My unknown

Chloe POV:

I woke up groggy, and the ceiling above me was wrong. It was too high, adorned with elaborate moldings bathed in moonlight, a world away from my cramped Brooklyn apartment.

My heart leaped into my throat.

I turned my head slowly, dread pooling in my stomach, and the thudding headache pounded against my skull. What I saw was the broad, muscular back of a man who occupied the other half of the king-sized bed. His breathing was deep and steady, a clear rhythm in the oppressive silence.

Who was this?

That was my first thought.

I was screwed.

That was my second.

My husband, Caleb Kensington, the ruler of the hockey rink, the man who had signed his name on a contract two years ago but had never once met me, was supposed to be abroad recovering. This couldn't be him.

In three more months, my contractual marriage to him would be over. The divorce came with a five million dollar settlement. My escape plan. My ticket out of my family's suffocating grip and the startup capital for my lifelong dream: a bakery.

The contract was ironclad. It had a strict fidelity clause. If I was found "unfaithful" before the divorce was finalized, I would lose everything.

Who? Who would do this to me?

Fragments of last night's bachelorette party for my friend Sarah flooded back. Laughter, loud music, and a cocktail that tasted wrong. Sweet at first, then bitter. Then dizziness, and a heat that spread through my veins like fire.

I had been drugged.

The realization hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs.

Panic seized my throat. I had to get out. Now. Before he woke up.

I carefully peeled the heavy duvet off my body, my bare feet meeting the cold, soft carpet. My dress lay crumpled on the floor, the seam at the shoulder ripped. A fresh wave of shame and nausea washed over me. I forced myself to stay calm, grabbed the torn dress and put it on.

The room was dark, but a sliver of city light seeped through the gap in the heavy curtains. It illuminated the sharp line of his jaw, as well as the faint scars at the edge of his left eyebrow and along the side of his neck.

His arm, corded with muscle, hung over the edge of the bed. A thick, costly emerald watch adorned his wrist, and a platinum ring circled his finger. This wasn't some random guy. But how did he get here? I didn't have time to think.

My bag was on the sofa across the room. I tiptoed toward it, each step feeling like an eternity. My hand closed around the strap, and relief flooded through me.

But as I pulled it, my elbow knocked against something. A metallic clink echoed as a lighter hit the floor.

The man in the bed stirred. A low grumble rumbled from his throat, and he shifted.

I froze, my breath caught in my chest. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to run, but I was rooted to the spot.