DEMI

Sitting here, drowning in questions and worry won't help. Since his phone is off, I decide the best I can do is check his apartment first. I hail a cab and quickly jump in, at the same time yelling the address.

The drive seems slower and I want nothing but to jump onto the wheel to take over, but I can't. The driver looks already exhausted by my impatience.

“Could you please drive a little faster?”

He's heard that from me at least five times.

This time, he ignores it.

When we finally arrive, he looks relieved, and his glare tells me, I'm the most annoying person he’s driven. I don't have the luxury to give a damn about what strangers think of me. Right now my focus is on whether Ernest is okay.

The elevator is the fastest way to get to the 12th floor, but even it feels slower this time. I'm holding my hope that he's at home, safe and sound. That would mean nothing bad happened, right?

Yeah, and it would also mean, he stood me up on our anniversary.

His door is locked, but luckily for me, I have his key in my bunch. I'm not sure of what I expect but I hope it's not him lying in the floor like I found my mother three days ago. I push away the negative thought.

However, when I open the door, I find no one in his living room, but on the look of things, someone is definitely home, if the clothes haphazardly lying on the floor are any indication.

I feel my heart leave my chest as I scan the area.

There's a white shirt on the floor, a black tie, next to it. On the couch, lies a red dress. I haven't been here since mother was hospitalized, so there's no way that belongs to me. Besides, I'd recognize my dress anywhere. There's also the fact that Ernest is not the untidy type. He wouldn't stand a mess like this.

When I pick it up, a familiar scent hits my nose.

Deep down, I know what exactly might be happening, but I keep on looking for excuses in my head.

As I approach the bedroom, I hear some sounds that confirm my suspicion. I breathe heavily and the sounds get louder the closer I get to the bedroom door.

“Ah, faster baby!” A female voice prevails.

“You're so sweet,” a male voice I recognize so well, groans.

“You like it like that?” The female continues.

“I love fucking you. Your pussy is so sweet, I can never have enough.” They go on and the closer I get, the more I hear his heavy breaths.

“Aren't you late for your stupid dinner,” the woman asks midway.

“I can cancel it just to fuck you the whole night baby,” says Ernest. Clearly it's him.

And that female voice? My palm flies to my mouth, as my heart breaks in realization.

“Ah, fuck me harder, baby,” she moans louder.

“Harder,” she pleads. His groans get louder in response.

The door isn't locked so I peek at the sight that almost makes my world stop.

Two naked adults. The one on top is the one I had been waiting for, for hours at Springs Hotel. The one I was fucking worried about. Looks like he's having the time of his life, sliding into the woman who has his thighs fully spread for him.

They go on, not noticing my presence. The betrayal hits the further I get into the room. I suddenly begin to tremble as if everything is now coming down.

I get closer and pat his shoulder and they both jolt in shock. He quickly gets off her while the woman reaches for the sheets to cover herself.

I had my doubts about the familiarity of the woman's voice, but now that she's looking at me, puzzled, it hurts even more. Laila!

Someone I considered my best friend sleeping with my man?

“Demi,” she stutters. “It's not what you think.”

I almost laugh but the situation is too dire. My heart feels like it's been shattered to pieces, not being able to take in the betrayal.

“Not what I think?” My pupils widen, like a certain wave of anger has erupted.

“Baby, please,” Ernest walks naked to my side, trying to hold me but I move aside to avoid his touch. How dare he touch me with fingers that must have been in places I don't even want to imagine.

I cross my arms, and switch glances between them.

“What the hell am I supposed to think when I find my boyfriend fucking my best friend on his bed, on our anniversary!” I almost screech. My blood is boiling, with a mixture of anger, marinated with hurt. My breaths heighten, as I try hard to fight the tears threatening to fall.

“It was a moment of weakness,” he reaches for my hand and I avoid it again.

The famous stupid line. What does he take me for?

“You told me you were running errands,” my voice breaks that it almost comes out as a whisper.

“I was…”

“Yeah, clearly,” I shoot a sharp glare at the ‘errand’ who's still at the same spot.

“Demi,” she calls out in pleading. I don't know what she's pleading for.

“How could you?” My tone comes out bitter.

“I didn't mean…”

“Didn't mean to what? Sleep with my boyfriend? On the look of things you were enjoying it. And you were aware it was our anniversary. Stupid anniversary? Were those not your words?”

“I didn't…” she tries to counter but I don't let her.

“Don't even,” I raise my index finger. “I heard everything.”

And how long has this been going on?

I remember something like… I love fucking your pussy. I can never get enough..

That can only add up to one thing. It's not the first time. And the man has the nerve to tell me it was a moment of weakness!

