A PENTHOUSE

The morning light crept through the room curtains, casting soft rays across the crumpled sheets. Ayla blinked awake, her head pounding from the night before. The faint smell of alcohol lingered in the air, mixing with the scent of unfamiliar cologne.

She shifted in the bed, careful not to disturb the man sleeping beside her. His dark hair fell over his forehead, and his breathing was steady, peaceful.

For a moment, Ayla just stared at him.

Who are you?

She didn't know his name. She hadn't asked, and he hadn't offered. Last night was supposed to be a way to forget, to drown out the ache in her...