A Night of Passion​

No matter how thick the curtains were, sunlight always found a way in. The lavish presidential suite was bathed in golden morning light, illuminating the disheveled king-sized bed where a young woman still slept, her bare shoulders peeking out from the silk sheets.

Evelyn Carter stirred, her long dark hair spilling over the pillows, half-covering the faint red marks trailing down her back—evidence of a night that had been anything but gentle.

She blinked awake, her body aching in places she hadn’t known could ache.

The room was empty.

For a moment, she lay still, memories of the previous night flooding back—some blurred by champagne, others painfully vivid. The heat of skin against skin. The weight of a man above her. The way he had claimed her, rough and relentless, nothing like the tender lover she had imagined.

A slow, shy smile curved her lips.

Last night was my birthday. And I gave myself to the man I love.

She had waited so long for this—for him. Adrian Whitmore had been her protector, her confidant, the one person who had always made her feel safe. But something had always been missing between them—a spark, a hunger.

Until last night.

Adrian had always been so controlled, so polished. But the man who had taken her in this bed had been something else entirely—wild, possessive, almost feral.

Her cheeks burned at the memory.

Men really do turn into beasts behind closed doors.

She sat up, wincing at the soreness between her thighs. Adrian must have left early to spare her the awkwardness of morning-after small talk. That was just like him—always thoughtful, always considerate.

Evelyn gathered her scattered clothes and slipped into the bathroom, running a hot bath to soothe her aching muscles. As she sank into the steaming water, she replayed every heated moment, every whispered plea, every bruising kiss.

He wanted me. Again and again.

She had never felt so desired.

By the time she dressed, her heart was light, giddy with the certainty that things had finally changed between them. Adrian had accepted her. They were lovers now.

She was the happiest woman in the world.

Then her phone rang.

The sharp trill shattered her blissful haze. She had turned it off last night—Adrian hated distractions—but it had automatically switched back on this morning.

She glanced at the screen.

Adrian.

Her pulse leaped. She answered, her voice soft with lingering shyness. "Adrian? I—"

"You disappointed me, Evelyn."

His voice was ice.

All the warmth, all the joy, drained from her body in an instant.

Disappointed?

Her mind scrambled for meaning. Had she been too inexperienced? Too clumsy? Adrian had been with other women before—had she failed to measure up?

Her stomach twisted.

But no—that wasn’t possible. He had wanted her. Again and again.

"Adrian," she whispered, forcing her voice steady. "What are you talking about?"

"You were the one who suggested we finally take things further. You promised to meet me at the hotel. I waited all night, Evelyn. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?"

The world tilted.

He waited all night.

Then who—

Who was in my bed?