Chapter 4: A Stranger's Name, A King's Room
The hallway seemed longer than it should have been.
Valerie pressed the keycard to the door for the third time before it finally clicked open.
Room 1907.
She whispered the number like a spell as the door shut behind her. The suite was warm, quiet, luxurious. Too luxurious.
But she didn't notice.
She didn't notice the subtle difference in layout from the last time she saw it. Didn't notice the suitcase by the wall that wasn't hers. Didn't see the watch laid gently on the marble nightstand—an exclusive, limited-edition Albanian design.
All she wanted was to breathe. To stop running.
She stepped out of her heels and padded across the floor, eyes scanning the dim suite. The bar in the corner called to her, but she ignored it. Her stomach was already twisted in knots.
She needed silence. Not more fog.
Valerie moved toward the window, the city lights stretching beneath her like a galaxy turned upside down. She stood there for a moment, her thoughts drifting.
This was supposed to be a night of liberation. Of choice.
Instead, she felt more alone than ever.
A low sound pulled her from her thoughts.
Water.
The shower.
Her heart stuttered.
Her spine stiffened as she turned slowly toward the sound coming from behind the half-open bathroom door.
Someone was in the room.
Panic shot through her veins. Had the hotel messed up her booking? Had she—
The bathroom light flared on. Steam poured out into the suite.
And then—he stepped out.
Tall. Wet. Bare from the waist up, towel slung low on his hips. His chest glistened under the golden light, lean and strong, carved like a god from tragedy. Water dripped from his hair onto his shoulders. His eyes caught hers instantly—intense, startled, unreadable.
Valerie froze.
So did he.
Neither spoke.
The air between them was molten.
He stepped forward, slowly. Cautiously.
She didn't move. Couldn't.
This was the man from the bar.
The man she'd looked at.
The man she'd almost chosen.
And now—here he was. In the wrong room. Or was she in his?
Valerie's breath caught.
She should run. Apologize. Explain.
But the words wouldn't come.
Instead, she whispered, "I thought… this was my room."
He said nothing for a long beat. His voice, when it came, was low and rough.
"Are you afraid?"
She blinked. "Should I be?"
He didn't smile. But something flickered in his gaze. "No."
Silence.
The kind that hangs between two people who shouldn't be here, in this moment, in this way.
But they were.
"You're drunk," he said softly.
Valerie nodded. "A little."
He stepped closer. "What are you doing here?"
She could have said anything.
Instead, she said the truth.
"I didn't want to be someone they sold. I wanted to choose. But then I couldn't do it. So I came here. To sleep. To forget."
Another pause. Another inhale.
"But you chose me," he said, voice dark, shaken.
Valerie lifted her chin, her eyes locking with his.
"Yes."
King's heart thundered. He hadn't felt this alive in years.
And for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel broken.