The bed beneath her was unusually soft—so soft it felt like she was floating on clouds. I wish my bed was this comfortable… The thought drifted lazily through her mind. But something was wrong.
A cool sensation brushed against her skin, and the realization hit her like a splash of ice-cold water. She was naked.
Her breath caught in her throat as her body tensed. The unfamiliar yet strangely refreshing feeling sent a ripple of unease through her. The room was too luxurious, the mattress far too plush, and the scent in the air…
It wasn't hers.
Panic gripped her as she forced herself to think. What happened last night? Her mind felt sluggish, but she strained to recall.
I was at the bar with Shanna… we were drinking…
Shanna had taken a phone call and left, saying she'd be back shortly. But she never returned. I waited. Thirty minutes. Maybe longer. My phone ran out of battery.
A dull soreness pulsed through her body, making her stop mid-thought. There were more pressing matters than trying to recall last night. She needed to figure out where she was.
Feeling a slight headache, she pushed the covers off and sat up. The bedroom was enormous. A masterpiece of modern sophistication, with dark, polished wood, floor-to-ceiling windows draped in sheer silk curtains, and a chandelier that glowed like captured starlight. Everything screamed wealth. The kind that wasn't just inherited but commanded.
This is a man's space. That much was clear. But not just any man. Someone with taste, control, and power.
She spotted an open doorway leading to what she assumed was the bathroom. Finding it took longer than expected; the place was practically massive.
The bathroom was just as extravagant. The black marble flooring gleamed under soft, recessed lighting, and the shower was encased in glass, featuring gold fixtures. Who the hell lives like this?
She hesitated for only a second before stepping in. Warm water cascaded down, washing away the remnants of sleep and uncertainty making her sober. It was strangely comforting.
Wrapped in an oversized bathrobe, she padded back into the room and proceed to the walk in closet to take something clean to wear. Upon entering she immediately noticed shopping bags neatly arranged on a red velvet sofa. A small note was placed on top:
"These are newly bought clothes in your size. You can wear them."
Her brows knitted together. Who was this man?
Opening the bags, she found a complete set of clothes, including undergarments, a soft T-shirt, loose yet stylish pants, and a hoodie. Surprisingly, everything fit her perfectly.
Beside the clothing bag, a designer handbag and a shoebox sat elegantly on the table.
Another note was placed on it: "The designer bag is compensation for the one that got destroyed last night."
She inhaled sharply. Destroyed? Her memory was still hazy, but the fact that this stranger had gone out of his way to ensure she had everything she needed…
A deep feeling of unease settled within her.
Dressed, she turned her attention to the bed. It would be indecent to leave it in a mess. Something about this man's meticulous care made her feel like she owed him something.
After straightening the sheets, she stepped out into the hallway and was immediately struck by the sheer scale of the villa. A grand staircase stretched before her, to the right was an open balcony. Beyond it was a vast garden—an expanse of color and life, edged by a towering forest bathed in the hues of dawn.
She stood there, entranced.
If not for the grumble of her stomach breaking the silence, she might have stood there longer.
Then reality crashed back.
Damn. Whoever owns this place must be an old man. Only a man of considerable age could afford something like this.
A sinking feeling settled in her gut. Had she really slept with an old man?
She groaned, pressing her fingers against her temple. My half-sister and stepmother will never let me live this down if they find out.
The place was eerily silent.
Her curiosity piqued as she descended the staircase. Does he live alone?
The living room was massive—dark leather couches, a fireplace with an unlit stack of logs, and bookshelves filled with expensive first editions. This wasn't just wealth. This was power, cultivated and absolute.
Just a short distance to her left, a door came into view, perhaps leading to the kitchen?
Stepping inside she immediately noticed how immaculate it was—modern appliances, polished countertops, everything in its place. This wasn't a space used often.
Just as she reached for the fridge, another note caught her eye:
"I prepared breakfast. Reheat it in the oven. As for drinks, check the black cupboard for tea, milk, or coffee. Enjoy your meal."
She blinked. Again with the notes.
Pulling the fridge open, she froze.
No way.
Sitting there was a french toast casserole, with strawberrie and blueberrie toppings.
Her favorite.
"I shouldn't expect it would taste just the same as Mom's cooking…" feeling a bit disappointed, sample tasting everytime.
Although eager to have a taste, thinking, "Maybe it's different this time?" persistent to chase the only familiarity that could remind her of her mother. She reheated the food and after letting it steam off, she grab a taste and it shook her to her very core.
How is this possible?
It tasted just like her mother's cooking.
Her heart clenched. She hadn't tasted this exact recipe since…
Tears welled in her eyes.
The overwhelming warmth, care, and thoughtfulness behind these simple gestures made her chest ache. This man—whoever he was—was treating her with a level of kindness she had never received from her own family.
She hurriedly wiped her eyes and finished eating in silence.
After tidying up, she decided it was time to leave.
After walking a little further she approached the massive iron gate and it slowly parted... a sleek black sedan was waiting. The driver, dressed in a sharp black suit, stepped forward and opened the door for her.
"Mr. Blackwood instructed me to take you to your desired destination." His voice was calm, professional, and unmistakably respectful.
She hesitated. Mr. Blackwood?
"Please get inside, Miss…?"
She exhaled. "Just Levine is fine."
The man gave a slight nod. "Miss Levine, it is."
As she settled into the luxurious leather seat, her thoughts raced.
Who was Mr. Blackwood? And why did he make her feel like she had stepped into a world she didn't belong in—one filled with power, mystery, and an unsettling amount of affection?
One thing is for certain,
This isn't the last time she'd hear his name.
Levine's gaze drifted beyond the car window, taking in the quiet, sprawling landscape. The winding roads cut through dense forest, with only a few grand villas appearing now and then, their towering gates and manicured lawns whispering of the wealth hidden within. A sense of detachment clung to the place—isolated, serene, almost unreal...
Curiosity gnawed at her, prompting her to break the silence. "Where exactly is this place?"
The chauffeur, a composed man with an air of quiet professionalism, glanced at her through the vanity mirror, "We are currently along the main road of Ravenwood Estates, located at the outskirts of the city." he stated in reply, noticing the young lady still mesmerized by the scenery outside, he turned his attention back to the road.
Levine frowned slightly, Ravenwood Estates... she mused turning her attention back to the window.
The car slowed as they reached a checkpoint —a security station manned by guards in tailored black suits one of them stepped closer to the side of the car, waiting for the chauffeur to open it.
Turning to her, "Miss Levine," the chauffeur said politely, "may I have your ID for a moment?" Levine hesitated but handed it over. The chauffeur lowered the car window, handing over an identification card. One of the guards peered into the backseat before stepping back, nodding.
After a quick scan and a few exchanged words between the guards, the car rolled forward... a towering iron gate loomed ahead.
Passing through the massive tightly secured gates, it closed swiftly behind them.
"Isn't it a hassle to check every person's identity every time they pass through these gates?" she pondered aloud, a frown creasing her forehead.
The chauffeur remained composed as he answered, "It is only required in certain situations. Since Miss Levine is a new guest, you needed to be registered in the estate's database for security purposes. However, now that you are under Mr. Blackwood's registry as an acquaintance, it won't be hard to come and go during your next visit," he explained.
"How considerate of Mr. Blackwood to do that, although I doubt there will be a next time," she responded, her tone resolute.
The chauffeur merely smiled, thinking, "We shall see about that."