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Have I met him before?

Sadie's POV

The cab skidded to a halt, snapping me out of my restless thoughts. My heart pounded as I stared at the entrance of the Premium King’s Hotel, its glowing lights like a distant promise. Everything about this place screamed luxury—polished glass, golden lights—but I felt anything but special. The glittering façade only made me feel smaller, more insignificant.

"What am I doing?" I whispered, my voice trembling. Hearing it out loud made everything feel too real.

The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “We’ve arrived, miss.”

I nodded numbly, my body stiff as I stepped out, each footstep heavy, pulling me toward something I wasn’t sure I even wanted. Was this really going to help me forget? Could it drown out Leo? The man who had shattered my heart in front of everyone, leaving me broken. His voice still haunted me, taunting me with lies, with promises he never meant.

I felt so lost. So desperate to escape, even if it meant sinking further into the emptiness. Maybe I deserve this pain, this numbness. Maybe it was all I was worth.

The hotel doors slid open, welcoming me into a world I didn’t belong in. The lobby was breathtaking—marble floors, chandeliers dripping with crystals—but I barely saw it. My mind was consumed with the slip of paper in my hand, the serial number that was supposed to lead me to... what? A temporary escape from the ache in my chest?

My pulse quickened as my fingers tightened around the paper. Was this what I wanted? To lose myself in the arms of a stranger, to pretend for one night that I wasn’t broken? My mind screamed at me to turn back. To leave this all behind. But my heart—my shattered heart—begged me to stay. I was desperate for an escape, no matter how fleeting. I just needed the pain to stop.

The receptionist smiled politely, but her voice barely reached me as she led me into a room. I was barely aware of anything except the weight of my decision. Inside, a man in his fifties sat behind a desk. “Hi, Stella,” he greeted me, using the fake name I’d been given. “Before we proceed, I need to go over a few things. You’ve read the terms and conditions, right?”

I nodded, even though I hadn’t actually read them. I was too lost in my own thoughts to care.

“Our clients value their privacy,” he continued. “You must keep your mask on at all times. Understood?”

"Yes," I whispered, though my heart thudded harder in my chest. What if the man behind that mask was someone I knew? Someone I couldn’t forget, like Leo? The thought made me dizzy, but I pushed it away.

A few minutes later, a woman came in to blindfold me, and my heart raced. My palms were clammy. When the door opened, the voice that greeted me from the darkness froze me in place. It was deep, familiar... and it sent a chill down my spine.

"My darling Stella..." His voice was deep, unfamiliar, yet soothing in its calmness, like a balm to my fractured soul. It was the kind of voice that promised warmth but carried an undercurrent of something much more dangerous. My pulse quickened in response, but I hesitated, wondering why they hadn’t told me his name. I wanted to know more, but at the same time, I wanted to keep my distance, to protect what little was left of me.

Still, I answered. "Hi," my voice barely above a whisper, betraying the fear and uncertainty that tugged at me.

He took my hand then, gently, as if he sensed my inner turmoil. His touch was warm, strong, and reassuring, leading me to sit beside him. I braced myself, ready for the inevitable—a transaction, an encounter that would dull the ache inside. But to my surprise, he didn’t rush. He didn’t press me. Instead, he simply held my hand, the softness of his voice lulling me into a sense of safety. "Tell me about yourself."

I shifted uncomfortably, my stomach tightening. How could I play this game, how could I strip away the layers of grief, guilt, and fear that had built up around me? “I’m Stella. I’m twenty-four. I have everything it takes to make you happy... I’m 5'5", with long hair, and my body is... appealing.” I said the words, but they felt like an empty shell, hollow and meaningless, trying to disguise the desperation eating at me.

“Is that all?” His voice was gentle, but the question was probing, kind, yet somehow demanding.

I swallowed, my throat dry, and hesitated. The weight of his gaze made me feel exposed, but something in me pushed the words out. “You can feel for yourself,” I said, trying to sound casual, but the awkwardness was palpable as I shifted closer.

Then, his question hit me like a punch to the gut. "Is this your first time?" He asked, and before I could even formulate an answer, he added softly, "Why are you here, really? I know this isn’t what you usually do."

His tenderness was like a knife to my chest, the words cutting through the layers of numbness I had carefully built. The truth, raw and unfiltered, tumbled from me, uninvited and uncontrollable. "My heart’s broken," I whispered, the words barely a breath. "The person I loved shattered it into pieces, and I thought... maybe this would help me forget."

