Chapter 4: The Stranger’s Touch

The world around Amelia swam in dim, golden hues as Celeste led her through the polished corridor of the luxurious hotel. Her legs felt like they belonged to someone else—heavy, disobedient. Her fingers trembled around her purse strap. Her lips moved, but her voice came out in murmurs she barely understood.

This isn't right. Something whispered in the back of her mind. Something cold and sharp, even through the warmth spreading in her chest.

"Just here," Celeste said softly, guiding her into a lavish suite. The scent of fresh linen and wine greeted them.

Amelia blinked slowly. Why a hotel? Why now?

"I just… need to make a quick call downstairs. Rest here. It'll help," Celeste murmured, settling her onto the edge of the bed.

Amelia tried to ask why the room was already prepared, why the lights were dimmed, why a single glass of wine sat waiting on the table—but the words dissolved in her mouth.

Celeste smoothed a hand through her hair—tender, too tender—and then stepped out, shutting the door with a soft click.

Silence swallowed the room.

Amelia stared at the wineglass. She hadn't touched it, but her body felt drugged. Dizzy. Her throat was dry. Her skin tingled, and her thoughts spiraled, collapsing into one another.

Then—the lock turned.

The door creaked open.

Her heart skipped.

It wasn't Celeste who entered.

A tall man stood at the threshold. His silhouette was sharp against the hallway light, but his face remained obscured. Dark, expensive suit. Confident shoulders. But even in her haze, she noticed how he hesitated. Like he hadn't expected her.

He stepped in slowly, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

"Who—" Her voice cracked, barely more than a breath.

He paused by the wall, studying her. His face was rugged—masculine in a way that felt overpowering. But there was tension in his jaw, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

"I…" he began, then stopped, brows furrowing. "Did they… send you?"

His voice was hoarse. Controlled. Almost cold—but strained beneath the surface.

What?

"No…" she whispered.

The air between them shifted.

He moved closer. Amelia tried to stand, but her body betrayed her. Her knees buckled beneath her, and he caught her with practiced ease. His hands were large, steadying her waist, keeping her upright—but not rough.

"You're burning up," he muttered. "Something's wrong."

Her head fell against his chest involuntarily, and she felt the quick rhythm of his heartbeat. He smelled faintly of wood, leather, and something foreign—like spice.

"I don't know you," she whispered.

"I don't know you either," he said. "But you shouldn't be alone right now."

He lowered her gently onto the bed, brushing her hair from her face. For a long moment, he stood frozen.

Then she touched his wrist.

"I don't want to feel anything anymore…" she said, voice cracking. "Just for tonight."

His eyes darkened.

He didn't answer with words—but he leaned in.

Their lips met—tentative at first, like a question neither dared ask. Her fingers clung to his shirt, pulling him closer. Heat surged through her—not just the effects of whatever drug had crawled into her system, but the friction of two strangers both desperately trying to escape their own lives.

He responded with a quiet growl deep in his throat, a sound that sent a tremor through her spine. His mouth took hers more firmly, breath warm, demanding.

She gasped as his hands slipped beneath the hem of her dress, caressing her thighs with slow, reverent strokes. She arched toward him without understanding why, chasing the fire he sparked with every touch.

Clothes became a blur. Her dress hit the floor. His jacket followed.

She wasn't even sure who undressed whom.

He laid her back gently, his hands trailing down her sides as if memorizing every inch. Her breath hitched as his lips found her collarbone, then lower, drawing warmth from her core with each pass.

"I shouldn't…" he whispered against her skin.

"Please…" she breathed.

Desire crashed over them like a tidal wave.

His hands gripped her hips, guiding her toward him. Her body trembled under his touch, straining for more, aching to be consumed.

As their bodies tangled beneath the hotel lights, time seemed to vanish.

There were no names. No lies. No past.

Only heat. Only need.

Only the stranger whose touch drowned out everything else.

And in that moment, she didn't care who he was.

He was her escape. Her recklessness.

And she was his.