“Laila was feeling overwhelmed about tomorrow's interview. She…she had a panic attack.” Ernest rakes his fingers in his hair.

Laila and I are scheduled for the same interview tomorrow. She works for the company but had wanted a promotion to a higher position, which is why she also applied.

Still,

that has got to be the most ridiculous thing I've had the whole day.

“And you have special ways to treat her panic attacks. Are you even listening to yourself?”

Clearly these two are taking me for a fool.

Laila shifts her position to a more comfortable place. Her head against the headboard. She sighs.

“Since you heard everything, there's no point hiding anymore, right?” Laila mutters, the sorry and pleading tone she had earlier has suddenly disappeared.

“You have been so selfish, and Ernest has been there for me,” she adds.

I cock a brow, wondering in my head how I have been selfish. All I've ever done is be a good friend to Laila. We've been best friends for goodness’ sake. How does Ernest fit here?

“It's not my fault that we developed feelings for each other.” She continues ranting, and I still find it ridiculous.

Standing here, between two naked people who clearly don't give a fuck about my feelings is akin to making a fool out of myself.

These two betrayed me and there's no explanation to make anything better.

And it had to be on our anniversary?

The pain cuts through my heart like a sword.

DEMI

Laila's explanations don't make any amount of sense. All I can see is that she's not in the slightest bit sorry. I try to think of the many times I ignored the signs, but I don't have time to figure that out.

After all, It doesn't matter what Laila says to justify their actions or what cooked up explanation Ernest tries to give. They betrayed me and whatever relationship there was, it's over.

One last look at my now ex boyfriend and ex best friend and then I walk out of the room with yells of my name from Ernest filling the air.

I've been trying to bottle up my feelings since I walked in on them, but as soon as I step into the elevator, tears come flooding like they have now been summoned. The wound in my heart is still fresh from five seconds ago.

Lucky for me, I have no audience. I walk through the streets, not knowing my destination, my body still processing everything. My mind is still skewed, making me zone out in thoughts, and the next thing I know, a car comes to a sudden halt in front of me. The speed of my heartbeat accelerates as I come back to reality. That was close.

I expect someone to walk out and shout at me, but surprisingly, there's no action for the next few minutes.

Just me, in front of the car, waiting for someone who isn't getting out any time soon. Seeing no action taking place, I proceed with my journey to nowhere in particular.

It's only when I find somewhere to sit, do I feel my heart calm.

“No, you can't lose control.” I mumble to myself.

They don't deserve any feelings from me.

That's when I think, what if something bad had happened to me on the road? Was it really worth it?

After a few minutes of pep talk, I decide to let it all go. They say it's not easy, but accepting is at least the first step. I can't keep on crying because of traitors. They don't deserve a single tear, which is why I decide to drink the night off.

Let tomorrow take care of itself.

I would have invited Leon and Natasha, but tonight, I need to sit this one alone.

It's been a while since I went drinking alone. It's usually the four of us. Sitting at the counter on my own suddenly feels odd….and lonely.

I don't want my feelings to take over again, so as soon as I make myself comfortable, I order three shots of tequila.

The bartender barely turns to pick a bottle when a shot glass appears in front of me, and I don't mean magically.

A hand pushes the shot glass to my side.

I narrow my eyes in confusion as I turn to look at the deputy bartender beside me. It's a man in a black hoodie and a black cap, covering most of the upper part of his face like he's trying to hide. Almost as if he's wanted by the police.

“Looks like you need more than just three,” he speaks up with his deep sultry voice that makes my insides rumble.

I push back the glass to his side.

“Sorry, I don't talk to creeps,” I say.

A soft laugh escapes his lips. “How quick of you to assume,” he counters.

“If you were in my shoes, would you assume otherwise?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Trust me when I tell you, I'm not.”

My drinks come before I utter anything else to the stranger. I accept them quickly and take the first shot.

“Why would I trust you?” I ask, scrunching my face.

“Because we're two strangers at a bar, and after this, we'll go our separate ways.”

I ignore him and gulp down another shot.

“Boy drama?” He asks as I slum the glass on the counter table. Just something I was trying to forget and then he brings it up.

I stand to walk away but he grabs my wrist before I get past him.

“I just want to have a normal night. Only for today. I don't get that often. So, will you please sit with me?” He requests.

Request? No, scratch that.

He used the word please but his tone is far from pleading. It's almost as if he's ordering me.

I might be riding in a train of insanity, because tell me why, in the next few minutes, I'm sharing drinks with a stranger, ranting about my scornful ex. Right, I tell myself he's a stranger. Is there anything wrong with that? We'll never meet again. Besides, isn't that what people normally do at bars? Normal people would rant to bartenders, but well, okay.

