I watched the door close behind him, the soft click echoing far louder than it should have. The room felt suddenly colder, heavier, as though all the warmth had gone out with him. And then, like a slap of icy water, the realization hit me.
I don't even know his name.
I slept with a man I cannot address.A man whose identity is a blank space.A man whose hands were on my body an hour ago, but whose name I couldn't whisper even if my life depended on it.
This is not a one-night stand.This is… something far more twisted.
A quiet, sharp ache spread across my chest, humiliation wrapping around my ribs. My thoughts crashed into each other, wild and panicked.
What kind of situation did you put yourself into, Anna?Who is he? What does he want? How do you walk into someone's life so recklessly and then let them walk out of yours without even a name?
The room still smelled like him—dark cologne, warm skin, leather, something expensive and masculine I couldn't label. It clung to the air, to the sheets, to my skin. The shirt I wore—his shirt—held the scent strongest. I curled my fingers into the fabric and squeezed my eyes shut.
"He says he doesn't work for Micheal," I whispered to myself, hating how fragile my voice sounded. "But… I don't believe him. I can't. Not with everything that happened today."
The timing was too precise. Too… orchestrated.And yet—a part of me remembered the way he'd said it. The sharp honesty. The irritation. The lack of hesitation.
My head dropped into my hands.
I didn't know what to believe anymore.
But one thing was certain—I couldn't stay here.If I stayed even one more minute, I'd crumble.
I stood up abruptly, grabbing nothing—not my bag, not my own clothes, not my pride. I walked out wearing only his white shirt, long enough to cover me but nowhere near enough to shield the storm inside my chest.
The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. My pulse hammered in my ears. I moved slowly, unsure of where I was going, only knowing I needed distance from that room and the version of myself who had been inside it.
And then I saw him.
Standing at the base of the stairs, leaning against the wall with that maddeningly calm expression. Eyes amused. Like he'd been waiting just for this moment.
His gaze dragged over me—over his shirt on my body, over my bare legs, over the embarrassment smudged under my eyes. The corner of his mouth tilted upward.
"Are you stealing my shirt, little criminal?" he asked softly.
Heat rushed to my face. "I—what? No, I just—"
But he cut me off, stepping toward me with slow, deliberate confidence that made my breath skitter.
"That's okay," he murmured. "Now you'll have something to remember me by."
The words settled in my stomach like stones.Remember him?As if I could ever forget.
He gestured toward the door. His movements were smooth, practiced, controlled. Everything about him screamed power—quiet, coiled, waiting power.
"The driver is ready," he said. "Come. Let me see you out."
I followed, my legs stiff and unsteady. Every step felt surreal. My mind was in a fog, drowning in questions, fear, confusion, and something else I refused to name.
When we reached the entrance, he stopped. For a moment, I thought he would open the door and simply let me go.
But then…
He lifted his hand.
Dangling from his fingers was the same blindfold he'd used earlier.
My breath froze.
He held it just above my face.
"It's nothing personal," he said, gaze locked on mine. "I just love my privacy."
I nodded, barely trusting my voice.Something in the way he stared at me—something dark and unreadable—made my knees weak.
He stepped closer, the warmth of his breath brushing my cheek as he secured the blindfold behind my head. His fingertips grazed the back of my neck, and a chill rolled through me.
Then he leaned in.
His voice was a whisper—soft, dangerous, unforgettable.
"I hope you get to meet this Micheal you speak of one day."
Before I could ask what that meant—what anything meant—he pushed the door open and gently guided me forward into the cold outside.
I stumbled into what I assumed was a car. The door shut sharply behind me, and before I could catch my breath, the vehicle started moving.
Home
I barely remembered arriving. The world blurred past the blindfold and the pain in my chest. When the car finally stopped, a voice murmured that I could remove it. I did, blinking hard at the familiar sight of my building.
I ran.
I didn't walk—I ran through the corridor, up the stairs, past the peeling paint and flickering bulbs. My hands shook so violently I almost dropped my keys twice.
When the door opened, I didn't even say a word.
I went straight into Onyi's arms and collapsed.
The sob tore out of me so violently it felt like it ripped open a seam inside my chest. Onyi held me immediately, her arms warm, her chin resting on my hair as tears burned down my cheeks and soaked through her shirt.
"I'm so stupid," I choked out. "I'm so—stupid. I messed up, Onyi. I really messed up."
She pulled back, cupping my face with both hands. Her eyes were soft, wet with worry but full of that fierce, protective love only she could give me.
"What happened, my pretty girl?" she whispered. "Talk to me. You know I'll never judge you. Just tell me. Let me help take the pain away. It's breaking my heart to see the strongest girl I know like this. Tell me who hurt you, and I'll go hurt them right back."
A weak laugh escaped me. God, she always knew how to soften the blow.
"I fucked up, Onyi," I said again, my voice barely holding. "I fucked up so badly."
She held me tighter. "Tell me."
So I did.
Everything.
From the rain, to the car, to the man with the voice that felt like danger wrapped in velvet. To the blindfold, to the file, to the gut-wrenching terror of not knowing who he was—or what he wanted.
When I finally finished, she didn't speak for a long moment. Her brows furrowed, her fingers still stroking my hair.
Then:
"Anna… are you sure this man doesn't work for Micheal?"
"I don't know," I whispered honestly. "If he did, I don't see why he would've let me go."
A beat of silence.
"But what if—" Onyi began.
A chime cut her off.
Ding.
My heart stopped.
I pulled out my phone with shaking hands. A new message lit up the screen.
From an unknown number.
My breath vanished.
"Anna?" Onyi whispered. "What is it?"
My eyes widened. The world tilted. The room felt suddenly too small, too cold, too suffocating.
Because on my screen, in bold text, was the same greeting that had haunted me since this morning.
Hello criminal.
My hands dropped.My knees buckled.My breath shattered.
He found me.
He found me.He found me.He found me.