I didn’t even realize I had been holding my breath until I exhaled shakily, the weight of his gaze suffocating me in a way I hadn’t anticipated. He didn’t respond immediately, only listened, his touch warm and steady on my arm. It was comforting, but it wasn’t what I had expected. I wanted to numb the pain, escape from it. Instead, he spoke with a softness that caught me off guard.

“Love isn’t something you can heal this way. If you’re doing this to forget him, it won’t work. Trust me.”

I felt the tears prick at the corners of my eyes, the lump in my throat growing unbearable. His words had broken through the thick walls I’d built around myself, and I could feel them crumbling, piece by piece. "I’ve only known heartbreak," I admitted, my voice so small, barely a whisper. “Love that no one else wants. Love that hurts.”

A single tear slipped down my cheek, trembling as it fell onto his hand. I froze, shocked by my own vulnerability, but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t recoil. Instead, his voice softened, and he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

I wasn’t prepared for his kindness—not here, not in this cold place where everything had been reduced to a transaction. But his words, his simple, honest compassion, felt real in a way that nothing else had in so long. It was as though he saw me—truly saw me, beyond the layers of pain I’d hidden behind for months. And for the first time, I felt something break inside me, but this time, it wasn’t more pain. It was the beginning of something... of healing, maybe.

Before I knew it, I was standing before him, stripped bare—not just of my clothes, but of every last ounce of protection I’d clung to. I was exposed, vulnerable, and I thought maybe, just maybe, the physical would numb the emotional. I could bury it, forget it. “I’m ready,” I said, my voice hoarse, my hands shaking.

But instead of the passion I was bracing for, he shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice low and firm. “I can’t make love to someone who’s hurting like this. You deserve better.”

His refusal left me speechless, stunned. But in that moment, I realized that it was the first real act of kindness I had felt in months, maybe years. He wasn’t taking advantage of me. He was giving me something I hadn’t even known I needed.

He helped me dress, his movements gentle, his voice soft as he whispered, “Don’t chase after someone who doesn’t love you. Let them go.”

His words burrowed deep into my heart, settling there like a seed of hope I hadn’t thought possible. For the first time in what felt like forever, I could almost believe there was more to life than heartbreak. That maybe, just maybe, I could learn to love again—without the weight of the past crushing me.

“If you still want this,” he said, his tone gentle but reassuring, “use my serial number again. We can meet when you’re ready.”

I stood there for a long moment, unable to speak, only feeling the quiet stirrings of something I thought I’d lost. Hope.

I left the hotel in a daze, my mind reeling. I couldn’t stop thinking about him—the man who had chosen not to take advantage of me. His kindness was foreign, but it was also the first thing to make me feel something other than heartache.

Days passed, and I found myself reapplying on the dating app, slowly replacing thoughts of Leo with thoughts of this stranger. Maybe it was a step forward, maybe not. But I couldn’t stay in the past any longer.

Then, one evening, a message from Daisy popped up.

"Hi, Sadie. I’m inviting you to the opening of my dad’s new house and the reunion of my parents. It’s a three-day picnic before the big event. I’d love it if you came."

I stared at my phone, conflicted. Daisy had never mentioned her parents being separated. But before I could call her for more details, my phone rang—it was her.

“Hey, Daisy. I got your message, but I’m actually waiting for a job interview.” The date’s not confirmed yet in the dating app, I lied, hoping for a rematch with the stranger.

“Come on, Sadie! You need to get out and stop thinking about Leo. You’ll meet other guys at the picnic. You can leave when your interview is scheduled. I’ll cover the travel costs.”

Daisy’s family was well-off, so I knew she meant it. And maybe, just maybe, she was right. Maybe I needed to stop clinging to Leo and start living again.

Two days later, I honored Daisy’s invitation. As I walked out of the airport, I spotted Daisy. I felt a rush of warmth as I hurried over to her, smoothing down my white dress, which clung a little too much to my curves.

“Where’s your car?” I asked, scanning the pickup area.

Daisy tilted her head toward a sleek black car parked nearby. “Over there. My dad drove me. I’m trying to spend more time with him.”

I followed her gaze, noticing her father leaning against the car, his eyes fixed on me. Actually, his gaze was fixed on me, and the intensity of it sent a shiver down my spine. He looked nothing like I’d expected. Quiet confidence radiated from him, and the way he watched me made my heart race.

I had to steady myself as we approached.

“Hi, I’m Justin,” he said, extending a hand toward me. His voice was deep, calm, and his grip was warm, firm.

“Sadie,” I replied, my voice shaking just a little. I felt that I had met this man before. But where? Or am I just falling for him? Why?

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