Chapter 1
The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow that draped the world in a soft, surreal shroud. Outside the hotel room, the early autumn night felt desolate and lonely, a stark contrast to the warmth that enveloped the interior. On the expansive bed, two bodies twisted together, their heat almost tangible in the cool air. A tall man pressed against the girl in his embrace, his arms securing her tightly. He tilted her chin upwards, his eyes swirling with a mix of desire and confusion. “Look at me, Grace,” he murmured, his voice a dark melody. The girl turned her face away, the moonlight spilling across her features—delicate brows, a petite nose, and lips like petals, exuding a painful beauty. But the long lashes quivered like the wings of a butterfly, betraying the fear that blossomed within her heart. The young man had captivating black eyes, mesmerizing like obsidian, glinting with a light that somehow seemed both intoxicating and overwhelming. Yet, there was a drunken haze clouding the depths of his gaze. “Please,” she whimpered, shaking her head violently. “I’m not Grace! Please, let me go…” With a tearing sound, her thin garment surrendered, shredded by desperation. Ignoring her pleas, he surged forward, an unrelenting pain sweeping through her entire being. “Ah!” Eleanor Ashford jolted upright in bed, her silk nightgown clinging to her damp skin, her heart racing in terror. It was just another nightmare. With a bitter smile, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and fumbled through the nightstand drawer. She popped a headache pill from a small bottle, washed it down with some cold water, and finally lay back down, willing herself to drift away from the memories. The next morning, a dull ache throbbed in her head, augmented by a sudden call through the internal line. “Eleanor Ashford, please report to Room 2708.” Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat. Is that Isabel Thornbury? What could she want with her? After a brief hesitation, she decided to go. With a light rap on the door, she glanced around nervously. “Come in.” Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. Inside, Isabel perched on the edge of the bed, her legs crossed casually. Just yesterday, she had tied the knot; her groom was William Lancaster, Eleanor’s first love who had suddenly broken up with her two months ago after ten years together. Isabel wore a sultry nightgown, and the tangles on the bed hinted at an otherwise intimate night. Eleanor felt a pang grip her heart. “Ms. Thornbury, how may I assist you?” she asked, keeping her voice steady. “Eleanor,” Isabel drawled, a teasing lilt in her tone. “I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position by asking William's ex to help set up our wedding room. It’s a bit much, isn’t it? But there’s one thing I’m not happy with.” “Anything you dislike, I’m here to serve,” Eleanor replied, her expression calm but her heart racing. Isabel gestured to the disheveled bed. “This bed—it’s unacceptable. William can’t stand any lingering scents when we’re… you know, intimate. Not even a single rose petal. Oh, wait!” She paused dramatically, placing a hand over her mouth. “How would you know that? After all, you were with him for ten years, and he never touched you! You’re not a virgin, are you? Your first time wasn’t with him, was it? Am I right, Eleanor?” A heavy silence filled the room, and Eleanor's heart dropped. How could Isabel possibly know that? Was William talking? That revelation was a knife lodged deep in Eleanor’s soul, a reminder of the agony between her and William Lancaster that would never heal. Removing it would only leave a bloody mess; leaving it there was a constant, sharp pain. It happened on her twentieth birthday, during a moment that was meant to be joyous. Instead, it became a traumatic theft. She remembered nothing but the raw hurt that tore through her as she lost everything on a day meant for celebration. She had consulted therapists, undergone hypnosis, desperate to recall the details of that night, but the memories remained trapped in shadow, an unseen face evading her grasp. This secret was known only to her and William; not even her parents could imagine the truth. Yet here was Isabel, calling the truth into the light. If William hadn’t told her, who had?
