JUST ONE NIGHT

Chapter One

Sophia

I put the glass to my lips; the beer tasted harsh, cold, and sharp, scorching my throat as it slipped down. I wasn't concerned. I wasn't drinking for the taste or the buzz. I was drinking to forget, to block out the never-ending cycle of failures replaying in my head.

It was the last day of the networking event, which was packed with ambitious entrepreneurs. After three days of prospects, contacts, and success stories, here I was, slouched at a table alone, nursing my disappointment.

I remembered the several unsuccessful job interviews and the string of rejections; the offers that weren't rejections were nearly as bad-meek offers that barely made enough money to keep oneself afloat. Offers like "You are not worth more than this."

my stomach turn as I Pour the remainder of the Heineken into my glass and letting a few droplets fall onto the table.

The speakers shared their personal success stories, including how they inherited businesses or received financial support from their parents. Even though they discussed the dangers they took, they always had a backup plan. I didn't. They had been given opportunities. What had I got? Nothing.

If my father's business hadn't been hijacked by that cruel millionaire, I'd be in a completely different situation. I could have taken over, rebuilt it, and expanded it into something larger. But that dream had died along with my parents. Now all I had was shattered fragments of hope and no means to put them back together.

Who was I kidding when I said I wanted to start my own business without money? Nobody wanted to invest in me. Nobody believed in me.

I used to dream big. I believed that an MBA would be the key to unlocking a future in which I was not only successful but also respected. A future in which I would restore the legacy my father had left behind. But all those dreams seemed so far away now. Everything has slipped out of my hold after my father's company was taken away from us.

I wanted to start over. Build my own firm and reclaim the glory that had been taken away. But, how could I? How could I start something from scratch if no one believed in me enough to invest? When each door I knocked on remained closed?

I stared at my empty glass, the cold, crushing emptiness within me growing heavier. 'What's the point?' My chest constricted. 'What am I doing here?'

My black outfit, which had once made me feel strong and capable, now seemed like a joke. A facade to hide the gaping hole where my confidence once was.

The celebration was buzzing with activity all around me. Laughter, music, and clinking glasses-the kind of party I should have taken part in. But I was not. I was invisible.

I observed them-young, wealthy, and connected-people who had never had to worry about failure. They may fail a thousand times and yet find someone to catch them. I had no one. I was all alone.

I poured another glass, the alcohol overflowing over the rim and my hand trembling. I stared at the liquid, wondering if drowning in it would relieve the strangling sensation inside my chest. 'So, what is the point?' I couldn't stop thinking. 'No one even noticed I'm here.

I stood up, my legs shaky, the alcohol already clouding my judgment. 'I'm going to dance,' I told myself, hoping that the movement would help me get rid of my depression. But my body felt strange, heavy, and detached from my thinking. My heart raced, the combination of adrenaline and drink propelling me toward the crowd. Perhaps if I just moved, I'd feel less imprisoned and... lost.

I took a step forward, and the entire room swirled. The floor shifted beneath me, and before I knew it, I was falling. A hand sprang out, catching me before I touched the ground-strong and hard, but too firm.

I blinked, staring up into blue eyes that appeared to devour me whole. He was tall, immaculately dressed, and smiled slowly and deliberately. "You look like you've had quite the night," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk but with a tinge that made my skin tingle.

I managed a laugh, but it was hollow, even for me. "Something like that," I murmured, my speech slurred slightly.

He stepped in too close, his perfume strong and overbearing. "Mind if I join you?" His eyes never left mine; they were too keen and acute. Alarm bells went off in the back of my head, but the drink drowned them out. I nodded, not trusting my ability to talk.

"I'm Jackson," he replied, giving a hand that I unwillingly accepted. His hold was solid, almost too firm, as he drew me to the dance floor. "Sophia," I said quietly, my voice barely audible above the throbbing sound.

My ideas were dispersed and slipped away like sand through my fingers. But I still felt something-an anxiety crawling up my spine, warning me as my body followed him. I tried to resist, but the wine was drawing me down, dulling everything except his presence.

The music changed to a slower tempo, and Jackson drew me closer, sliding his arm around my waist. The contact was not comfortable; it felt possessive, as if he was holding me in place. "Relax," he said softly, his breath hot against my ear. "You're fine." But I wasn't okay.

The warmth of his hand pushed against the small of my back sent a shiver down my spine, and for a second, I wanted to shove him away. I should. I knew I should. But my limbs felt heavy and reluctant, and the wine made it easy to simply go along.

"I'm not used to this," I admitted, hoping to shrug it off, but my voice cracked. I was too tired and exhausted to fight it. Maybe it was just easier to delegate control for a while.

"I can tell," Jackson muttered, his hand moving lower and tighter. My breath caught, and I attempted to pull back, but his arm held me steady, and his smile never wavered.

My thoughts shouted at me, telling me there was something wrong and that I needed to stop this. But it felt like I was locked inside my own body, a puppet with tangled strings. I didn't have control anymore. Perhaps I didn't want to be. Maybe I was just tired of battling. Too tired of failure.

The lights darkened more, and the music settled into a slow, pulsating beat. Jackson's eyes glittered in the dim light, and his hand slid up, fingers brushing against my arm in a way that made my skin crawl. "You need to loosen up," he whispered quietly, drawing me closer and tightening his hold again.

No. The word rang in my head, but my mouth wouldn't say it. My legs felt like lead, and my mind were a blur. I needed to say something and move, but I couldn't. It was easier to let him lead me, to fall into the haze rather than fight my way out.

"I think I need to sit down," I murmured as the room spun again. I tried to back away, but Jackson's grip remained tight. "You're fine," he said, his tone firm and almost authoritative. "Just a little more."

Something chilly curled in my stomach, yet my limbs did not react. I wanted to run, scream, but my body was betraying me, the alcohol binding me to this spot. Before I knew it, Jackson was bringing me to the door, his arm still tight around my waist.

As we reached the threshold, my vision clouded, and the room's borders faded. The chilly air from the corridor hit me like a slap, but it wasn't enough to clear the cloud. My heart raced, each beat a warning I couldn't ignore.

The elevator doors swung shut behind us, trapping me inside alongside him. And all of a sudden, the weight of my decisions, everything I had let slide away, came crashing down around me.

I was in, over my head. There was no way out.