Chapter Eight
Stella
Plenty of time to spare before checkout. But in spite of the opulence, I can’t find it in myself to linger. The plush carpet muffles my unsteady steps toward the elevator, last night’s vodka still clouding my thoughts.
“Good morning, Miss,” The receptionist’s professional smile makes me wonder if she can read the shame written across my face. “I hope you enjoyed your stay.”
I manage a weak nod, sliding the keycard across the polished desk. The sooner I’m out of here, the better.
Outside, the bright Los Angeles sun assaults my eyes. I dig through my purse for sunglasses, finding instead the crumpled note he left. My chest tightens as fragments of the night flash through my mind — his hands in my hair, the taste of expensive vodka on his lips, the way he-
No.
Stop it.
I force myself to open the Uber app, my trembling fingers making three attempts before I successfully type in my address. The screen shows a five-minute wait.
“Get it together,” I whisper, leaning against the cool stone of the hotel’s exterior wall. But my body remembers everything my mind wants to forget — the heat of his skin, the weight of him above me, the perfect rhythm we found together.
A black Toyota pulls up. “Stella?”
“Yes.” My voice comes out hoarse. Probably from all the screaming and moaning I’d done last night.
Cut it out, girl!
I slide into the backseat, the leather cool against my bare legs. The driver starts chatting about the weather, but his words wash over me like static.
I press my forehead against the window, watching the familiar streets of Los Angeles blur past. Each block brings me closer to my normal life, to the reality I tried to escape last night. The mounting pressure in my chest grows heavier as we approach my neighborhood.
When my building comes into view, its familiar red brick facade hits me in a crushing reality check. Gianni and that woman, my shattered engagement. And now this… this reckless night with a stranger whose name I never even learned.
God, what was I thinking?
Boyana’s voice pipes up. “You were thinking it was the best sex of your life, that’s what.”
I push open our apartment door, breathing in the familiar scent of Hannah’s coffee and whatever she’s baking. Thank God I kept my name on the lease instead of moving in with Gianni like he wanted. The thought of being homeless on top of everything else…
My evening clutch lands with a soft thud on the granite counter. Inside, the hotel keycard still sits next to my lipstick — evidence of my impulsive night.
“Is that you, Stell?” my best friend’s voice drifts from the kitchen, accompanied by the warm aroma of cinnamon. “I’m testing a new muffin recipe. Perfect timing for breakfast.”
My stomach churns at the mention of food. I’m not sure I can handle Hannah’s well-meaning interrogation right now. But the comfort of her presence, of this safe space we’ve created together, washes over me like a warm blanket.
“Hey, roomie. Where have you been?” Hannah pokes her head around the corner, flour dusting her bright red curls. Her eyes narrow as she takes in my wrinkled blouse and smudged makeup. “Wait. Are you just getting home? In last night’s clothes?”
I sink into our ancient leather couch, the familiar creak of springs offering little comfort. Hannah abandons her baking, wiping flour-covered hands on her apron as she settles beside me. She doesn’t need to say anything for me to know that I’m about to be interrogated.
Geez, where do I even begin?
“Gianni has another girlfriend.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “I spoke to her yesterday at the charity event last night.”
Hannah’s green eyes go wide. “What… that absolute piece of—”
“It gets worse.” I pull my knees to my chest, making myself smaller. “She knew about me. About everything. Our engagement, the house we were looking at. She just… didn’t care. Said I needed to back off and let them be happy.”
“Back off?” Hannah’s voice rises sharply. “You’re his fiancée!”
“Was.” I twist the now-empty ring finger.
Hannah stares at me for a moment. “Wow, Stell. This is… I mean… this sucks ass!”
I silently nod. She’s not wrong.
“Maybe you should think about this practically,” Hannah says, her voice gentle. “I mean, you’re entitled to half of everything as his fiancée. The house deposit, joint accounts—”
“No.” I spring up from the couch, my hands clenching into fists. “I don’t want his money. I don’t want anything from him.”
“But Stell—”
“No.” Heat rises in my chest, anger finally breaking through the numbness.
“Every penny would remind me of his lies. Of how he played me for a fool while building a life with someone else. While I was picking out china patterns and planning our future, he was—” My voice cracks. “He was laughing at me behind my back.”
“He wasn’t laughing—”
“Of course he was!” The words explode out of me. “Poor, naive Stella. So eager to believe in love, in happily ever after. God, I was such an idiot.” I stop, choking back tears. “I trusted him with everything.”
Hannah stands, reaching for me, but I wave her off. “I’d rather live in a cardboard box than touch one cent of his blood money. Let his other girlfriend have it all.”
