It was a sultry April night, and though several hours had passed since sunset, the heat clung to the city like a fever. The pavement radiated warmth as if the earth itself had not yet let go of the day. In a quiet part of the city, where even the stray dogs had disappeared into the shadows, a lone figure stumbled along the street.
Sherett's heels clicked unevenly against the pavement, her body swaying slightly as she struggled to keep her balance. The lights around her blurred into smudges of gold and white, and her mind spun in dizzy loops. Her vision came into focus just long enough for her to spot the glowing signage of a tall building to her left.
Hotel Costa Rivera.
The name rang a bell—Perla had mentioned it at the party. Yes, that was the hotel. The one where she could stay for the night and avoid the inevitable scolding from home.
"Just this once..." she murmured, dragging her feet toward the entrance.
Sherett never drank. But tonight had been an exception. Pressured by her friends and fueled by a fleeting desire to feel something—anything—different, she had crossed a line she'd always avoided. The alcohol now roared through her veins, numbing her senses and clouding her judgment.
At the reception, she fumbled through her purse and handed over a card. The receptionist, barely glancing at her, simply gestured toward the elevators. Taking a deep breath, she leaned against the wall for support and pushed herself forward.
The elevator chimed on the seventh floor. The doors slid open with a quiet whoosh. Sherett blinked rapidly, forcing her tired eyes to focus. She walked into the hallway, looking at the door numbers.
"606... no, wait... was it 609?" she mumbled, rubbing her forehead. Her head was pounding, and each thought felt like a fragment slipping away before she could catch it.
She stared at the numbers on the card in her hand, but they swam before her eyes, splitting into twos and threes.
"Focus, Sherett... focus…" she whispered, trying again to read it.
She staggered toward one of the doors and pressed the card against the lock. A beep followed, but the door refused to open. She tried again. And again. Nothing.
In frustration, she slapped her palm against the door, forgetting her own strength. Pain shot through her hand.
"Ow! Stupid door... wrong room," she muttered and turned away, planning to try the next one.
But just then, the door she stood before creaked open from the inside.
Before she could react, a hand shot out and yanked her inside.
The hallway vanished behind her as the door slammed shut.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
The scent of the room hit her first—alcohol and something musky. Before she could cry out or understand what was happening, a pair of strong arms twisted hers behind her back and shoved her roughly against the wall.
"Y-You still haven't left?" a low, slurred voice murmured behind her.
Sherett's breath caught in her throat. Her heart thudded wildly. The voice... it was familiar, wasn't it? Could it be...?
"N-Nolan?" she whispered, blinking away the haze clouding her mind.
She remembered Perla's words at the party: There's a surprise waiting for you at the hotel.
Could Nolan have come back?
Since their childhood engagement, Nolan had been her world after her parents' tragic accident. Gentle, caring, respectful—he had always honored her boundaries, never forcing anything upon her.
But the man in this room was none of those things.
"Let go of my hands... please, Nolan," she pleaded softly.
But instead of loosening his grip, he came closer. The stench of alcohol on his breath made her flinch.
"I gave you a chance to leave," he said, his voice shaking, "but you came back again. This time, you're not going anywhere."
Before she could protest, he crushed his lips against hers, forceful and urgent. Sherett's eyes widened in shock. She pushed against his chest, scratched his arms—but he didn't stop. He held her tighter, as though trying to fuse her body with his.
Tears blurred her vision. Her body froze. This wasn't the Nolan she knew. This wasn't love—it was desperation, madness.
He paused for a breath, touching her cheek with surprising tenderness. "Isn't this what you wanted too?"
Her lips trembled, but she couldn't form the words. The world spun again. Her body, weakened by the alcohol, couldn't fight anymore.
He picked her up and carried her to the bed.
"No..." she whispered, turning away from him, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned her down.
The dim light in the room barely revealed his face, yet a whisper in her heart cried out—This isn't Nolan.
Still, the fear, the alcohol, the weight of her loneliness overpowered everything.
"I kept forgiving you... kept waiting. And you kept leaving," he said, his voice cracking. "But not this time. Don't leave me again. Please..."
His voice—fragile like a boy who had lost something precious—pierced through the chaos of her mind. Sherett's heart, full of love and confusion, softened.
"I'll never leave you... I promise," she whispered.
And with that whisper, everything else began to fade—the rain tapping at the open window, the wind that carried it inside, the clothes that slowly fell to the floor.
She felt his touch—burning, claiming, trembling—and then nothing at all.
Sleep pulled her under like a wave in the ocean.
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To be continued…