3. What A Night

 My eyes snapped open to a banging headache as I sat up in bed, clutching my throbbing head. The unfamiliar room around me made the pain in my scalp even more unsettling as fragments of memories from the previous night flooded my mind.

I remembered agreeing to attend a party with Layla and reluctantly accepting her offer to drink. After her relentless talk about me finding my mate, I had given in, seeking an escape. Now, the stinging sensation at the base of my neck made it clear that the night had taken a turn I hadn’t anticipated.

What the hell happened?

I pressed my palm against my forehead, trying to suppress the pounding pain, massaging my temples softly. Dragging myself out of the bed, my feet touched the cold tiled floor, sending shivers through my body. 

I was about to leave the room when my eyes caught my reflection in a full-length mirror near a large, polished brown closet. I stopped, staring at myself in disbelief. I was wearing a black shirt that barely reached my upper thighs, my hair a complete mess. I reached up, attempting to smooth it, not wanting anyone to see me like this.

Spotting a brush on the vanity, I walked over and began combing my hair. That’s when I noticed it, the mark on my neck. I gasped, my heart racing as sweat gathered on my forehead. I stared at my reflection in shock.

I’ve been marked.

I turned toward the bed, my eyes widening as if I’d seen something horrific. But I was alone in the room. There was no sign of anyone else, no scent of my mate lingering in the air.

“Who could it be?” I muttered to myself, panic creeping in.

The door creaked open, breaking me from my spiraling thoughts. Layla walked in, her eyes tired as she gave me a concerned look.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“Um, nothing,” I replied, my voice hesitant. I struggled to piece together fragments of the previous night, but nothing solid came to mind, only flashes that refused to connect.

“Are you sure, sis?” Layla pressed, her gaze darting to the bed and then to my clothes discarded on the floor. “What are you doing in Tonia’s room, and what are you wearing?”

Before I could respond, Tonia’s grumbling voice echoed down the hallway. Layla grabbed my hand urgently. “We need to leave now, Diana. I’m not in the mood to help clean up, and this hangover is killing me.”

I sighed, knowing well that I didn't want that either, I grabbed my clothes and purse from the floor, following Layla as we rushed out of the house and toward the car. Mark was slouched in the driver’s seat, his head resting against the chair. His eyes opened lazily when he heard the car doors close. He glanced back to check on me before starting the engine and pulling out of Tonia’s driveway.

The ride home was silent. Layla leaned her head against the window while I sat lost in thought, replaying the fragments of the night over and over. When we reached our small house tucked away near the road, I climbed out of the car, leaving Layla and Mark to their usual affectionate goodbyes.

Inside, I collapsed onto one of the two couches in our modest living room, which was furnished only with the basics, a flat-screen TV and two worn-out sofas. I let out a deep sigh, closing my eyes briefly.

“Do you want to tell me about it now?” Layla asked, stepping into the room and hanging up her coat. “You can’t just say it’s nothing. I saw you half-naked with your clothes on the floor.”

I looked up at her, the headache dulling my ability to react sharply. I took a deep breath, struggling to stay calm. “Layla, I slept with a stranger.”

Her eyes widened in shock as she quickly sat down on the opposite couch. “What? How could you sleep with a total stranger?”

Heat crept up my cheeks as shame washed over me. “It wasn’t intentional. I was trying to find the restroom when I ran into him. Thanks to you, I was drunk and couldn’t think straight.”

She bit her lip, guilt flickering in her eyes. “I’m sorry. But did you get his number or at least remember anything about him?”

 I shook my head, lowering my gaze. “No, Layla. When I woke up, he was gone.”

She sighed, giving me a pitiful look. “Do you think he’s your mate?”

Her question sent a chill through me as my mind drifted back to the mark on my neck. I opened my mouth to reply, but my phone’s blaring ringtone cut me off.

I fished it out of my purse and answered. “Hello?”

“Miss Nightclaw, where are you?” a sharp voice demanded on the other end. “It’s your first day at work, and you’re late!”

Shit.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll be there shortly,” I stammered, jumping to my feet.

“Fuck, Layla! I’m late!” I shouted, rushing out of the living room and straight into the bathroom. I took the quickest shower of my life, throwing on a simple brown skirt, a white long sleeve tie blouse, and brown flats.

I dashed out of my room in a hurry. “How do I look?” I asked Layla.

She glanced at me with a faint smile that quickly faded. “You’re okay. And I’m really sorry, Diana, for pushing you to drink so much.”

“As long as you don’t do it again, you’re forgiven,” I said, forcing a smile before rushing out the door.

I hurried down the road, my eyes darting to my watch. Ten minutes late. My head was pounding, and I was sweating profusely by the time I reached the company building. The receptionist gave me a disapproving look as I approached her desk.

“Miss Nightclaw, personal assistant,” I told her breathlessly.

She handed me a tag with visible disdain. “Third floor.”

“Thank you,” I muttered, turning to leave, but I bumped into someone.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole!” I snapped, turning to leave.

Before I could take another step, he grabbed my hand, pulling me close to him. The sudden proximity made my breath hitch. I looked up, meeting his sharp blue eyes, now clouded with irritation. His thick brows knitted together, and his towering height coupled with his muscular frame made me feel small, almost insignificant, in his grasp.

“Asshole? Where are your manners, huh?” he growled, his voice deep and commanding as his grip tightened around my wrist. I winced softly, the pressure sending a jolt of pain through my arm.

For a moment, I thought about apologizing, ending this tense encounter, and just walking away. But his reaction, so aggressive and uncalled for, ignited something in me, anger and dislike.

“I would’ve apologized if it was my fault,” I retorted, glaring at him despite the throbbing in my head. “But you were the one standing behind me.” My voice was steady, but inside, the pounding headache and the stress of my already disastrous morning were making it hard to think straight.

He groaned in frustration, his grip loosening as he finally let go of my wrist. I stepped back, brushing off the wrinkles on my sleeves where his hand had been.

Without another word, I turned on my heels and stepped into the elevator. My heart raced, partly from the confrontation and partly from the sinking feeling that the rest of my day might only get worse.

When I arrived on the top floor, a young woman approached me in a hurry. “Miss Nightclaw, put your tag on. The boss will be here any minute,” she said briskly, her tone leaving no room for delay.

I nodded, fumbling with the tag before pinning it onto my shirt. She motioned for me to follow, her quick steps echoing down the corridor. Anxiety bubbled in my chest as we walked, the dull ache in my head doing little to help.

We stopped in front of a grand office with an impressive glass display, a polished desk, and sleek furnishings. My eyes darted to another woman standing near the corner, nervously biting her lower lip. Her body language screamed desperation, and it made me uneasy. What was she so worried about?

Before I could dwell on it, the sound of approaching footsteps filled the air. The door swung open, and my stomach dropped.

There he was.

The man from earlier, the one I’d called an asshole, walked in, exuding authority. He was accompanied by a stunning woman. My breath caught in my throat as panic surged through me.