Chapter 2

Lyra’s POV

I stepped back a fraction, my eyes drifting from the polished tips of his shoes up toward his torso, trying to figure out exactly whom I’d collided with. All I could see at first was the broad expanse of his chest, taut beneath a crisp dress shirt. I hesitated, heart pounding, then drew myself farther away and tilted my head upward until his face came into view. My breath caught. Those gray eyes—so cool, so inscrutable—met mine. They were the most compelling eyes I’d ever encountered: glacial yet strangely magnetic. In their careless, emotionless glare was a hint of danger, but I was too raw and wounded to heed any inner alarm bells.

My heart still throbbed with pain. Only hours earlier, I’d walked out of Julian’s hotel room, stunned by what I’d found: him entwined with another woman, performing all the intimate acts I’d planned to share with him on my very first time. I’d labored for days over romantic surprises, gifts, the perfect ambiance—only to be repaid with betrayal. I loved Julian. He was the first man I’d ever been with, and I’d been prepared to do anything for him. In the aftermath of such a discovery, my chest ached, tears pricking the corners of my eyes again as I replayed the ruined scene in my mind.

But I refused to break down here, in front of a stranger. I wiped my cheeks, forcing a smile that tasted bitter in my mouth. When I looked back at him, he was still standing there, that pale, unreadable expression gliding across his stony features. Yet he was undeniably handsome—like one of those aloof romantic leads you’d see on a novel’s cover, sophisticated and untouchable. An impulsive idea flared to life in my head: what if I offered my first time to this man instead? A one-night stand is a sweet, savage retribution for Julian’s cheating. He looked more refined than Julian ever had—taller, stronger, cloaked in a confidence I so desperately wanted. I could apply all those tips I’d scavenged online. Surely I could turn the tables, console my wounded pride, and then vanish from his life forever.

I paused, weighing the recklessness of it. I knew it wasn’t decent. But the sting in my chest urged me onward. Besides, I already had a plan to escape this city afterward: my cousin Sophie in Italy had been begging me to visit, to start fresh. There wasn’t a time like the present.

“Okay,” I told myself. “What’s the worst that could happen now?”

The stranger’s gray eyes fixed on me again, cold as a winter dawn. If this had occurred on any other day, I’d have turned and fled. But my heart was already in pieces. What could be more painful than tonight had been? With a sudden surge of reckless courage, I took a few steps forward until his commanding masculine scent filled my nostrils—an intoxicating blend of expensive cologne and something warm, almost primal. For a moment, I forgot Julian entirely.

My hands trembled as I let them wander from the firm plane of his stomach up to his broad chest. It felt like pressing against carved marble. My pulse galloped in my ears.

“Hi, handsome,” I whispered, striving for confidence, for a sultry tone that I didn’t entirely own. My voice wobbled, and I mentally chastised myself. This wasn’t me—this game of seduction—but I was determined to see it through.

His expression shifted imperceptibly. The faint lift of an eyebrow—was that surprise? Encouraged, I circled my middle finger around the right side of his chest, feeling the rigidity of his pectoral muscle beneath the fabric.

“You’re hot,” I continued, keeping my eyes locked on his cold gray ones. I kept speaking, rotating my finger and experimenting with the flirtatious lines I’d learned from countless articles and chatroom threads. He didn’t blink. A statue would have betrayed more emotion.

I pressed on, dropping each rehearsed compliment and come-on in turn, but his face remained sculpted in stone. I swallowed, genuine embarrassment blooming in my cheeks. I knew this was one of the things I’d feared: that I had no real sex appeal, that even my best lines would crumble under scrutiny.

Deflated, I finally drew back. My shoulders slumped. I was ready to retreat—to wrap my arms around myself and head back to my lonely apartment, where I’d cry until dawn. I took a small step toward the exit of the hallway when, suddenly, I heard his voice for the first time.

“If you want sex, you book a room, not a general hallway.”

I froze. His tone was mocking, yet deep and raspy, loaded with an authority that actually made my stomach twist in a strange, pleasant way. My face flamed with embarrassment. I opened my mouth to reply, but before any words could form, he reached out and gripped my wrist, his hand surprisingly warm and firm. He didn’t speak; he simply yanked me toward the nearest elevator.

My breathing hitched. An unfamiliar thrill flickered in my gut. My logical mind screamed that I was about to make a disastrous mistake, that any man could unleash all sorts of horrors behind a closed door. But oddly, I wasn’t afraid. Something about this man felt... strangely safe—like surrendering to the pull of a tide I couldn’t resist.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft metallic chime. He stepped in first, hauling me along behind him. We rode in silence, the suddenly cramped space intensifying the scent of him and the tension between us. When the doors opened again, he led me down a short, dimly lit corridor. Plush carpeting muffled our footsteps. At the end of the hall stood a sleek, keyless door. He paused, glanced down at a small keypad, and entered a code. The lock clicked. He shoved the door open and pulled me inside, then closed it firmly behind us.

My heart thundered in my chest. The sudden darkness behind the door cut me off from the world. I leaned forward to take in the room, but before I could swivel my head, his voice came from directly behind me, low and businesslike.

“You can continue already.”

I turned on my heel—and froze. He was shirtless now, standing casually in the center of the suite. The light from the window spilled over him, revealing olive-toned skin stretched over rippling abs and a chiseled torso that looked sculpted from granite. My breath caught, and for a moment, all my carefully constructed defiance melted away. He looked like art come to life.

He stepped over to a plush leather couch and sank onto it, legs spread slightly, as if claiming his territory. His eyes found mine, still that same unemotional gray, but something in them hinted at anticipation. He leaned back, propping one arm along the backrest, and said casually, “I like sex on the couch.”

My entire body hummed with electrified desperation. Here I was, standing in his luxurious hotel suite, confronted by a man who could have been a Greek god in human form. He’d invited me in, given no hint of vulnerability, yet there I was—ready to take my revenge on Julian in a way I never could have imagined.

And so, with a shaky breath and a racing heart, I took another step toward him, bracing myself for what came next. I wasn’t sure how far boldness alone would carry me, but tonight, nothing else mattered.