“Okay, okay.” Hannah’s lips curve into a mischievous smile. “But what if instead of money, we focus on revenge? I’m thinking glitter bombs in his expensive suits. Or maybe we sign him up for every embarrassing mail-order catalogue in existence?”
The absurdity of it breaks through my rage. A small laugh escapes before I can stop it.
“There’s my girl.” Hannah bumps my shoulder. “I’ve got more ideas. How do you feel about industrial strength laxatives?” When I give a snort of laughter, she goes on, “Or wait… I heard about this woman who put sardines in the air conditioning unit of her ex’s BMW. The car was ruined! Maybe—”
“I slept with someone else last night.” The confession bursts out before I can stop it. Hannah’s mouth drops open, her tirade against Gianni forgotten.
“You what?”
“I… met someone. At the charity event.” My fingers twist in my lap as Hannah’s eyes widen. “After everything with Gianni, I was crying in a corner and he just appeared. Like some dark guardian angel with perfect manners and an expensive suit.”
Hannah scoots closer on the couch, her half-finished muffins completely forgotten. “Go on.”
“He took me to dinner. This incredibly fancy Russian restaurant.” Heat creeps up my neck at the memory. “The kind where they don’t even show prices on the menu.”
“Russian?” Hannah’s eyebrows shoot up. “Like, actually Russian or just the restaurant?”
“Both. His accent…” I close my eyes, remembering the way his voice rolled over certain words. “God, Han. The way he spoke, how he moved. Everything about him was just… intense.”
Hannah pulls her legs under her, settling in like we’re teenagers at a sleepover. “Details. I need all of them. What did he look like?”
“Tall. Dark hair.” My cheeks flush remembering how that hair felt against my bare skin. “Eyes that seemed to see right through me. And his hands…” I trail off, watching Hannah’s expression shift from curiosity to delighted scandal.
“Stella Fermont!” She grabs my arm. “You actually did it? A one-night stand with a mysterious Russian stranger?”
I bury my face in my hands, but can’t hide my smile. “I don’t even know his name.”
“Wait.” Hannah sits up straighter. “You slept with him without knowing his name?”
“It didn’t seem to matter. He had this… presence.” I sink deeper into the couch, the memories washing over me. “The kind that fills a room. When he walked up to me, everything else just faded away.”
“Even the Gianni drama?” Hannah prompts.
“Completely.” My fingers trace the arm of the couch. “He didn’t try to fix things or give advice. Just listened, ordered champagne, and somehow made me laugh. The way he looked at me…” Heat spreads across my chest remembering his intense gaze. “Like I was the only person in the world.”
“And the chemistry?”
“Electric.” The word comes out breathy. “Every time our hands brushed, or his knee touched mine under the table… God, Han, I’ve never felt anything like it. The air between us was practically sizzling.”
“Better than Gianni?”
“Different universe entirely.” I bite my lip, remembering. “He knew exactly what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it. But also… gentle? Considerate? The perfect balance of control and tenderness.”
I sound like a gushing schoolgirl, but I can’t help myself.
Hannah fans herself dramatically. “Stop, you’re making me jealous! Some of us haven’t had mind-blowing sex with mysterious Russian strangers lately.”
I throw a pillow at her head. “Trust me, if you’d seen him… those shoulders, the way his suit fit…” I trail off, laughing as Hannah pretends to swoon onto the couch.
“Not fair!” She pouts playfully. “You get all the hot Russians while I’m stuck with dating apps full of guys who still live with their mothers.”
“The way he ordered dinner,” I sigh, curling deeper into the couch cushions. “Perfect Russian, not even glancing at the menu. Like money wasn’t even a consideration.”
Hannah nods eagerly. “You said it was Russian. Which one was it?”
“Petroushka. That new place downtown everyone’s been raving about.”
“Shut up!” Hannah’s eyes go wide. “That place is impossible to get into. My boss tried for weeks to book a table for a client meeting.”
“He just walked in and…” I wave my hand, remembering how the ma?tre d’ practically bowed. “The staff knew him. Or knew of him, at least.”
“Did you see his watch?” Hannah leans forward, her investigative instincts kicking in. “Car? Any designer labels?”
“Bespoke suit. It was made for him… had to have been.” I close my eyes, picturing the perfect fit across his shoulders. “Patek Philippe watch. But not flashy, you know? Like he wasn’t trying to show off. It was just… natural.”
“Girl.” Hannah shakes her head. “You found yourself a real-life Russian oligarch.”