Ava’s POV

The day had been exhausting, emotionally and physically. I’d spent every moment with Holly, trying to distract both of us from the whirlwind of chaos surrounding our lives. Orion had been nowhere in sight, which was both a relief and a burden. After ensuring Holly was sound asleep, I left for the hotel, hoping for some semblance of peace.

Why am I worried about Orion? He could be doing whatever he wants for all I care. That’s what I keep telling myself. But the memory of that night during our supposed honeymoon clawed its way back into my mind—the moment I walked in on him and Chloe tangled in the sheets. A massive wave of disgust crept up my spine. I hated how that moment still had a hold on me. I’ve told myself over and over not to feel this way, not to be hurt by him. And yet, here I am, falling into the same pit of emotions every time I think of him.

I decided to take my time before heading up to my room. I didn’t want to walk into anything bizarre, and honestly, I wasn’t ready to face whatever awaited me upstairs. Instead, I made my way to the bar section of the hotel. It was already late, and the place was nearly empty. A few shots sounded like the perfect way to numb everything—my thoughts, my feelings, and the ache in my chest.

I downed the first glass quickly, not savoring the burn as it slid down my throat. The second glass followed just as fast. My mind was still swirling with this morning’s memory—waking up in Orion’s arms. I hated myself for loving the feel of his body against mine. It had felt too good, too right, and that terrified me.

Just as I drowned another shot, my phone rang. Orion. Was he done with whatever escapade he was on? I ignored the call, letting it ring out as I motioned for another drink. Halfway through the next glass, I felt an odd wave of heat wash over me. My head spun slightly, and my body felt…off. What was in that drink?

A fire burned in my veins, spreading heat to every part of my body. I felt flushed, unbearably hot, like I could strip right there and not care who saw me. My clothes suddenly felt like too much, itchy and constricting. My heart pounded, each beat echoing in my ears as my body throbbed in places I didn’t want to acknowledge.

I needed to get out of there. Now.

Stumbling to my feet, I made my way toward the elevator, my legs unsteady beneath me. The floor seemed to tilt and sway as I moved, making it difficult to focus. As the elevator doors opened, I hurried inside, only to lose my balance and slip.

Before I could hit the floor, a firm hand caught me, steadying me. “Thank you,” I mumbled, shaking my head repeatedly in an attempt to clear the haze. The stranger didn’t respond, but I could feel their eyes on me as I tried to maintain my composure.

The heat was unbearable. I tugged at the neckline of my dress, desperate for air, desperate for anything to cool me down. Every inch of my skin felt sensitive, hypersensitive. My cheeks burned, and the throbbing intensified in a way that made it impossible to think straight.

The elevator dinged, and for a brief moment, it was like a breath of clarity amidst the chaos inside me. I stumbled out, trying to get to my room as quickly as possible. But walking felt impossible—each step felt like wading through fire, and the hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before me.

“Excuse me, miss. Do you need help?”

A male voice called out behind me, but I didn’t stop or look back. I waved him off weakly, focusing all my energy on getting to my door. The footsteps behind me grew louder, more purposeful.

Before I could react, a hand gripped my waist firmly, pulling me back against a solid chest. Heat radiated from the stranger’s body, amplifying the fire already burning through me. My mind screamed to resist, to fight, but my body—betrayed by whatever was in that drink—had other ideas.

Without thinking, I turned around, grabbed the stranger’s face, and crushed my lips against theirs. It started messy, clumsy—like I had no control, like the heat blazing inside me demanded release. But then, something shifted. I leaned into him, needing more. My fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tightly as though I could anchor myself to reality through him.

I pulled him closer, but it still wasn’t enough. The clothes between us were barriers, infuriating obstacles that only fueled my frustration. My skin craved contact, direct and unfiltered. I wanted to feel every inch of him, every line of muscle beneath my fingertips, but the fabric kept us apart, and it made me ache even more.

His hands settled on my waist, steadying me even as I pressed harder against him. The kiss deepened, growing more desperate, more demanding. I tilted my head, giving him better access as his lips moved hungrily against mine. My breath hitched when his grip tightened, and I arched into him instinctively, the need to be closer consuming me entirely.

But no matter how much I clung to him, no matter how feverishly I kissed him, it wasn’t enough. I wanted more, needed more, and the fire burning inside me only grew hotter. My lips broke away from his briefly, just long enough for me to gasp for air before pulling him back in, my hands still buried in his hair, tugging as though I could fuse us together.

I hated the fabric. Hated how it kept me from feeling the warmth of his skin, from easing the unbearable need coursing through me. Every nerve in my body was on edge, screaming for relief, but it was just out of reach, taunting me with the promise of something more. Something forbidden. Something dangerous.

The elevator door opened again with a soft ding, but I barely noticed. Reality felt distant, the fire inside me far too consuming to focus on anything else.

For a fleeting moment, everything else faded away—the past, the pain, even the heat that consumed me. All that remained was the raw connection of that kiss, the stranger’s hands steadying me, grounding me as the world continued to spin.

But as quickly as it began, reality came crashing back down, and I pulled away, gasping for air.

What the hell did I just do?

The stranger’s face blurred before me, and I stumbled backward, barely able to stand. I muttered something incoherent—an apology, maybe—before turning on my heel and staggering toward my room.

I struggled with the key and as soon as I opened the door, the stranger pulled me inside.