Jason
She was gone.
Jason sat up in bed slowly, the satin sheets sliding off his bare chest. The faint scent of jasmine still clung to the pillow beside him — hers. Soft, floral, intoxicating.
But the space where her body had curled into his hours ago was cold now. Empty.
He stared at it like it would give him answers.
No note. No number. No trace. Nothing at all.
The same woman who had unraveled in his arms like a wildfire had disappeared without a single damn word.
He dragged a hand down his face, trying to shake the strange weight pressing into his chest. One night. That was the unspoken rule. He'd had plenty of one-night stands before, quick, physical, forgettable.
But her?
He couldn't forget her even if he tried. He wasn't afraid to admit it.
The way she had moaned his name like a secret. The defiant spark in her eyes when he told her to follow him. The way she trembled, not out of fear, but surrender.
She'd been more than a warm body.
She'd been… something else. Something special.
And now she is gone.
Jason swung his legs out of bed and stood, walking over to the window, completely naked, the night air brushing against his skin. The city stretched out beneath him, glittering with its usual chaos, but all he saw was her.
The woman with the soft lips and the wild heart.
His hands clenched into fists.
She had run from him. That had never happened before.
People clung. They begged. They hoped.
But she walked away, like it hadn't meant a thing. 'It wasn't supposed to mean anything' a tiny voice whispered in his head.
He let out a breath, sharp and heavy.
Then something flickered inside him — not rage. Not pride. Something deeper. Curiosity. Obsession. Maybe even need.
Who the hell was she?
Why did she vanish?
And why the hell did it feel like a part of him had gone with her?
Jason reached for his phone on the nightstand and pulled up the event guest list from the gala. He stared at the names, scrolling slowly.
She had to be on it.
He didn't know her name. Didn't know her story. But he remembered every inch of her. And he meant it.
And he would find her. Soon. Very soon.
Jason
The city hummed outside his glass tower, but inside Jason Smith's office, everything was still — except his mind.
He leaned back in his leather chair, blazer off, tie loosened, a finger idly circling the rim of his whiskey glass. The same report had been open on his laptop for an hour, and he hadn't read past the second paragraph.
His thoughts kept drifting.
To her. Only her.
He didn't even know her name.
The woman who'd set fire to his sheets… then vanished like smoke. He still found it hard to believe. She didn't even take or ask for money.
He'd woken up to cold linen and silence. No lipstick-stained note. No shoes left behind. Just the imprint of her scent and the ghost of her touch.
That should've been the end of it. That's how it always went.
But it wasn't.
He'd pulled guest lists, checked security footage, even had his assistant casually reach out to the gala organizers for "attendance records." Nothing.
No lead. No sign. Like she wasn't even real.
He was Jason Smith. Billionaire, strategist, CEO. He didn't chase. He never chased.
So why the hell did it feel like she still had her hands wrapped around his thoughts?
He downed the whiskey in one gulp and stood, walking to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city.
Something about her haunted him. The way she looked at him like she wasn't impressed, wasn't intimidated. The way she moaned and held on like she was falling and maybe she had been. Just not for him.
Jason exhaled through his nose, fingers flexing against the glass. He didn't even know what he'd do if he found her. But not knowing was worse.
He hated unfinished things.
And she felt unfinished.
Catherine
Somewhere across the city, Catherine stood in front of her bathroom mirror, towel wrapped tightly around her body, steam curling around her cheeks,wrapped in a robe, hair still damp from the shower. Her eyes were tired. Not from sleep she hadn't gotten much but from thinking. Yes, she was still thinking about that night.
She wiped the glass and stared at her reflection like it belonged to someone else. Unsure of how to get over it.
Her lips were still slightly swollen. Her thighs still ached in places she didn't want to think about.
She'd done what she always did. She ran.
No goodbyes. No names. No promises.
Because promises were dangerous.
Because she knew what would happen if she let herself stay.
But she could still feel him.
Not just on her body, but in her. In the way her breath caught when she closed her eyes. In the deep, aching pull in her belly whenever her thoughts betrayed her.
She had left before the sun rose, heart pounding, heels in hand, like some cliché in a drama she swore she'd never star in.
She told herself it was just sex.
Just one night. Nothing more.
But that was a lie she was trying way too hard to believe.
A sharp knock at her front door pulled her out of her trance.
She flinched. Heart jumping.
She wasn't expecting anyone.
Not Rina. Not the delivery guy. And certainly not…..No. Don't even think about it.
Catherine swallowed hard, hand hovering near her chest, suddenly unsure if she wanted it to be him… or if she was terrified that it was. Her hand paused over her chest, fingers tightening around the edge of her robe. She walked to the door slowly, barefoot, uncertain. Another knock th
ree times. Calm. Measured.
Her breath caught.
She reached for the doorknob—then froze.
And just like that, the silence pressed