The first thing she noticed was the sheets, they were soft, unfamiliar, and felt expensive.
The second was the room, dark, minimalistic, or hollow of emotions, and nothing like her apartment.
A slow, heavy pounding in her head reminded her of the alcohol still thick in her system. She groaned, shifting beneath the sheets, only to realize, "This isn’t my bed."
A sharp breath left her lips as her body went rigid, her heart slamming against her ribs.
She forced her eyes open, blinking through the haze, taking in the unfamiliar space she was in. The bedroom was spacious but cold, decorated in sleek blacks and deep grays. The air smelled faintly of something woody, expensive, and dangerously intoxicating.
And then she looked down, at her own self under the sheets. She was not in her clothes from last night.
Instead, she was wearing a loose black T-shirt and drawstring sweatpants, clothes far too large to belong to her.
From the looks of them, they were men's clothing.
Oh, hell no.
Panic crawled up her spine as flashes of last night slammed into her all at once.
The afterparty.
The drinks.
The makeup room.
Deverell.
She put a hand on her mouth to stop herself from screaming.
Her stomach twisted violently as she sucked in a sharp breath, gripping the sheets beneath her.
No.
No, no, no.
There was no way she....
Before she could spiral further, the door swung open.
And there he was. Deverell Blackwood.
Still unfairly perfect, still infuriatingly unreadable, standing in the doorway with a red wine glass in one hand, his other resting casually in his pocket. Who drinks wine in the morning, she thought.
His dark hair was slightly tousled, his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms that should not be distracting her right now.
Luna’s heart lurched into her throat.
“You,” she breathed, voice sharp with disbelief.
His gaze flicked over her, assessing. Then, with a slow arch of his brow, he drawled, “Good. You’re awake.”
The rage that burned through her chest was instant.
"What the hell did you do to me?"
Luna threw the blanket off, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “Where am I?”
“My house,” he said simply.
Her stomach twisted again. “What? Why am I in your house?"
Deverell took a slow sip of his wine before answering, “You passed out last night. No one knew where you lived, and you were too drunk and just rambling. So, I took you here.”
Her fists clenched. “And who gave you the right...”
“You’re welcome,” he interrupted flatly.
Luna shot to her feet, ignoring the throbbing ache in her skull. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“You were barely conscious,” he countered, unfazed by her fury. “Unless you wanted to wake up in a stranger place, I was your best option.”
"Being here is worse than that." Luna’s vision burned red. “And what, you just decided to change my clothes, too?”
His expression didn’t shift. “Your dress was ruined. I gave you something dry to wear.”
She folded her arms, glaring. “Right. And I suppose you were a gentleman about it?”
His jaw ticked, his voice cooling. “I didn’t touch you, if that’s what you’re accusing me of.”
Luna hated the way her stomach twisted at his words. Because she didn’t know if she believed him.
She searched his face, looking for something, remorse, guilt, anything. But Deverell Blackwood was a fortress, his expressions were unreadable as he met her gaze head-on.
“Nothing happened,” he said again, voice a little lower but firm.
Luna swallowed hard, as she looked away. “I want my clothes.”
“They’re being cleaned,” he replied smoothly. “You can wait here if you want to and I have made.....”
Her anger surged again, interrupting him. “Screw that.”
She stomped towards the door, brushing past him, or at least, she tried.
Deverell’s hand shot out, gripping the doorframe, effectively blocking her way. Luna's forehead creasing.
His voice dropped, no longer amused. “Listen to me, Luna.”
The way he said her name sent a jolt through her, but she ignored it.
“What?” she snapped.
His gaze darkened. “Whatever happened last night, I need you to forget it.”
A pause. She looked at him in disbelief.
“Or keep it to yourself.”
Luna tilted her head in anger and in confusion.. The weight of his words settled in the space between them.
Slowly, she lifted her chin. “Excuse me?”
Deverell sighed, as if this conversation was beneath him. “I don’t need some tabloid story about a photographer being in my house. You know how the media works. This would blow up in minutes.”
Luna stared at him, heat prickling beneath her skin.
“That’s what you’re worried about?” she hissed. “Your image?”
He met her glare, unapologetic. “Yes.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “You really are a self-absorbed prick.”
His lips curved into a humorless smirk. “And yet, you’re the one who kissed me first.”
The words were a slap to the face.
Luna’s breath caught. Her vision went blurry with rage, shame, embarrassment, something she refused to name.
She had kissed him. She had wanted it. And he knew it. That was the worst part.
She shoved past him, ignoring the way his warmth lingered where their bodies brushed.
“I’m leaving,” she said through clenched teeth, she could not bring her eyes to meet his, again.
Deverell didn’t stop her this time. He just exhaled, low and tired.
“Don’t forget your phone, and your car is in the driveway."
It was a walk of shame, and that too in his clothes, as she stormed down the hallway, barefoot, drowning in Deverell’s oversized clothes.
