Of all the people in the entire universe, I'd had sex withhim?
No. I refused to believe it. This had to be a mistake.
I read the name again. And again. And one last time. But it stayed the same.
A violent shudder rolled through me. And panic exploded in my body, stronger than anything I'd ever felt in my life.
The urge to wake him up and slap him was overwhelming. My hands curled into fists. My breaths came too fast.
I hated this man with every cell in my body, and I'd shared this dream of a night withhim?
This was unbelievable. A nasty trick. A cruel joke.
There was no way on earth this was a coincidence. Tristan Hawthorne was heartless... always had been and always would be.
He must have planned this somehow. He had to have.
All those adolescent feelings came rushing back in a tidal wave of misery—the insecurity, shame, and self-loathing, hating myself and my body.
For years, I'd worked so hard to turn the page on my past, and I'd succeeded so beautifully. And now, in one single, stupid night, he'd burned all that hard work to ashes.
I had to get out of here.Now.
With my still shaking fingers, I quickly stuffed his wallet back into his pants, then shoved on my shoes. Thank goodness for carpeting to muffle the noise of my heels.
Moving forward, I grabbed my dress and threw it on, realizing my underwear was in ruins somewhere by the front door. Oh, well. Let him find them and wonder what the hell happened to the girl who left like a phantom in the middle of the night.
The asshole could keep them, a little souvenir to remember me by.
My legs carried me faster and faster down the hallway, the reverse of what we'd done only a few short hours ago, my pulse hammering so hard I thought I might pass out.
The elevator ride down was a blur of sheer panic.
I'd known deep down that he was familiar. Why hadn't I tried harder to figure that out? And how?How?How could I have possibly missed that he was Tristan?
Fury was quickly replacing all the other emotions coursing through my veins.
After all these years, this man had the power to use me like that? What had been his end game for tonight? Was he planning on waking me up in the morning and laughing in my face? Giving me a big old gotcha?
Was he going to plaster posters all over the room calling me a fat cow?
Oh, dear God. I clutched onto the railing as bile rose in my throat.
Had he taken compromising photos of me? Videos? And he was going to do what with them? Release them into the wild?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This was an epic disaster. Absolutely a nightmare of the worst kind.
I had no idea what to do. My brain was scrambled from it all. My emotions completely fried.
The elevator stopped at the ground floor, and I did the walk of shame through the nearly empty lobby. Truly, it was a walk of shame now.
At least I didn't have to think about how to get home. The concierge had a car waiting for me, not quite meeting my eyes, discreet and polite, like he'd done this a million times.
With the little dignity I had left, I slid into the back seat, curling into the corner as the city blurred past me. Thankfully, the driver didn't ask questions or try to make small talk.
I knew I looked like a ghost of myself, a girl slowly going insane in the back seat, my emotions raw, my body still aching from a night that had begun as a dream come true that had swiftly twisted into a living nightmare.
