one too many..."
"Want me to walk you to your room?"
"No need, I can manage." I waved him off, declining Finley's offer. The hotel was right upstairs from the bar—not far at all. Besides, he had all these friends here to entertain.
Stumbling out of the booth, I made my way down the hotel corridor, but my vision grew increasingly blurry. Something was wrong. My alcohol tolerance wasn't great, but three glasses of champagne shouldn't have me this wasted. My body was heating up, a strange sensation spreading from my spine throughout my entire body.
Shit, did someone slip something in my drink?
I gritted my teeth, trying to stay conscious. Where was my room? I stared confusedly at the door numbers in the hallway, digits dancing before my eyes. 1205... 1207... My room should be 1209, right? I fumbled for my key card and swiped it at the door. Though I didn't hear the telltale "click," the door opened with a gentle push.
I stumbled into the room without turning on the lights, heading straight for the bed. However, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I was shocked to discover someone was already lying there—a man.
He was lying on his back with his eyes closed, breathing steadily, looking like he was resting or asleep.
Moonlight filtered through the curtain gaps, illuminating a breathtaking face—sharp features, a prominent nose, and thin, pressed lips, like an exquisite sculpture.
*This has got to be one of Finley's pranks. * I shook my head as an absurd thought popped into my mind. Finley knew about my marital situation and that I was about to return to my husband in name only. Had he arranged a... male escort as a farewell gift?
The thought should have struck me as ridiculous, but the alcohol was making my judgment increasingly fuzzy. I approached the bed, studying this "gift" carefully. He wore a half-open white dress shirt, revealing a solid chest and abs.
Jesus, are all the escorts abroad this high-quality?
"That physique is insane..." I murmured, unconsciously reaching out to touch his face.
Just as my fingertips were about to make contact with his skin, a wave of heat suddenly surged from within me. My body was burning up—not just from alcohol, but from something much more intense: desire.
Damn it, I really was drugged.
What little rationality remained told me to get out of there fast, but as I turned to leave, a strong hand suddenly grabbed my wrist. I spun around in surprise to find the man had groggily opened his eyes and was looking at me with a gaze that mixed confusion and desire.
"Who are you?" His voice was deep and husky—sexy as hell.
I couldn't answer because the drug was rapidly taking effect. My rationality was being stripped away layer by layer, leaving only the most primal desires. In that moment, I thought of that husband I'd never met, the man who'd kept me trapped in a sham marriage for four years, the bastard who wouldn't even see me face-to-face when I returned to New York.
A surge of anger and lust intertwined, completely drowning out my rationality.
"Screw it..." I whispered, leaning down to kiss the man's lips.
He seemed stunned for a moment, those gray-blue eyes flashing with surprise, but that was quickly replaced by a heat I couldn't describe. His long fingers threaded through my hair, gently cupping the back of my neck as he pulled me toward him. Our breaths mingled, becoming rapid and burning.
My rationality completely collapsed under the dual assault of drugs and desire. I felt like a fallen leaf caught in a storm of passion, swept into the abyss.
His fingers roamed across my skin, each touch triggering uncontrollable shivers. The temperature between us kept climbing, our breathing becoming ragged and urgent.
I closed my eyes, surrendering to this unexpected encounter, letting myself fall into the whirlpool of sensation, forgetting everything else...
When morning sunlight streamed through the curtains into the room, I opened my aching eyes, feeling exhausted and sore all over. Memories of last night came flooding back like a tidal wave, and I immediately froze.
Turning to look beside me, the strange man was still asleep, his black hair scattered across the pillow, long lashes casting shadows beneath his eyes. Our clothes were scattered across the floor, telling the tale of last night's madness.
Oh God, what have I done?
I carefully slipped out of bed, quickly got dressed, and pulled out my last hundred dollars and a sticky note from my purse. After a moment's hesitation, I scribbled on the note: "Not bad, stud. Here's your tip," then placed the money and note on the nightstand.
Not daring to look back, I quietly opened the door and slipped out, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.