She didn’t care. She didn’t care that she looked like a one-night stand who regretted everything. She needed to get the hell out of there, as soon as possible.
And as she stepped outside, the cool morning air hit her like a slap. She pulled her phone from the sweatpants pocket.
Fifteen missed calls. All from Ava. Swiping to unlock, she immediately called back.
The phone rang twice before Ava’s frantic voice burst through. “LUNA! Where the hell have you been?”
Luna winced. “I—”
“I called you all night! I even called the damn hospital!”
Luna groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Ava, calm down—”
“Calm down? You vanished! You didn’t answer your phone! Where are you?”
Luna glanced behind her, at the towering house she had just left.
“I’ll explain later,” she muttered, striding toward the car. “I’m coming home.”
Ava exhaled sharply. “You better. And you better have a damn good story.”
Luna hung up, sucking in a breath.
Then, without looking back, she drove away from Deverell Blackwood and everything he had just done to her head.
She swore in her head not to come across him again, never. But somehow she felt she will.
The door clicked shut. Deverell exhaled slowly, staring at the now-empty hallway where Luna had disappeared.He had done the right thing. He had. Then why the hell did it feel like a mistake?He raked a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his skin. Everything about this situation was wrong.Luna Grimes was not supposed to be in his house, in his clothes, in his damn head.Yet the memory of last night lingered—the way her lips had felt against his, the heat of her body pressed against his, the unexplainable pull that had gripped him the moment she stepped into that makeup room.Her scent, unfamiliar, yet it crept in, riding his senses.A mistake. That’s all it had been. Thats what he wanted to believe.Deverell turned away from the door, only to stop short when he saw the tray of untouched food sitting on the small table near the bed. The hangover soup he had made for her. The coffee, still steaming.The toast, slightly burnt because he had been too distracted making s
The lights were too bright.Deverell sat on the edge of the worn-out leather chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his shirt rumpled from the previous scene. The set around him was silent now, just the quiet hum of cameras, the occasional murmurs from the crew, the hollow emptiness that came with the final day of filming.The last scene. The last time he would step into this role.Most actors felt a kind of grief when wrapping up a film, an ache for the character they had embodied for months, but Deverell felt nothing.The cameras cut. The world reset. And he walked away. As he always did.The director clapped his hands, voice booming across the space. “That’s a wrap! Congratulations, everyone!”Cheers erupted, some of the crew embracing, others already breaking down equipment.Deverell stood, slipping off the heavy coat he had worn for the scene, rolling his shoulders as he smiled at the producer approaching him. After an exchange of conversation, he grabbed his things.He had sear
The set was a controlled chaos of motion, directors yelling out last-minute instructions, assistants adjusting lights, wardrobe stylists smoothing clothes, and the constant buzz of a world constructed entirely on illusion.Luna Grimes had seen it all before.She had spent years behind the lens, watching as actors transformed into something greater, something bigger than life. She had mastered the art of detachment, of viewing beauty, yet not being seduced by it.And still, when Deverell Blackwood walked onto the set, even she could not deny his presence.Deverell Blackwood did not crave attention.It gravitated toward him. Where ever he stroded, the spotlight was on him.Even when the cameras weren’t rolling, even when he wasn’t performing, he moved like the world was made around him, like it existed to accommodate him. He was a living work of art sculpted in too-sharp lines and effortless grace.And what was worse? He knew it.Luna never swooned over men like him.She had seen too ma
Luna adjusted the focus on her camera, exhaling softly as she framed the next shot.Deverell and Kensy laying across the velvet couch in the center of the set, their bodies draped in perfect elegance. The world around them caught its breath, as if even time itself didn’t dare disturb the illusion they had established.She should be used to this.Photographing beautiful people, actors like this, trained in seduction, in longing, in looking at someone as if they were the only thing that mattered in the whole world.But watching Deverell this way? It was not the same.She told herself it was just the lighting. The way his bare chest caught the glow of the overhead bulbs, the way his long fingers skimmed Kensy’s arm, his touch was just enough to suggest intimacy and not possession.It was only a role he was playing. That’s what she needed to remember. And why should it matter ro her.But still, her fingers tightened a little around the camera, a strange tension coiling in her chest as she
She should have left.She should have turned around, walked back through the curtain, and pretended she never saw him standing there, like that, half-dressed, pale, very pale skin illuminated by the dim backstage lighting.But she didn’t.and before she could realize, she moved towards him.Something in her chest was pulling, like a magnet drawn to something it shouldn’t be. Her pulse pounded in her ears, louder than the muffled music from the afterparty, louder than her own common sense.Deverell didn’t move.He just watched her, unreadable, his shirt hanging open, his breath slow and steady like he was waiting.She stopped just inches from him, her head tilting as she studied his face, the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the impossible perfection of his features, the mouth that was slightly parted as if he had just exhaled a breath he hadn’t meant to take."So rude, so entitled...", she scrunched her eyes, her cheeks red from the drinks. Deverell tilted his head in amusement.What wa
