CHAPTER 1: ONE NIGHT STAND

ONE MONTH LATER

A sharp, pulsing ache clawed at Aria’s skull as she blinked her eyes open, the harsh light of the morning making her wince. Her vision blurred for a moment, and she let out a groan, every pulse of pain in her head like a hammer driving nails into her temples. She lay there, unmoving, feeling the world spin slightly around her. As her senses gradually returned, she became aware of another discomfort—a dull, persistent soreness in her lower body.

The ache in her core made her stiffen. It wasn’t just her head that hurt.

A hiss of pain slipped past her lips as she shifted on the unfamiliar bed, a sharper sting blossoming at the base of her neck. Her throat felt dry, and her body heavy, as if weighed down by the events she couldn’t fully recall.

“Hungover,” she murmured, her voice hoarse and cracked, barely above a whisper. Reaching out blindly, she grasped the nearest pillow and hugged it tightly against her chest. The softness was the only comfort she found amidst the physical and emotional numbness that enveloped her like a thick fog.

It was then that she heard it—the steady rush of water from the bathroom. The sound of a shower, the droplets hitting the tiles like distant echoes.

Someone was in there.

Her heart began to race, beating frantically against her ribs, as if trying to break free from the cage of her chest. Her mind screamed at her to move, but her body remained paralyzed by the sudden wave of dread crashing over her.

She remained frozen in place for several agonizing moments before the realization hit her like a bucket of ice-cold water. The fear that had been lurking in the corners of her mind finally surged to the surface, threatening to choke her.

She yanked the pillow off her face, eyes wide, pupils blown with horror. The mirrored ceiling reflected back her terrified expression—a girl completely out of place in this room of glistening surfaces and forgotten memories.

“Oh God… what have I done?” she whispered, the words trembling as they left her lips, fear clawing its way up her throat. She tore her gaze away from her own reflection, her breath catching in her chest as her eyes darted around the room.

It wasn’t just the ceiling that was mirrored—the entire room was surrounded by cold, reflective glass. The walls, the dresser, even the wardrobe. It was as if the room itself wanted to trap her in a cage of shame, forcing her to face the reality of what had transpired.

Suddenly, her pulse skyrocketed as her gaze fell to the floor. Scattered across the polished surface were pieces of her clothing—her dress from last night, crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed, alongside her underwear and shoes. Each article of clothing was a grim reminder of her carelessness, her lapse in judgment.

Tears stung the corners of her eyes as the weight of the situation pressed down on her chest like a boulder. With shaky hands, she scrambled out of bed, ignoring the sharp pain that shot up her spine. Her limbs felt weak, her knees threatening to give out as she frantically pulled on her clothes.

I’ve ruined everything…

The thought ripped through her mind, vicious and relentless, like a blade carving through her conscience.

 I’m no longer clean. Everything my parents ever taught me… wasted. I’m a failure. A disgrace.

Her fingers trembled as she zipped up her dress, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she tried to hold back the sobs that were threatening to escape. Panic gnawed at her insides, twisting her stomach into knots.

Her gaze fell to the pristine white bedsheet, and she froze. There, staining the fabric, was a small but unmistakable smear of red.

Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. The tears that had been welling in her eyes now spilled over, streaming down her cheeks in hot, silent trails. She wiped them away quickly, her hands shaking as she grabbed her bag from the bedside table.

As she turned to leave, something caught her eye. A black calling card sat innocently on the edge of the table, its glossy surface reflecting the dim light of the room.

JAMES SEBASTIAN, JR., President & CEO, Sebastian International Bakeshop.

The name, printed in bold, silver letters, felt like a slap across her face. She stared at the card, her mind racing with questions she didn’t want answers to.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She could hear the water in the shower still running, the sound taunting her, reminding her of what she had lost.

Without another thought, she stuffed the card into her bag and bolted from the room. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor, her heart pounding louder with every step she took. Each beat was a reminder of the mistake she couldn’t take back, of the night she couldn’t erase.

She didn’t dare look back.