Jane’s POV
“Shit. Shit. Shit—where’s my bra?”
The next day, I was crawling around Carter King’s marble floor, yanking on my dress with one hand and searching for my heels with the other. My head throbbed, my mouth tasted like regret and champagne, and my heart was pounding for reasons I didn’t want to admit.
“God, what the hell was I thinking?” I muttered, tugging my hair into something halfway decent. “Stupid. So damn stupid. Where’s my—ugh!—panties? For God’s sake.”
The place was way too clean and expensive to be normal. The sheets smelled like him—spice, leather, and danger—and I hated that a part of me wanted to crawl back under them.
I paused for a second, glancing at the massive bed.
He was still sleeping. One arm across the pillow where I’d been. Lips parted, hair a mess. Completely unaware.
Good. I didn’t want to do the awkward goodbye thing. Or worse, see disappointment in his eyes.
I slipped my shoes on, winced at how loud they sounded on the hardwood, and tiptoed toward the door like a thief.
Because that’s what this was, right?
A stolen night. A mistake.
Only…
I didn’t want it to be a mistake. I glanced once more at the man sleeping in the bed. For a second last night, I let myself feel wanted. Seen. Held.
And now I was walking away before it all crashed. I stepped out into the hallway of his building and exhaled.
Okay. Breathe. Walk like you own it.
Maybe—just maybe—one of those damn paparazzi I paid actually showed up last night. Maybe there’s a photo of us dancing or entering the club, or even better, of me leaving this place at sunrise.
If that got to my father’s inbox?
Perfect.
But as I stepped outside into the cool morning air, all I saw was an empty street. A couple walking a dog. A delivery guy on a bike.
No flashes. No cameras. No proof.
“Of course,” I muttered. “Can’t even pull off a scandal right.”
I pulled my coat tighter around me, suddenly cold. My heart still beat too fast.
And not just from the walk of shame.
Because part of me?
Wished he had woken up. Wished he’d said something. Wished I could stay.
Carter’s POV
She was gone.
The moment I rolled over and touched cold sheets, I knew.
At first, I thought maybe she was in the bathroom. Or getting water. But five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty.
No footsteps. No soft laugh. No voice saying my name. Just silence. And the ghost of her lips still on mine.
I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and looked around. Her red dress was gone. So were her shoes.
So was she.
I ran a hand through my hair and let out a slow breath.
“Damn.”
I was pissed—and not because she left.
No.
Because I didn’t get the chance to stop her.
I’m not used to waking up alone. I’m the one who leaves. Who slips out before the sun rises. Who ghosts before they can ask for more.
That’s just how I was raised.
Want something? Take it.
Don’t like it? Drop it.
Since I was a kid, I always got what I wanted. Toys, money, power, women.
My dad made sure of it.
“Kings don’t chase,” he used to say. “We command.”
But now? I was chasing. Because the girl from last night didn’t just get under my skin. She cracked it wide open.
The way she laughed. The way she challenged me. The way she looked at me like I wasn’t Carter King, billionaire son of Elijah King, but just… a man. Real. Tangible.
I remembered how she moaned my name like it meant something.
I remembered the way her fingers tangled in my hair and how her breath caught when I kissed the soft spot under her jaw.
She felt like fire. And she left like smoke. No name. No note. No trace. Just the scent of vanilla on my pillow.
Who was she?