Chapter 2
Eleanor Ashford's face was as pale as a sheet, and Isabel Thornbury could see her victory clearly—this was her moment to drive the knife in deeper. “Eleanor,” Isabel sneered, her voice dripping with malice, “you may have been William Lancaster’s first love, but look at you—tainted, sullied. You don’t stand a chance against me! What man wants his Cecilia to be anything but pure? You didn’t protect yourself, and who can you blame for that? Unlike you, I’m William’s first and only—our connection is fate, while for you, Eleanor, you were just his pastime when he needed to kill time!” Eleanor felt a tightening in her chest, and her hands trembled uncontrollably. She had started dating William when she was just sixteen. For a long while after their fallout, he had been her anchor, insisting that he loved her regardless of her past. He swore he’d wait until she healed, until she was ready for him to take her as his bride. She once believed him completely, thought he truly wouldn’t care. But the truth had unraveled over the years—his feelings were not only real but had turned bitter. Their decade together had frayed, plagued by memories that stabbed her like daggers. He had slipped further away from her life than she had ever imagined. “Miss Isabel,” she managed to reply, her voice steadier than she felt, “You might want to watch yourself. He could very well see you as nothing but a stepping stone for his ambitions!” Grateful that she had the gift of words, Eleanor found her voice, allowing it to defend her when all else was falling apart. Bursting out of the room, she crashed into William Lancaster in the hallway. Without thinking, she swung her arm, landing a sharp slap across his handsome face. The sound echoed in the air, crisp and final. “William Lancaster, we may be done, but you can't just stand by and let Isabel humiliate me! I swear, keep your Cecilia in check. If you push me too far, you won’t like what happens next!” Her voice shook with the intensity of her anger, a tempest brewing within her. William, ignoring the sting on his cheek, gripped her wrist tightly. “Eleanor, what are you talking about? I don’t understand.” “If you’re confused, ask Isabel!” She pulled away from him and stormed off, her heart pounding. William's dark eyes narrowed as he watched her retreating figure, his jaw clenched. Moments later, he marched angrily into their shared apartment. The sight that met him was chaos—Isabel lounged on the couch, swirling a glass of red wine, her face cocked in mock surprise when he stomped in. “What did you say to her?” he demanded, snatching the wine glass from her grip, the liquid sloshing dangerously. Isabel raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “What did I say? I told her to stop chasing you. After all, you abandoned me on our wedding night, didn't you?” “Isabel, we agreed—marriage yes, but you can’t expect anything more from me!” he spat, anger lacing his tone. “So keep your distance from her!” As he stormed out, Isabel bit her lip, and her fingers clenched into tense fists at her sides. Despite their marriage, despite what everyone thought was a perfect couple, in his heart, there would always be room for that one name—Cecilia. … Tears glistening in her eyes, Eleanor rushed into her office, where she collided with her assistant, Matilda Fairchild. Matilda’s expression shifted instantly to concern. “Eleanor! What’s wrong?” Sniffling, Eleanor asked, “Matilda, want to join me for a drink?” “Absolutely! I know a great spot to let loose—let’s go!” The two made their way to the hottest joint in town, the Golden Crest Manor, ready to drown their sorrows in laughter and liquid courage.
Chapter 3
Eleanor Ashford hadn’t realized how much that exclusive club would live up to its reputation. The moment she stepped inside, it became clear: any private room starting with a “1” was something special, a magnet for wealthy socialites eager to indulge in the myriad of male companions on offer. Feeling tipsy and irritated, Eleanor grumbled, “Matilda Fairchild, where’s the manager you promised? We’ve been waiting ages!” “I’ll check,” Matilda replied, but Eleanor was already on her feet, eager to follow. It wasn’t until Matilda turned down a side hallway that Eleanor lost her way. As she stumbled into the quiet, dimly lit corridor, she turned a corner and collided with a solid wall of muscle, inadvertently stepping on the stranger’s foot. “Sorry, I—” she began, but her words caught in her throat. The man reeked of alcohol, and even in her slightly hazy state, she could smell it from several feet away. When she finally looked up, her breath hitched. This man was stunning—his features sharp and striking, with a face that seemed carved by an artist's hand. His shirt was askew, a couple of buttons missing, revealing the bronzed skin of a well-defined chest. Oddly enough, the alcohol only enhanced his rugged allure, giving him a wild charm. She instinctively moved to let him pass, but he misjudged his balance and pitched forward, collapsing against her. Eleanor’s petite frame couldn’t hold him up; they both went down, landing with a thud on the floor, Eleanor flat on her back. Her tailbone and head throbbed as she pushed against him. “Hey, wake up!” she urged. The man let out a muffled groan, his face crumpling as he registered discomfort. Just then, Eleanor felt something strange stirring in her belly—a sense of confusion and sudden awareness. Her eyes widened in alarm. Oh god, are you serious? She quickly turned crimson, her cheeks flaring a deep maroon. Just as she prepared to kick him off, a young woman in a striking red dress rushed into the hall, her expression laced with urgency. “Edward Ravenscroft?!” Eleanor helped the red-dressed woman lift the inebriated man. “I’m Grace Ironwood, Edward’s assistant. I’m so sorry for