Chapter 5 Night with a stranger

Chapter 5

The city lights blurred as I walked. Cars splashed through puddles, laughter spilled from bars, and I felt smaller with every passing sound. Maybe I deserved it the silence, the heartbreak, the emptiness that followed me home.

Without thinking, my feet led me to The Blue Lantern, a small restaurant tucked between two high-rise buildings. It used to be our spot where Ethan and I had dinner after my first day at Cole Enterprises. Now it felt like the only place I could breathe.

I slipped inside, hoping the dim lights would hide the mess that I was or if I could see Ethan there drunk. The soft hum of jazz filled the air, blending with the low murmur of conversations. I found a seat near the window and ordered something strong I didn’t even care what.

When the drink came, I stared at it for a long moment before taking a sip.

Then another.

And another.

The warmth spread too fast, dulling the ache that had been clawing at my chest since Ethan walked away.

“I just wanted to explain…” I muttered under my breath, swirling the glass. “I just wanted to make it right.”

The bartender gave me a sympathetic look but didn’t say anything. I was grateful for that. The last thing I needed was pity.

Outside, thunder rumbled softly. Raindrops began to slide down the glass in slow, uncertain trails, like the tears I refused to shed.

I ordered another drink. Then another. I told myself it was the last one, but my voice was slurring by the time I laughed at my own reflection in the window.

“Look at you, Lila,” I whispered. “Trying so hard to be good… and still ending up the villain.”

The rain outside thickened into a downpour, drumming against the windows. People ran for cover, laughter mixing with the rhythm of the storm.

But I just sat there the world spinning slightly, the seat warm beneath me, my heart heavy with the kind of regret that didn’t have words.

When the bartender finally said, “Ma’am, we’re closing soon,” I blinked in confusion. I hadn’t realized how late it was.

I pushed back my chair, clumsy on my feet. “Right… I should go home.”

The moment I stepped outside, the rain hit me full in the face — cold, relentless, washing over me like punishment and mercy all at once.

I didn’t have an umbrella. I didn’t care.

Then, suddenly warmth.

A shadow fell over me, and something soft brushed above my head. I blinked up through wet lashes and saw the outline of an umbrella, black and steady against the pouring rain.

Someone was holding it over me.

For a moment, the world stopped spinning. My vision swam, and through the blur of water and city lights, I saw a tall figure standing beside me broad shoulders, expensive suit, sharp jawline.

“Ethan?” My voice cracked with hope. “You… you came back?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and that silence only made me smile wider. I reached for him, clutching his sleeve. “I knew it. I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me forever.”

The man said nothing. His grip on the umbrella tightened.

“I’m so happy you came,” I whispered, swaying on my feet. “You didn’t even let me beg this time. You just… came back.”

My laugh was shaky and wet. I leaned against his chest, the rain still drumming around us. The scent of his cologne drifted through — clean, cold, unfamiliar. But I was too drunk to notice the difference.

“Come on,” he said finally, his voice deep, calm, and nothing like Ethan’s. “You’ll catch a cold out here.”

That voice. I should have recognized it then smooth, controlled, the kind that made people listen. But in my haze, all I heard was concern. All I felt was warmth.

He guided me toward the curb, one arm steady around my shoulders. “Where’s your house?” he asked quietly.

“My house?” I blinked, trying to focus. “It’s… um… somewhere near…” I trailed off, frowning as the world tilted sideways. “I can’t remember.”

He sighed, a sound halfway between annoyance and pity. “You’re in no condition to go home.”

I tried to protest, but my words dissolved into a yawn. The alcohol had finally caught up with me everything felt heavy, soft, and slow.

He didn’t argue further. Instead, he led me toward a sleek car parked by the roadside. The door opened with a quiet click, and I slumped into the seat, my wet hair clinging to my face.

As the engine hummed to life, I mumbled something about Ethan forgiving me, about how I was going to fix everything in the morning. He didn’t reply. He just drove.

The city lights slipped past the window like streaks of gold and blue, fading into the night as my eyelids grew heavy.

When the car stopped, I stirred. We weren’t near my apartment. The street outside was quieter, lined with tall buildings and glowing signs. A hotel.

I blinked at him, confusion tugging at the edge of my drowsiness. “Where are we?”

“You need to rest,” he said simply.

The way he said it — steady, unyielding — made it impossible to argue.

He helped me out of the car and guided me through the glass doors. The lobby lights felt too bright, the marble floor too white. I caught our reflection in a mirror by the elevator — him tall and composed, me drenched and trembling beside him.

For a fleeting second, I thought I saw Ethan’s face in the reflection. But when I blinked again, it wasn't him

He opened the door, stepped aside, and let me enter first.

Warm air hit my skin, and I shivered. My clothes clung to me, damp and cold.

He followed, closing the door behind us. The quiet hum of the rain outside faded into the soft thud of my heartbeat.

“Here,” he said, handing me a towel from the counter. His voice was lower now, rougher around the edges.

I walked towards him and asked him to help me remove my clothes.

He just looked at me and placed his hands on my shoulders

His hand was warm against my cold skin, and for a second, I wasn’t sure if I wanted heat or forgiveness.

His hands then moved to my face

When he touched my face, I thought it was Ethan’s hand. I thought he’d forgiven me. I wanted to believe it so badly that I didn’t stop him.

“ I'm not the person you think I am,” he said softly, warning in his tone, but no distance in his gaze.

I shook my head, closing the last space between us. “Don’t say anything. Just… let me forget tonight.”

He didn’t move at first, and then slowly he did.

The rain outside became a whisper. His breath brushed my skin —steady, certain. Somewhere between heartbreak and surrender, I forgot where pain ended and warmth began

The room filled with the sound of rain against the window, the faint click of fabric, the heavy rhythm of breath.