Page 84 of Temptation and Tyranny

The lobby was a hive of activity, fellow conference attendees milling about with name badges and itineraries in hand. I made my way to the check-in desk, plastering on a smile that felt foreign on my face.

“Welcome to Hotel Arts Barcelona, Miss Prescott,” the receptionist said, handing me my room key. “You’re in room 412. The conference welcome reception begins at seven o’clock in the Marina Ballroom.”

I nodded my thanks and headed for the elevators, my rolling suitcase trailing behind me. As the doors closed, leaving me alone for the first time since I’d left Paris, I felt my carefully constructed walls begin to crumble.

Cooper.

His name echoed in my mind, bringing with it a flood of memories. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The feel of his hand in mine. The passion in his kiss. And then, the cold fury in his gaze as he told me it was over.

I blinked back tears as the elevator dinged, announcing my floor. Not here, I told myself sternly. Not now.

My room was spacious and elegant, with a view of the city that would have taken my breath away under different circumstances. Now, it just seemed empty. Lonely.

I unpacked methodically, hanging up the professional outfits I’d brought for the conference presentations. As I placed my toiletries in the bathroom, my eyes caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked tired, the shadows under my eyes a testament to the sleepless nights I’d endured since leaving Cooper’s safehouse. But more than that, I looked...different. Older, somehow. As if the events of the past weeks had aged me in ways that went beyond the physical.

I shook my head, turning away from myreflection. There was no time for self-pity. I had a conference to attend, a presentation to give. I had to focus on that, on the career I’d worked so hard to build. It was all I had left now.

The welcome reception was in full swing when I arrived at the ballroom. Colleagues from across Europe mingled, the air filled with the melody of different languages and the clink of champagne glasses. I grabbed a flute from a passing waiter, more for something to do with my hands than any desire to drink.

“Allegra Prescott?” a voice called out. I turned to see Emilie Sinclair, a respected researcher from Brussels whose work I’d long admired. “I’m so glad you could make it. I’m looking forward to your presentation on post-operative rehabilitation techniques.”

I smiled, slipping into the role of the confident professional. “Thank you, Emilie. I’m excited to share my findings.”

As we fell into a discussion about recent advancements in our field, I felt some of the tension begin to ease from my shoulders. This was familiar territory. Safe. A world where I knew who I was and what I was capable of.

But even as I engaged in conversation, a part of my mind couldn’t help but wander. What would Cooper think of all this? Would he be proud of me, presenting my research at such a prestigious conference?

The evening wore on, a blur of introductions, small talk, and shop talk. I found myself gravitating towards the familiar faces from previous conferences, grateful for the easy camaraderie that came with shared professional interests.

As the reception began to wind down, I excused myself, blaming jet lag and the need to prepare for tomorrow’s sessions. In truth, the constant socializing had drained me, each smile and laugh feeling like a betrayal of the turmoil inside me.

Back in my room, I kicked off my heels and sank onto the plush bed. The silence was a relief after the noise of the reception, but it also left me alone with my thoughts. Thoughts that inevitably turned to Cooper.

I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over his name in my contacts. What would I even say if I called? Sorry my father shot you? Sorry I didn’t tell you about my complicated family history? Sorry I fell in love with you when I should have known better?

With a frustrated sigh, I tossed the phone aside. It didn’t matter what I wanted to say. Cooper had made it clear he wanted nothing more to do with me. And maybe he was right. Maybe we were better off apart, each in our own worlds where we couldn’t hurt each other anymore.

But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn’t true. Being apart from Cooper hurt more than any physical wound ever could. It was a constant ache, a hollow feeling in my chest that nothing seemed to fill.

I forced myself to focus on the conference schedule for the next day, reviewing my notes for the sessions I planned to attend. But even as I immersed myself in the familiar language of my profession, a part of my mind remained fixed on Cooper. On what might have been, if things had been different.

The next morning dawned bright and clear, the sun streaming through the gaps in the curtains I’d forgotten to close. I groaned, rubbing the sleep frommy eyes. I’d tossed and turned most of the night, my dreams a confusing mix of conference presentations and Cooper’s accusing eyes.

I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water wash away some of the lingering fatigue. As I dried off and began to get ready, I caught sight of myself in the mirror again. Today, I looked more like myself. Professional. Composed. Ready to face the world.

If only I felt that way on the inside.

The conference center was already bustling when I arrived, attendees filing into various session rooms. I checked my schedule and made my way to a talk on innovative approaches to sports injury rehabilitation. As I settled into my seat, notebook at the ready, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Allegra? Allegra Prescott?”

I turned to see a vaguely familiar face. It took me a moment to place him—Marc Metzger, a physical therapist I’d met at a conference in Berlin a few years back.

“Marc,” I said, mustering a smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too,” he replied, settling into the seat next to me. “I heard you’re presenting tomorrow. Looking forward to it. How have you been?”

As we chatted quietly before the session began, I found myself relaxing slightly. This was normal. This was my world. For a moment, I could almost forget about Cooper, about my father, about the chaos that had become my life.

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