The lights were too bright.Deverell sat on the edge of the worn-out leather chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his shirt rumpled from the previous scene. The set around him was silent now, just the quiet hum of cameras, the occasional murmurs from the crew, the hollow emptiness that came with the final day of filming.The last scene. The last time he would step into this role.Most actors felt a kind of grief when wrapping up a film, an ache for the character they had embodied for months, but Deverell felt nothing.The cameras cut. The world reset. And he walked away. As he always did.The director clapped his hands, voice booming across the space. “That’s a wrap! Congratulations, everyone!”Cheers erupted, some of the crew embracing, others already breaking down equipment.Deverell stood, slipping off the heavy coat he had worn for the scene, rolling his shoulders as he smiled at the producer approaching him. After an exchange of conversation, he grabbed his things.He had sear
The door clicked shut. Deverell exhaled slowly, staring at the now-empty hallway where Luna had disappeared.He had done the right thing. He had. Then why the hell did it feel like a mistake?He raked a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his skin. Everything about this situation was wrong.Luna Grimes was not supposed to be in his house, in his clothes, in his damn head.Yet the memory of last night lingered—the way her lips had felt against his, the heat of her body pressed against his, the unexplainable pull that had gripped him the moment she stepped into that makeup room.Her scent, unfamiliar, yet it crept in, riding his senses.A mistake. That’s all it had been. Thats what he wanted to believe.Deverell turned away from the door, only to stop short when he saw the tray of untouched food sitting on the small table near the bed. The hangover soup he had made for her. The coffee, still steaming.The toast, slightly burnt because he had been too distracted making s
The first thing she noticed was the sheets, they were soft, unfamiliar, and felt expensive.The second was the room, dark, minimalistic, or hollow of emotions, and nothing like her apartment.A slow, heavy pounding in her head reminded her of the alcohol still thick in her system. She groaned, shifting beneath the sheets, only to realize, "This isn’t my bed."A sharp breath left her lips as her body went rigid, her heart slamming against her ribs.She forced her eyes open, blinking through the haze, taking in the unfamiliar space she was in. The bedroom was spacious but cold, decorated in sleek blacks and deep grays. The air smelled faintly of something woody, expensive, and dangerously intoxicating.And then she looked down, at her own self under the sheets. She was not in her clothes from last night.Instead, she was wearing a loose black T-shirt and drawstring sweatpants, clothes far too large to belong to her.From the looks of them, they were men's clothing.Oh, hell no.Panic c
She should have left.She should have turned around, walked back through the curtain, and pretended she never saw him standing there, like that, half-dressed, pale, very pale skin illuminated by the dim backstage lighting.But she didn’t.and before she could realize, she moved towards him.Something in her chest was pulling, like a magnet drawn to something it shouldn’t be. Her pulse pounded in her ears, louder than the muffled music from the afterparty, louder than her own common sense.Deverell didn’t move.He just watched her, unreadable, his shirt hanging open, his breath slow and steady like he was waiting.She stopped just inches from him, her head tilting as she studied his face, the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the impossible perfection of his features, the mouth that was slightly parted as if he had just exhaled a breath he hadn’t meant to take."So rude, so entitled...", she scrunched her eyes, her cheeks red from the drinks. Deverell tilted his head in amusement.What wa
Luna adjusted the focus on her camera, exhaling softly as she framed the next shot.Deverell and Kensy laying across the velvet couch in the center of the set, their bodies draped in perfect elegance. The world around them caught its breath, as if even time itself didn’t dare disturb the illusion they had established.She should be used to this.Photographing beautiful people, actors like this, trained in seduction, in longing, in looking at someone as if they were the only thing that mattered in the whole world.But watching Deverell this way? It was not the same.She told herself it was just the lighting. The way his bare chest caught the glow of the overhead bulbs, the way his long fingers skimmed Kensy’s arm, his touch was just enough to suggest intimacy and not possession.It was only a role he was playing. That’s what she needed to remember. And why should it matter ro her.But still, her fingers tightened a little around the camera, a strange tension coiling in her chest as she
The set was a controlled chaos of motion, directors yelling out last-minute instructions, assistants adjusting lights, wardrobe stylists smoothing clothes, and the constant buzz of a world constructed entirely on illusion.Luna Grimes had seen it all before.She had spent years behind the lens, watching as actors transformed into something greater, something bigger than life. She had mastered the art of detachment, of viewing beauty, yet not being seduced by it.And still, when Deverell Blackwood walked onto the set, even she could not deny his presence.Deverell Blackwood did not crave attention.It gravitated toward him. Where ever he stroded, the spotlight was on him.Even when the cameras weren’t rolling, even when he wasn’t performing, he moved like the world was made around him, like it existed to accommodate him. He was a living work of art sculpted in too-sharp lines and effortless grace.And what was worse? He knew it.Luna never swooned over men like him.She had seen too ma