Kael woke to darkness.
Not the peaceful kind that followed a good sleep, but the suffocating, heavy kind—the type that pushed down on his eyes and skull until breathing felt like work.
His forehead throbbed. His temples pounded. His mouth felt dry and bitter, as if he had swallowed gravel.
He groaned softly, forcing his eyelids open.
A pale sliver of morning light slipped in through thick curtains. Kael blinked, letting his blurred vision slowly adjust. When the room finally came into focus, his breathing stalled.
This wasn't his villa.
It wasn't his room. Not his sheets. Not his furniture.
Nothing familiar.
A sudden spike of panic jolted awake whatever clarity the hangover hadn't drowned.
His eyes darted across the space.
A hotel room.
Wide. Spacious. Modern.
A quiet hum from the air conditioner. A faint scent of disinfectant. A glass cup sitting untouched on the side table.
Kael pushed himself upright abruptly, and his head pulsed with sharp pain. He winced, bracing a hand against his forehead.
"What the—"
He stopped.
His breath caught.
Underneath the blanket… he wasn't wearing anything.
A wave of cold panic washed over him, stronger than the headache.
He looked around again—quick, frantic glances. The room was empty. No shoes. No bags. No unfamiliar clothes strewn around. No sign of another person.
Just him.
Alone.
Yet the panic wouldn't loosen.
"What did I do…?" he muttered under his breath.
He tried to force his memory to rewind.
He reached back—mentally, painfully—trying to reconnect the scattered fragments of last night.
The last thing he remembered clearly was driving back toward the villa… replaying his last conversation with Amara over and over again. Every mistake he made. Every harsh word. Every moment where pride crushed whatever honesty he should've spoken.
He couldn't face her.
He couldn't face the silence of the villa either.
So he drove somewhere else.
A bar.
Dim lights. Music pounding. Drink after drink sliding across the counter.
He remembered saying her name. Whispering it. His own voice sounding broken even to his ears.
And after that—
Nothing.
A blank wall.
No matter how hard he tried, the memories refused to surface. His hands curled tightly in the sheets, frustration and dread twisting together in his stomach.
"What did I do…? Who—who was I with?"
His jaw tightened.
He really didn't know.
After a few minutes of trying—and failing—to recall anything, Kael forced a cold sigh through his teeth.
He was a man. If he made a mistake… then he would deal with it. If he ended up with someone last night, then he'd pay her, send her off, end it cleanly.
That was his first, reflexive thought—one born out of old habits and the past version of himself he thought he'd left behind.
But then something inside him recoiled.
Even if something had happened… it wasn't what he wanted.
What he wanted—what he'd always wanted—was Amara.
And last night, he destroyed even the chance to see her again.
His throat tightened.
He pushed the sheets away, preparing to get up from the bed.
But right as he swung his feet toward the floor—
The hotel door clicked.
Then opened.
Kael froze.
His heart jumped painfully against his ribs. He tensed, bracing himself, dread choking him.
He didn't want to see whoever walked in.
He didn't want confirmation he'd made an even worse mistake.
Footsteps entered the room.
Kael looked up.
And then exhaled a breath of pure relief.
"Jake…?"
Jake stood just inside the doorway, holding plastic bags from a mall. His expression shifted between annoyance and pity.
"Well, good morning, sunshine," Jake said dryly. "Welcome back to the land of the living."
Kael nearly sagged back into the bed. "You—thank God. I thought—"
"—that you hooked up with someone?" Jake finished for him. "Yeah, I figured your brain would go there."
Kael swallowed, throat tight. "What happened last night?"
Jake set the bags down on the table with a sharp thud. "A disaster. A drunk disaster. You."
Kael rubbed his forehead. "I don't remember anything after the fifth—sixth drink."
"You had more than six," Jake snorted. "And I was there, so let me break it down for you before your imagination kills you."
Kael straightened a little, worried but listening intently.
Jake crossed his arms. "I found you in the bar, completely wasted, muttering Amara's name every two minutes."
Kael's eyes shut briefly. Shame burned through him.
Jake continued, voice more serious now. "And there was this woman glued to your side. Someone neither of us knew. Clearly waiting for a guy with money to get drunk enough to take advantage of the situation."
Kael stiffened. "A gold digger."
"Exactly," Jake said. "You were in no condition to think, let alone make decisions. And she looked ready to drag you out of the bar the moment I blinked."
A cold sweat ran down Kael's back.
"So I intervened," Jake said. "I pulled you away from her. She complained. I ignored her. I dragged your half-conscious self here instead."
Kael swallowed hard. "But why am I—why didn't I have clothes on when I woke up?"
Jake shot him a flat look. "Because you vomited. On yourself. Twice."
Kael blinked. "Oh."
"I took the clothes off so you wouldn't sleep in them. Relax," Jake said. "Nothing happened. With anyone."
Relief flooded Kael so strongly he couldn't breathe for a moment.
Jake reached into one of the bags and tossed a neatly folded set of clothes toward him.
Kael barely caught them in time.
"I bought you new clothes from the mall," Jake said. "You're welcome."
Kael looked at the clothes, speechless. "I… owe you one. Seriously."
"Yeah, you do," Jake muttered, though his voice wasn't unkind. "Next time you decide to drink your soul out of your body, at least call me before you end up being targeted by someone looking for easy money."
Kael dropped his head into his hands.
His voice was low when he spoke.
"…Thanks, Jake. For everything."
Jake nodded once.
"Get dressed. You look like the end of the world."
Kael didn't argue.
But as he stood up and started putting on the clean clothes, his expression slowly hardened—haunted, conflicted, hurt.
He could escape the bar.
He could escape a trap.
But he couldn't escape the one thing that mattered—
Amara.
And what he had done to her.