John's POV
There are things you forget. And then there are things that stay with you—etched in your memory like scars you didn't know you had. That night was the latter.
I sat in my office, floor-to-ceiling glass walls casting long shadows across the polished floors as the Los Angeles skyline bathed in the final hues of sunset. Everything about my surroundings whispered power—my penthouse office, the heavy leather chairs only the bold dared to sit in, the constant rhythm of Titans Weaponry pulsing beneath my command. Billion-dollar deals. Global influence. Political strings pulled in silence.
And yet, all I could think about was her.
That girl.
It had been weeks since that night. A night I wasn't supposed to remember—but couldn't stop reliving.
She was a stranger.
But something about her—those sorrowful eyes, the fragile way she held herself, the ghost of grief wrapped around her like perfume—stayed with me.
I didn't catch her name. She never asked for mine. We shared a hotel room and silence, both seeking something neither of us could voice.
I remembered how she stood in front of the mirror like it had betrayed her. How she curled into me, trembling, soft and quiet. She cried, though she tried not to. And I held her like I understood.
I didn't ask questions. I should've. But I didn't.
Instead, I left money on the bedside table and scribbled a note on the hotel pad: You looked like you needed a break. No strings. Take care of yourself.
At the time, I thought it was considerate. Now it felt pathetic. Arrogant, even. Like I'd thrown cash at a wound and walked away. She probably hated me.
I leaned back in my chair, fingers dragging through my hair, the memory sitting like a weight on my chest.
I didn't even know her name.
But I remembered everything else.
The way her voice cracked when she laughed at nothing. How she kept touching her wrist like a nervous habit. The way she hesitated before kissing me, like she was asking herself if it was okay to forget—just for a night.
And the morning after...
The way she excused herself to the bathroom. The way her hand kept brushing her lower stomach.
God. I should've asked.
A knock came on the glass door. My assistant, Darcie, peeked in.
"Sir, the DARPA officials are running late. Something about a pile-up on the 405."
I nodded without turning. "Tell them to reschedule if they can't make it by nine."
She nodded and disappeared.
I should've been thinking about missile tech. Defense contracts. Investor meetings. But all I could think about was her. That night. Her silence. Her sadness. Her scent still haunted the sleeves of the coat I wore.
I'd gone back to the hotel two days later. Bribed the staff. Checked footage. She never checked in under any name. No ID match. Nothing.
It was like she vanished into thin air.
The only clue she left behind was a chipped pendant I found tucked into the sheets—a heart-shaped charm, worn with age, the name Belle faintly engraved on the back.
Belle.
Was it her name? Or someone she loved?
I didn't know. But it became an obsession.
I even hired a private investigator. Top-tier. Discreet. But they came up with nothing. No Belle who matched her face, her height, her build. No trace.
Until today.
My phone buzzed. A news alert from a gossip site I usually ignored. But the headline made my stomach twist:
Runaway Bride Caught Clubbing in L.A. – Shocking Twist in Billionaire Daniel Cross's Canceled Wedding
My chest tightened.
I clicked it, expecting a generic scandal. But then—
It was her.
The grainy photo taken outside a nightclub showed her laughing, head thrown back, eyes glittering under the streetlights. The same eyes I couldn't forget.
The same girl who'd cried in my arms.
My hands gripped the phone tighter.
The article didn't name her directly. It referenced her as Daniel Cross's mystery bride who disappeared before the wedding. Apparently, she'd gone completely off the grid after running out on one of New York's most high-profile nuptials. No phone. No address. She'd shown up in L.A. weeks later, spotted at a nightclub—then vanished again.
I stared at the photo, my heart pounding.
Daniel Cross.
Of all people.
My business rival. The smug bastard who spent his days trying to outmaneuver me in contracts and PR. And she was supposed to marry him?
I laughed bitterly. Of course. The universe had jokes.
I didn't need to read the rest of the article to know. That night at the hotel—she'd mentioned betrayal. A man. Her voice had cracked when she said it. She was trying to run from something. From someone.
And I... I just thought she was another lost soul in the city.
I stood abruptly, the chair scraping behind me. My reflection stared back at me from the glass wall—sharp suit, tighter jaw, eyes heavier than usual.
So she had been running.
From a wedding. From Daniel.
The pendant hadn't lied. Belle—it had to be a nickname. A name she held close. Maybe too close to use openly.
And I… I'd slept with her. I'd held her when she broke. I'd left money on the table and vanished like a coward. And she had no idea who I was either.
But I knew now.
I knew who she was.
And I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do with that.
I stared down at the article again. Her face. Her eyes. The memory of her soft breathing against my chest.
She was Daniel's runaway bride.
And now, I was obsessed with her.
"Belle," I whispered, the name foreign and familiar all at once.
What if she was still running?
What if she was changing everything to disappear for good?
She hadn't shown up again since that photo. The article said she was untraceable. No confirmed sightings. No modeling gigs. No job listings. It was like she'd dropped off the map again.
Because she wanted to be invisible.
And I was the only one who'd seen her—really seen her—at her most broken.
I needed to find her.
Not because I wanted to win something from Daniel.
Not because I thought she owed me closure.
But because I needed her to know that she wasn't just a night to me.
She mattered.
Even if it was just one night in a hotel room. Even if I never saw her again. I needed her to know that someone remembered her. That someone cared enough to look.
And maybe—just maybe—I needed her to remember me too.
I grabbed my coat and the pendant, slipping both into my hand like armor.
Because this? This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
Not when fate dropped Daniel's