Valerie Sinclair stared at the blank cheque and the black name card beside it with numbness.
An image of the man sucking up her breast while her moans encouraged him entered her mind. Her face reddened in embarrassment.
She thought she had spent the night with Marco Sullivan, her first love, the man she had promised to marry. That thought was what made her sit up, only for the sheets to slip off her naked body.
Then reality settled in like a slap on her face.
The wide suite was far too luxurious to belong to her or him, silent in the way only expensive places were. Her body ached, heavy and sore, and when her eyes dropped to the bed, the red stain on the sheets erased every lingering doubt.
Her breath caught painfully in her chest.
"No… no…"
Tears welled as resentment surged through her. The cheque felt heavy in her hands, and the name card beneath it was worse.
Azrael Hawthorne.
That name alone carried weight. His family stood at the very top of the elite world, untouchable and dangerous. People did not oppose the Hawthornes; they kissed the grounds they walked on. Contracts, courts, reputations—none of it mattered where they were concerned.
And he had taken her first time and left money behind. As if that was all she was worth. As if she were some prostitute!
Her phone rang somewhere from the bed, she picked it up only to drop it horror. Her drunk photos, photos of her in some lanky blurred-face stranger's arm and entering a luxury suite alone were shared all over the university's forum.
Fresh tears fell as humiliation burned through her as the door suddenly opened.
"Oh—sorry. I thought the room was empty—"
The older room service attendant stopped short at the sight of the beautiful naked young woman, the ruined bed, and the cheque clenched in Valerie's shaking hand.
"Oh dear," the woman murmured, rushing forward.
Valerie panicked and tore the cheque and reached for the card, her movements frantic, like tearing them could erase yesterday night.
The woman quickly wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, taking the card from her clenched hands. "No, no, sweetheart. You'll need that," she said gently. "Calm down."
The older woman had seen scenes like this many times before, but never a girl who looked so young and so naive, this heartbroken. Seeing the blood on the sheets and the way Valerie struggled to stand, pity filled her expression.
Assuming the girl was a young new escort who had come to regret her choices, she pulled Valerie into a comforting embrace.
"It's all right, you will be just fine." she murmured. "What's done is done."
She quietly gathered the card, the torn pieces of the cheque and slipped them into her purse, helping Valerie steady herself. The marks on the girl's body made her avert her eyes in embarrasment.
Valerie barely noticed.
Last night replayed in her mind with cruel clarity. As valedictorian, she had accepted every drink offered to her, trusting her friends when Celeste told her they were nonalcoholic. Still, she had grown lightheaded. She remembered Celeste and the others laughing as they guided her through the crowd and down a hallway.
She had felt uncomfortable as someone was heping her to a room when she had pulled away, taking an elevator while they were distracted. She only wanted a place to rest. She remembered an open hotel room and collapsing onto a bed in the dark.
After that... a warm body, a man sweet unaudible whispers... and her exhausted body failing to resist when her mind could no longer think clearly.
She felt like crying. Celeste had known she was saving herself for her marriage. They had known what it meant to her. To them, it had been nothing more than a joke.
Valerie did not remember how she left the hotel. She only knew that when she finally dressed, her heart ached as badly as her body.
Azrael Hawthorne was untouchable. Reaching for him would only destroy her family, but Celeste Kingston was not.