this, really. He’s had a bit too much to drink. Are you alright?” Grace’s voice was filled with concern. “I’m just—” Eleanor barely got the words out before a strange sound assaulted her ears, followed by an overwhelming stench. She looked down, horrified to see that her brand-new autumn outfit had taken the brunt of Edward’s drunkenness. Both women stood frozen in shock. “Uh… I’m really sorry about this,” Grace stammered. “Why don’t you go freshen up in the private room? I’ll find you a change of clothes and we can sort this out later. Just give me a number or account information, and I’ll make sure to reimburse you.” “Really, it’s not necessary—” But Grace was already waving for someone down the hall. “Henry Huntington! Come help me get Edward back into the room!” Henry, Edward’s driver, hurried over, and the three of them struggled to haul Edward into the room. As they got him settled, Grace turned to Henry. “Go get me some fresh clothes, would you? We’ll need it ASAP.” Eleanor watched them go, frustration burning inside her. How did that assistant just leave her alone with her boss, totally forgetful of their unexpected closeness? With a resigned sigh, she headed to the restroom to clean up. Just as she was shedding her soiled clothes, the restroom door swung open, and an imposing figure stepped inside. Eleanor turned to find the tall man—the same one who had collapsed against her—standing there, rubbing his temples in apparent confusion. His eyes went wide as he registered the sight before him: a half-naked Eleanor Ashford. For a moment, they both froze, the air crackling with awkward tension. Then, her mind snapped into action, and she quickly grabbed a towel to wrap around herself, but it was too late; Edward Ravenscroft had already taken in the view.
Chapter 4
Eleanor Ashford felt a rush of embarrassment as she instinctively tightened the blanket around her. Had he woken up that fast? It couldn’t be that Edward Ravenscroft was pretending to be drunk, could it? “Who are you?” Edward rasped, his deep, magnetic voice cutting through the awkwardness like a knife. “I thought I was the only one in Private Alcove.” His piercing gaze settled on her, not shying away. There was something compelling about him—maybe it was the way the dim light caught the edges of his sharp jawline or the slight glimmer in his dark eyes that suggested secrets and temptations. Eleanor tried to compose herself, acutely aware of how her long, seaweed-like hair spilled over the blanket. The soft fabric clung to her curves, while the sight of her exposed thighs—pale and enticing—left her feeling both vulnerable and bold in the moment. As if dredging up a forgotten memory, she recalled the scent of bay laurel that had enveloped him, mixed with the alcohol and intimacy of their previous encounter. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she felt the telltale tightening in her throat. “Damn it, I’m such an idiot. I can’t believe I did that. Please don’t answer my calls. I’m the worst. Seriously, I can’t believe this is happening…” His phone rang, shattering the tension-filled silence. The obnoxious ringtone was unmistakable. It was William Lancaster on the line, and Eleanor knew that under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t even consider picking it up. But at that moment, it felt like a lifeline. “Hey, it’s Eleanor,” she answered, no longer caring about the way her heart raced or her cheeks burned. “I’m at Golden Crest Manor…” “No, it’s fine. I’ll get back by myself. Matilda Fairchild is with me…” “Really, it’s nothing. Someone got sick and ruined my clothes. I’m just cleaning up…” Her voice faltered, and she wished he would just leave it alone. “Let’s talk about it later at the office, okay? I gotta go!” Her voice was firm, but as she spoke, she made sure to signal to Edward that she wasn’t some random club girl who stumbled in looking for trouble. No, she was here because of him. Edward raised an eyebrow, a smirk dancing at the corners of his mouth as if he found her paranoia amusing. Frustrated, Eleanor bolted for the exit, only to come face to face with his secretary and driver. She could only imagine the thoughts racing through their minds as they took in her disheveled appearance. “I was just cleaning up,” she rushed to explain, “and then Edward walked in on me while I—” At that moment, a rustle interrupted her, and she turned back to find Edward had emerged from the bathroom, looking utterly captivating. His toned frame leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand propped up while the other rested in his pants pocket. They were almost too close, a mere foot apart. His black shirt hung open, revealing the taut muscles of his abdomen, the lower button barely keeping things together as it hung free. Water droplets glistened in his damp hair, cascading down to his broad chest and traveling further down his body. It was an image that should’ve been forbidden but was impossible not to notice. Eleanor felt her face flush crimson. “Ahem—” This was not the moment for explanations. She had to escape before she lost herself completely. “My friend is waiting for me. Don’t worry about the damage to my clothes, just let me borrow something of yours!” She snatched the paper bag with her clothing from Grace Ironwood, ready to bolt for the door. Edward gave Grace a command through a subtle glance, a silent message to stay on top of things. “Wait!” Grace called after her. “Just leave me your number, okay? I’ll return the money for your clothes.” “No, it’s fine!” Eleanor insisted, making her way outside. But as she stepped through the doors, a voice rang out from across the room. “Eleanor? There you are! Hurry back to Private Alcove! The manager brought in some hot guys waiting to pamper you!” Eleanor winced, knowing her night was far from over.