The good thing about my stranger is that he's a good listener. He doesn't give me the sympathetic look and maybe it's because I don't get to see his face fully.

In the middle of our conversation, I ask, “Who are you hiding from?”

He smiles, and for the first time, I get to notice how sexy his lips look when curved. He should do that often. How can a smile look this beautiful yet I don't see his entire face clearly?

“We're on a truth basis, remember? And you're the one who asked me to sit with you. So, don't lie,” I remind him.

“Okay,” he raises his palms to show surrender.

I cock a brow waiting for his response.

“Would you believe me if I told you I'm hiding from the paparazzi?”

For a split second, I think of it as a lie, but then I remember, “we said no lying, so I do believe you….wait?” I gasp in realization.

“Are you a celebrity?” I pry.

“I wouldn't say that. Let's just call it a public figure.”

“Kind of the same difference,” I counter, but he disagrees again.

“No, it's not the same.”

“So, what are you really doing here? Drinking in this bar…alone.”

I gasp again when a thought crosses my mind.

“Don't tell me you also have relationship drama.”

“Like I told you, I just wanted a normal day.”

I look at him skeptically. How miserable does one have to be? Is he more miserable than me?

Maybe we deserve each other. Brought together by misery.

Silly.

I scold myself for having such thoughts about a stranger. The alcohol must be taking dominance in my brain. I've had quite a number of shots, and even though I don't feel drunk, I can't say I'm fully sober.

On the positive side, he's the one person who's made me smile tonight.

Talking like we've known each other for ages.

“If I asked you to show me your true face, would you?” I probe.

A soft laugh escapes his lips. “You know you're making me wonder if you're one of those undercover paparazzi,” he says

Fair point.

Although…we agreed to be honest, since we'll never see each other again, and I remind him just that.

“I'll be too honest with you if I took off this cap.”

“Is there a problem?” I ask.

He looks around, leans closer. I feel his intoxicating scent, and for a few seconds, I'm lost in it. Why would someone smell this good?

“If I showed you my true face, what would I get in return?”

It takes a while for my mind to register his question.

A crazy thought crosses my mind. Now that he's closer, can't I just take it off and see who he truly is?

GAVIN MORGAN

Being a public finger comes with its downsides. The media is always in your business. Sometimes you have to hide yourself, to act like a normal person.

Otherwise; Go out with a woman, you're in the headlines the next day. Have fun, still in headlines the next day.

Any woman seen with you leads to speculations about your dating life.

Sometimes you have to bribe them to take off the heat. Or create a scandal to act as a deversion for them to stop focusing on you for a while.

Dealing with the media is not the only downside of being a public figer. Not when your parents are always on your neck about marriage. I'm clocking thirty but I haven't settled and they never fail to remind me of that.

Today, I had lunch with them, and as usual, it didn't go well. They kept on talking about a wedding that's never going to happen. I don't want to rain on their parade because of how excited they looked.

What they don't know is that Janelle and I broke things off weeks ago. No one knows what happened, except for the two of us. It's a story I wouldn't enjoy narrating.

In everyone's else's eyes she's been away on a business trip.

My parents' obsession with the Morgans and the Adams intermarrying puzzles me everyday. They are all about the public figure and stuff. I almost fell for that crap, but thank goodness I saw Janelle's true colors before I dug myself into a ditch.

I decide to spend the next few hours of the night in a club. A black hoodie and a cap does the disguise job so perfectly.

I only last a few minutes sipping drinks when a woman takes the empty seat beside me.

I don't steal just a glance, I stare at her for a while. This was not my end game when I came here, but looking at this beauty, I'm not opposed to the idea of changing plans. There's something about women with black hair in red dresses. This one looks seductively hot. She must be from a date or waiting for a date.

Her back hair is neatly tied into a ban, revealing her skin that looks soft to touch. My eyes trail her neck to the shoulder, which is exposed since she's wearing a strapless dress. It gives me the temptation to suck it, yet I don't even recall when I turned into a vampire. The way her lips move as she makes her order, makes me want to mount mine on that red lipstick.

I had assumed she might be waiting for a date, but when she looks at me, I don't miss the sadness reflecting in her eyes. It's almost as if she's been crying.

Or she's really been crying.

I don't know this woman, but seeing her like this makes me want to punch someone. It must be the drinks taking a hold of my brain, because all of this sounds insane. She's just a stranger.

Yeah, that's easier said, but this woman has evoked feelings in me at first sight. My body is quick to react to her and my cock twitches at certain thoughts.

I think it's the reason why I stop her when she tries to leave, asking her to drink with me. To be my partner in this normal day thing.

Remember when I said I wanted to punch someone for making her sad? Scratch that.

