Chapter 6
Six
Astrid
Time slowed to a crawl. It took everything in me not to fall asleep myself, my eyes so heavy that all I could think about was caving in to the wave trying to pull me under. With strong arms around me, I felt so warm and safe that the most natural thing in the world would be to drift off.
The only thing that kept me awake was the thought of finding out mystery man's real identity. I needed to stick to the plan. I had to.
I also couldn't help thinking that if I did happen to fall asleep, it'd be a very awkward awakening in the morning. Maybe I was brain-dead, but I couldn't work out any type of scenario where it wouldn't just be weird.
What if he woke up and in the bright light of the morning looked at me and regretted everything? What if I did the same?
No. It was much better to tiptoe out of here and preserve the memory of this perfect and magical night. And then, I'd execute my plan.
After what felt like hours, he finally moved his arm and legs, unraveling them from my limbs, although he kept his body close behind me. Not daring to breathe, I moved forward a fraction of an inch, then paused, waiting to see if he'd stir.
He didn't.
So I did the same thing, centimeter by centimeter edging myself off the bed. If he woke up, I'd just say I was using the bathroom or something. He'd have no reason not to believe me. But—and this was a huge but—I'd lose my opportunity to sneak a peek at his ID.
After yet another eternity went by, I finally made it off the mattress, both feet firmly planted on the floor. My legs wobbled beneath me—not from the late hour but from the insane mix of anticipation and dread clawing up my spine.
Adrenaline spiked through me because here was the risky part.
What if he woke up right as I was rifling through his pants? What could I possibly say to diffuse that terrifying situation?
I had nothing.
However, my motivation was so strong that all this fear couldn't stop me. I needed to know.
Shuffling my bare feet along the carpet, I ever so slowly moved toward the foot of the bed where I saw a shadowy mound on the floor. That had to be it.
I'd already spotted my dress draped over a chair, along with his suit jacket.
Right next to his pants were my shoes. That was convenient for after... if I didn't get caught.
I swallowed against the dryness parching my throat. This was insane. Absolutely insane. But I couldn't stop myself. I needed to see this through.
My poor heart pounded against my ribcage, so loud I wondered if he could hear it. I stole another glance at the bed, and he was still out.
As quietly as I could, I took a shaky breath and leaned down to reach for the pants, willing my fingers to work in silence. I felt my way from the front to the back, reaching into a rear pocket where I hit the jackpot.
Another surge of nerves shot through me as my greedy little hand clasped his wallet.
Oh, God. This was it.
Holy shit. I was about to find out who this man really was.
All that time I'd been waiting for him to shift his body from mine, I'd done a mental roster of every single man in this city that I could think of, comparing features, voice, mannerisms, and I'd come up blank.
Even though there'd been that slight thread of familiarity, I still couldn't place him, and it was driving me up the wall.
Slowly removing his wallet—a sleek, leather Tom Ford that spoke of money and privilege—I thought I might have a heart attack as I brought it up closer to my face and opened it.
As per most men's wallets, there was a clear window slot made specifically for a driver's license, and his was right where it was supposed to be.
The only problem was I couldn't quite make out the words or the photo.
I angled it toward the window, the only source of light, angling my head a bit as well to see it better.
Aha, success!
My eyes soaked in the picture first, and sure enough, the man looked familiar. Too familiar. My pulse slowed, and my stomach clenched, uneasy, like my body already knew before my brain had caught on.
But I still couldn't place him. The name would surely help.
I shifted my focus to the words, squinting to read them, cursing this darkness. And then, all of a sudden, the letters took shape, and I nearly fell to the ground in shock.
Tristan Hawthorne. Tristan Hawthorne.
No. No. NO.
Ice shot through my veins, freezing me in place. My fingers went numb, and the wallet nearly slipped from my grasp.
I read the words again, this time clear as day.
Tristan. Fucking. Hawthorne.
Oh, my God. This couldn't be real. It just couldn't be.
I was going to vomit.
I'd slept with Tristan Hawthorne? Tristan Hawthorne. The guy who'd made my life a living hell in high school, the one who'd tortured me with the cruelest experience of my life, that still haunted me to this day.
Of all the people in the entire universe, I'd had sex with him?
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 with him?
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.
How had I let this happen?
Squeezing my eyes shut, I pressed my fingertips to my temples. I had to stop this spiral. I had to breathe. I had to think.
Tristan Hawthorne wouldn't ruin me again. I refused to let that happen.
By the time the car dropped me off, I had only come up with one single idea and that was to call my sisters. Tomorrow—well, in a few hours actually—I'd spill all to them, and hopefully, they could help me get over this disaster of a night.
Because I was completely empty. And ready to hide out in my apartment for the rest of my life.