Chapter 5
Eleanor stood frozen, her composure shattered as the chilling realization hit her. Her hopes of retaining at least a shred of pride had evaporated with Matilda’s offhand remark. “Which room are you in?” Edward raised an eyebrow, his tone a blend of mockery and curiosity. Matilda, quick on her feet, replied, “Room 1815. What’s it to you?” Edward only chuckled, a knowing smirk crossing his face. He was a regular at this upscale lounge, familiar with the unsavory dealings that took place in rooms beginning with '1.' His mind raced—was she perhaps some wealthy heiress? But something about her didn’t add up. Her outfit was nothing special, definitely not designer, and she wore no eye-catching jewelry. What was someone like her doing here looking for male escorts? Was she drowning her sorrows in the company of strangers? How intriguing. His gaze lingered on Eleanor with a mix of amusement and skepticism. “I didn’t expect this lovely lady to have such a… sizable appetite. Six guys at once? It’s no wonder you’re brushing off our compensation. But can you handle it all on your own?” Eleanor bristled at his insinuation. “What do you mean by that?” He chuckled softly. “Don’t get me wrong. I just don’t like being in anyone’s debt. Since you’re so adamant about skipping the payout, let’s make a deal. I’ll cover your tab tonight. Right, Margaret?” The secretary nodded eagerly. “Got it, Edward. I’ll take care of it.” With everything sorted, Edward cast Eleanor one last teasing glance before walking out with Roger, his eyes twinkling with mischief. The look he shot her made her blood boil, and she considered chasing after him to reject his so-called generosity. But Matilda held her back. “Eleanor, girl, you just hit the jackpot! Do you know how much a minimum spend is in a ‘1’ room? We’re talking at least five figures! And I mean, that guy? He looks rich and pretty damn hot—definitely up there with the top earners,” Matilda rambled, excitement spilling over. Eleanor shot her a skeptical glare. “Don’t be fooled by appearances. He was just sitting there drinking by himself. He’s probably got some issues—either physical or mental.” “Are you serious?!” “Who knows?” They returned to their suite, chattering and laughing, until Eleanor opened the paper bag that Margaret had brought in. Inside was a simple T-shirt and a pair of joggers. After changing, she stepped out just as the manager ushered in six dazzling male escorts. Each one brought a different vibe—some were soft and pretty, others muscular and rugged, some with brooding expressions that could stop traffic. It made sense why this place was dubbed the hottest spot in town. But Edward’s earlier ridicule soured her mood immediately. “Forget it, send them away.” The manager hesitated, clearly distressed. “But Edward already paid for them. It’d be awkward to send them back now.” Wait, he really did pay? Eleanor felt her scalp prickle as she processed the situation. Just as she opened her mouth to complain, the door swung open with a bang, revealing William. The moment he saw the six tall, built men standing there, fury ignited in his eyes. He stormed up to Eleanor, grabbing her arm fiercely. “What in the world, Eleanor? What are you doing? Trying to get back at me with this? You’re better than this.” His presence sent a wave of frustration crashing over her, dragging up memories of the humiliation she’d endured at Isabel's hands. “William, who do you think you are? What gives you the right to spill my secrets to Isabel?” He paused, thrown off guard. “Your secret? You mean…” “Only you and I know about that. If it wasn’t you, then who else could’ve told her?” Her tone was sharp, each word laced with a protective fierceness. They both understood what she meant without needing to say it out loud.
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