When she tells me about her ex’s betrayal, I want to kill him. The urge to kill for a woman I met five seconds ago remains a puzzle to me.

We don't go through the normal routine of introducing ourselves, since we refer to each other as strangers. But apparently, the beautiful lady's curiosity gets the best of her and now she's insisting on knowing who I really am, and the real reason as to why I'm hiding my face.

When I lean closer to her and ask what I get in return by being fully honest, she ignores my question. Her hand reaches for my cap, but I grab it in time, before she takes it off.

“Careful, ma'am,” I say, still holding her wrist.

Her expression falls realizing what she's done. When I let go of her wrist, she gulps down three shots, avoiding my gaze.

When she reaches for the fourth one, I grab her wrist again, this time to stop her from getting herself to blackout.

“That's enough,” I drowl.

She shoots me a glare. “You're not my boss,” she hisses, disappointed that I stopped her.

She looks even more sexier when she's mad.

“Besides, aren't we supposed to be strangers?”

Her quick change of mood is puzzling. Just a few seconds ago, we were talking like we knew each other so well, and now she's back to being mad at me.

“If I showed you my full face, will you stop drinking?” I offer, without thinking through my words.

She thinks about it for a few seconds and shrugs, “I'll try.”

“That's not an answer,” I retort. She sighs before she finally agrees. “Okay, you win,” she raises her palms.

“But let's make a deal first,” I suggest, making her scrunch her face.

“So complicated,” she mumbles.

“I'll take you home first. You've had too much to drink, you're in no position to take care of yourself.” I state the obvious. Why I care this much, I have no idea. All I can say, just in a few hours, this woman has got me doing things I don't normally do.

“What? I'm okay, I've only had a few shots,” she retaliates.

It's not always easy for most people to admit they're drunk. I saw this from a mile away, before she even took the last three shots.

I don't know when I became this generous and soft, because instead of leaving the stranger, it feels like I'm responsible for her.

She taps my chest a few times with her index finger. “Why would I trust you to take me home?”

Well, fair point.

I'm a stranger, and even though I don't have any bad intentions, it might not be easy for her to be sure of that.

“Trust your gut. What does it tell you?” I try.

She stares at me for a while, like she's thinking deep.

“Just know that I have a gun in my purse.” She warns me in the end. I smile at her fierceness.

“Does that mean you'll show me your face? I won't tell the paparazzi, I promise.”

“When you're home safe, I will.” I promise.

Since I didn't come here with my car, I request a cab with an anonymous account.

I hold both my cap and the drunk stranger still while I get out of the club to the car.

“Just so you know, I'm not drunk.” She mumbles as soon as we're settled in the car. She yells her address to the driver to prove to me that her mind is still conscious.

She's quiet for a while, looking outside, deep in thought. It makes me want to pull her closer and tell her to forget that idiot who doesn't deserve such a beautiful woman.

My intrusive thoughts win, and since I'm seated right next to her, I take her hand and intertwine it with mine.

She doesn't resist, instead she collaborates by looking at me.

We stay in the same posture for a while, with no words being said. My hand intertwined with hers sends sudden sparks in my body. Again, my body is reacting to her in ways I've never imagined.

Only when the car comes to a halt does the staring marathon stop.

She holds my hand and leads the way to her house. For someone who's had so much to drink, she hasn't forgotten her door. She takes the keys from her purse and I smirk, wondering how a gun would fit there.

As if reading my thoughts, she looks at me and says, “it's a small gun.”

“It must be adorable.” I comment.

She welcomes me in and closes the door behind her.

I'm puzzled by her level of trust in me.

“Okay, now you can take your cap off. No one is looking.” She goes straight to the point.

There's something else I'd love to take off, but okay.

Since I made my promise, I do as ordered.

I don't know what I'd expected her reaction to be, but it's definitely not a calm one. She stares at me blankly.

Is it because that's how she processes shock? Or doesn't she know who I am. The latter sounds odd. Unless she's a private person who isn't interested in the city’s gossip.

“You don't know who I am?” I ask.

“Am I supposed to?” She returns the question, making me conclude it's my latter assumption.

“You don't read newspapers, or follow news?” I pry.

“Not my area if specialization. But I'll google you later.”

“Why not now?” I ask.

She moves closer and cups my face with one hand. The effect of her touch goes all the way down to my cock.

“Why would you cover such a handsome face?” She mumbles.

If she keeps on touching me like this, my body might explode.

But she's drunk and there are some lines I never cross.

As much as my body is reacting to her, and I want her, I can't cross that line.

She moves closer until there's no inch of space between us.

I'm not sure what her endgame is, but what I'm sure of is that her actions are influenced by the alcohol, which is confirmed but her next words.

She brushes her thumb on my lips. “Do you want to fuck me?”