Chapter 7: Lingering Shadows
King Albanian's POV
He stopped mid-stride.
Wayne paused beside him, confused as King abruptly turned and marched back into the hotel suite.
"Sir?"
King said nothing. The door closed behind them, sealing off the noise of the outside world. He took one slow step forward, his sharp eyes scanning every inch of the room—where the sheets were still rumpled from her body, where the faintest curl of long hair clung to the pillow, where the air still carried that soft, warm, intoxicating scent.
It was like sunlight and spice... and something deeper. Something haunting.
King inhaled slowly, deeply, closing his eyes.
And there it was.
His chest swelled with that same strange warmth he'd felt last night. The dull ache in his joints eased. The ever-present fog behind his eyes lifted just a little. His pulse steadied. His mind cleared.
It wasn't a dream.
It was her.
Wayne stood stiffly by the door, watching him as if he'd gone mad. "Sir…?"
"This suite," King said, not opening his eyes, "no one else is to use it."
Wayne blinked. "You want to—permanently book it?"
King turned to face him, his gaze sharp, resolute. "Yes. No cleaning staff, no changes. This place stays exactly as it is."
"Sir, if I may… why?"
King stepped toward the window, staring at the morning light streaming in. "Because this place… brings me peace."
Wayne opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again. Something about the way King stood there—calmer, surer—made him obey without question.
King ran a hand through his hair. I will find her.
But even as he stood in the fading trail of her scent, something inside him whispered: You're already too late.
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Valerie's POV
The world tilted sideways as she opened her eyes.
A dull ache pulsed behind her forehead like a war drum. The early sunlight poured down on her face, blinding and merciless.
She blinked.
Where was she?
Her arm dangled over the wrought iron balcony rail, her legs curled under her like a cat that had fallen asleep in the sun. The city below bustled, uncaring.
It hit her slowly—last night. The drinks. The room. The man.
Her breath caught.
She sat up sharply, hand flying to her head. "Oh God…"
She hadn't meant to stay out this long. She'd only meant to disappear, just for the night. To forget everything. To feel something that belonged to her.
Her phone buzzed on the small café table beside her, vibrating against the empty glass of whiskey.
She glanced at the screen.
14 missed calls.
3 voicemails.
All from her stepmother.
Valerie stared at the phone for a long moment before picking it up and tossing it onto the couch behind her.
They'd be furious.
Good.
She rose, steadying herself with one hand on the railing. She still wore the oversized white shirt she'd thrown on in her haze—a man's shirt. His. The bracelet dangled loosely around her wrist like a forgotten promise.
She didn't even know his name.
Doesn't matter. she thought. I was never meant to be found.
She walked back into the room—a shadow of elegance, calm and capable. Her second phone, the private one, was already switched on. With a few silent taps, she erased her check-in under her friend's name. She deleted surveillance, shut down digital footprints, and closed accounts no one ever knew existed.
By the time she was done, it was as if she had never been there.
And that man... whoever he was...
He would never find her.
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