Fragments of the Forgotten Night

The morning whispered through the curtained windows, casting golden slivers over tangled sheets and secrets unsaid. Seraphina Vale stirred, her lashes fluttering against the weight of sleep, the tendrils of a nameless dream slipping through her fingers like silk.

Then reality struck like a vengeful storm.

She sat upright, the world tilting beneath her, her breath a sharp gasp in the quiet of the unfamiliar room. Her dress—creased, barely clinging to her shoulders. The scent of musk and jasmine lingering in the air. And beside her, sprawled in a careless slumber, was him—

A stranger.

A devastatingly beautiful stranger, bare beneath the sheets, his face carved from moonlight and shadows. Dark lashes fanned over sculpted cheekbones, lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm that mocked the storm raging within her.

Seraphina pressed a trembling hand to her lips. No. No, no, no.

The memories rushed in fragments—an unfamiliar embrace, lips tracing forgotten vows against her skin, hands mapping out constellations across her body. She felt tainted, ruined. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Her first time, given to a man whose name she did not even know.

Her heart thundered in her chest, the weight of her shame clawing at her throat. A call boy. That had to be it. He looked too perfect, too sinfully divine. Perhaps Astrid had set this up, ensuring that she woke up in disgrace.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the nightstand. Her purse—missing. A cruel twist of fate. She needed something, anything, to leave behind. Her gaze landed on her wristwatch, a family heirloom with the insignia of the Vale lineage.

She unclasped it with cold resolve, placing it on the table with a hastily scribbled note: Payment for services rendered.

One last look at the stranger—unaware, untouched by the storm raging within her—and then she ran, feet bare against the cold marble floor, the past chasing her like a wraith in the morning light.

In the corridors of the grand hotel, echoes of the night whispered in the silence. Seraphina's vision blurred as she stumbled forward, heart in her throat. She had to get out. She had to forget.

Then she saw them.

Isolde Veyne, her face stained with tears, her body trembling as Caelum held her close, whispering words of comfort that did little to soothe the storm in her eyes. At the sight of Seraphina, Isolde broke free from Caelum's grasp and threw herself into her arms.

"I thought—I thought something happened to you," Isolde choked out, clutching her as though she would disappear again.

Seraphina tightened her hold. "I'm here. I'm okay. Let's go home."

Caelum's eyes flickered between them, unreadable. But if he saw the turmoil swimming beneath Seraphina's poised exterior, he said nothing. Together, the three of them stepped out of the gilded cage of the hotel, leaving behind the night they would never speak of.

The absence of warmth was the first thing Lucian Drax noticed.

His fingers stretched across the bed, expecting to find the delicate frame that had burned against his own, but met only the cool emptiness of silk sheets. His brows furrowed, the remnants of intoxication fading as reality set in.

She was gone.

A strange disappointment curled in his gut. He had wanted to see her—to ask, to know. Who was she? How had she ended up in his room? But as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his breath stilled.

A stain of crimson on the sheets.

Lucian exhaled sharply, his mind unraveling the cruel truth. She had been a virgin.

His fingers dragged through his tousled hair, frustration bleeding into his veins. He had taken her first time, a faceless stranger in the dark. He didn't even remember her voice, only the intoxicating scent of jasmine—the same scent that had haunted his past, the scent that belonged to only one girl.

Seraphina Vale.

But it couldn't be. Could it?

His gaze flickered to the nightstand, and there it was—his answer, or perhaps another question. A delicate wristwatch, its golden frame glinting beneath the morning sun. His fingers traced the emblem, the insignia of the Vale family.

Then, beside it, a note.

Payment for services rendered.

A sharp bark of laughter escaped him—humorless, bitter. So, she thought him a call boy? The irony tasted like ash on his tongue. The girl who had unknowingly stolen his heart years ago now thought of him as nothing more than a man for hire.

Lucian clenched his jaw, his resolve hardening. He needed to find her. To understand. To know why fate had chosen to tangle their destinies in such a cruel, twisted game.

He dressed swiftly, dark intent burning beneath his cool exterior. Marching to the hotel's security room, he demanded the surveillance footage of the previous night. But the answer he received was as infuriating as the situation itself.

"The cameras have been down for months, sir. We're still waiting for repairs."

Lucian's hands curled into fists at his sides. He had nothing—no face, no name, only a scent and a shattered memory.

The girl had vanished into the morning mist, leaving behind only echoes of a night neither of them could undo.

And Lucian Drax was never one to let the echoes of the past remain forgotten.