Long after he left, I stood there under the water, letting the heat pummel my skin until it turned pink. But it did nothing to wash away the ache between my legs and in my heart.
Everything had gone to hell.
In the span of just a few hours, I’d gone from dangling off a fucking rooftop to losing my virginity to a man who had stalked me for weeks. A man who had locked me in a room. Who had treated me as if I were both precious and a burden. My mind couldn’t make sense of it.
One minute, I hated him with every fiber of my being.
The next, I wanted him to take me again.
But the way he’d looked at me after he found out…
It was the worst.
And that wrecked me.
I shut off the water, got out and wrapped myself in a towel, and opened the door to his bedroom, stepping onto the hardwood, only to find the room empty. There were no signs of him.
His bedroom was a surprise. For one thing, it was warmer than I’d expected. It was full of dark woods, buttery fabrics, gold accents, and old-world charm that whispered of money and masculinity. But somehow, the softness of the space made me feel worse—like this room belonged to a man who had someone to come home to.
And that someone wasn’t me.
I turned on my heel and rushed out. The humiliation of his rejection was more than I could take. The last thing I needed was to face him again. I trudged barefoot across the penthouse, through the living room, and past the kitchen.
He was nowhere to be seen.
I reached the guest suite and pushed open the door, only to be greeted by the chaos I had caused—shattered ceramic, ripped sheets, cracked window. It looked as if a tornado had blown through the room.
God, what was wrong with me? How could I have lost my ever-loving mind so badly?
I quickly dressed, dried my hair, and started cleaning. I picked up the pieces of my own destruction, silent tears slipping down my cheeks as I gathered the broken fragments of a vase I didn’t even remember throwing. My throat burned. My eyes stung. But I couldn’t stop moving.
If I stopped, I might fall to pieces.
I found some clean sheets in the bathroom closet and remade the bed, then folded the ruined ones into a heap and stuffed them in the corner. No matter how hard I worked or how tired I was, I couldn’t get the way he’d touched me out of my mind.
My stalker.
My savior.
My captor.
Now my rejector.
He was the man who had saved me from being sold by human traffickers, only to toss me aside the second he found out I was a virgin. And maybe that was fair. Maybe it wasn’t what he’d signed up for. But God, it hurt. I hadn’t meant to give it to him, and I hadn’t anticipated it would matter so much.
But I had given it to him.
And now I couldn’t take it back.
He was right—I couldn’t go home. Couldn’t return to my role inCity Song. Couldn’t chase my dreams. Couldn’t be free. I was a refugee now, a girl with no family, no future, and no fucking clue how to survive in a world like this.
My throat tightened.
I climbed into bed, feeling cold inside. I grabbed a pillow and pulled it to my chest, burying my face in it.
And finally, I allowed myself to break down.
A sob ripped out of me before I could stop it. Then another. And another. My body curled in on itself, and I wrapped my arms tightly around the pillow like it could shield me from everything I’d lost. I cried until my ribs ached, until my face was soaked and my heart was shredded.
