The night had been a blur of laughter, champagne, and dim golden lights. Scarlet Victoria was never one to drink — not this much, not in front of her colleagues, and certainly not in front of him. But the celebration for the company’s milestone had been overwhelming, and after a few too many glasses, the careful walls she’d built began to crumble.

She remembered fragments — her laughter too loud, her lips too close, her hand resting where it shouldn’t have been. She remembered Alexander’s voice, low and tense, telling her to stop. But she didn’t. Not that night.

And now… morning light slipped through the hotel curtains.

Scarlet’s head throbbed. Her eyes fluttered open, only to freeze at the sight before her — unfamiliar sheets, a hotel room, her own body wrapped loosely in the white blanket, her dress from last night nowhere in sight.

Her heart stopped when she turned slightly. Alexander DeLuca — her boss, the man whose composure never cracked — was sprawled beside her, shirtless, wearing nothing but his briefs, his arm resting over the sheets as if claiming the space between them.

Panic surged. Her throat tightened.

Images returned in flashes — the teasing tone in her voice, the way she touched his tie, the shocked look in his eyes when she whispered things no secretary should ever say to her employer.

Her breath hitched. Oh my god. What did I do?

Scarlet’s hands trembled as she pulled the blanket tighter around her body. She wanted to run, to vanish before he woke up. But she couldn’t. Not with that fear pressing down on her — the fear of what he’d say when he opened his eyes, the fear of what this would do to everything she’d worked for.

And worst of all… the fear of remembering something she wasn’t sure she wanted to remember.