How I Met Him

Margaux’s POV.

What Victoria revealed kept circling in my mind. It was a heavy feeling I felt on the way back home.

The moment I stepped into the penthouse, the memories came rushing back—uninvited, like an old wound that hadn’t quite healed. 

The coldness in the air, the silence that wrapped itself around me, was eerily familiar. 

I felt it in the pit of my stomach, a tight knot of tension, just like that night I met him.

***

(A night with a stranger)

I had been drinking, alone in a high-end bar–the one my parents used to love before they passed away. 

Today was their death anniversary, and I was trying to numb the pain that had festered inside me for years. 

Mom. Dad. There’s never a day I don’t miss the both of you.

It didn’t matter that they had been gone for over a decade—losing them had been the kind of loss that never truly went away. 

They had been my world, my anchors in a foreign country where I had no other family to turn to. 

After they died, I was alone. No one left to hold me up, no one left to love me.

That night, I became an orphan.

Tonight, I will remember them all I want.

I drank without thinking of any consequences.

Once I maxed out my credit, I decided to go home. 

And that was where I first found Clyde.

As I walked out of the bar and passed by the dark alley, he was lying there on the sidewalk, barely conscious, a victim of a robbery attempt. 

I should have walked away and not gotten involved, but I just couldn’t ignore it. I was drunk, but not enough to look away. 

“Hey, the police are on their way! Leave the poor man alone!” I screamed with all my might.

I was ready to fight despite being intoxicated with alcohol. I was holding a broken chair which I held until they disappeared from my sight. 

Good thing they got scared and fled. So I went to him immediately.

“Hey, can you hear me? A-are you alright?”

Something inside me told me to help, to do something, so I did. 

I just couldn’t leave him alone. After all, I was wired not to leave anyone orphaned and helpless.

I was in no condition to ask questions, to care about his identity. 

So I dragged him into a hotel room with all my might. My hands were shaking as I carried his unconscious body.

He was dressed in a suit that screamed money, and his watch—God, that watch—was worth more than anything I had ever owned. 

I didn’t think much of it at that time–who he was, what he does, where he came from.

But I should have known. 

I should have known who he was.

As soon as I saw a cheap hotel, I immediately asked for help.

I rang the bell at the front desk impatiently. 

“Coming, coming! Goodness, lady!” the receptionist who was eating noodles barked at me.

“Hey…uhm,” I was stuttering and it had him concerned.

When I kept looking back at the unconscious man behind me, he started getting suspicious.

“Couple?” he asked and I shook my head. 

“Sugar daddy?” 

“What? No! Of course not!”

“Then…” he was going on and on with speculation so I set the record straight. 

I told him what happened and he somewhat believed me. 

“Well, things like that happen here,” he said it unbothered, as if it was a casual thing to say. 

“Good thing, you found him on time, or else–”

I gulped, imagining what could have happened, “–Or else what?”

“He could have been half naked,” while shrugging his shoulders.

 “Half-naked?”

“Lady, stop repeating my every word. So, are you going to spend the night?” he squinted his eyes on me.

“Uhm…yes…I mean him…only, not me…But I will pay,” my thought organization was not functioning right due to alcohol.

He let out a smile, “Relax, will you? No judgement here. Stay the night or not, I don’t care as long as I get paid, okay?”

After I settled, two of his personnel helped me to bring him to the bed.

I gave them a small tip and thanked them. 

I checked the time and it was already two in the morning. 

Should I stay?

Or must I go?

Will he be alright?

I already paid, so I guess he can do it by himself.

I paced back and forth on the edge of the bed. But the more I looked at him, the more I became curious about him. 

Must I say, I examined him?

His height. 

His body. 

His posture. 

His muscles were like those of a demi-god. 

The most athletic body I had ever seen, though I never saw one before in person.

I sat on the side of the bed and leaned forward to examine his face. 

Chiseled jaw. 

Perfect high nose.

Soft skin.

And his hair was jet black, as beautiful as the night sky.

He truly was out of my league. 

I found myself leaning towards him, the more I admired him.

I tried to shake my head and decided to end fantasizing about this stranger before me. 

But when I found my balance, he caught my arm.

He regained consciousness for a moment.

I almost stopped breathing. I was already starting to regret the entire situation. 

He looked at me, his green eyes piercing my soul. 

He was muttering something inaudible. 

His voice was low, detached, as if he were speaking to someone far beneath him.

“B-beatrix,” then he uttered a name.

I was still trying to gather myself, my head pounding from the alcohol, but I managed to mutter, “M-my name’s Marga–.”

But before I could even finish my own name, he grabbed my arm tighter and closed his eyes.

“Beatrix,” The way he said it sent a chill down my spine. He wasn’t talking to me. 

Not really. 

But I couldn’t ignore it. 

Beatrix.

The name stuck in my mind, haunting me, echoing in my thoughts.

I had never been reckless like this before, never thrown myself into a night with a stranger. 

But there was something about him. Something cold, yet magnetic.

And then, as if nothing mattered, nothing was real, he pulled me closer. 

I should have stopped. 

I should have walked away. 

But I couldn’t.

More likely to say, I didn’t want to walk away.

That reckless moment, I believe, the alcohol still coursing through my veins and the pain of my past pressing down on me was to blame.

The night that I didn’t care. 

The connection was instant, a rush of heat and desire that flooded through me. 

The steamy night with a stranger started.