Chapter Five: The Room

Daniel waited in the hotel room. It was exactly the sort of room he needed expected of a hotel like the Astoria. not ostentatious or gaudy, not trying to impress with gold and glitter. The luxury here was quieter, more deliberate. The space was expansive but not excessive, every detail meticulously chosen to project old-world elegance: dark mahogany paneling, brushed brass fixtures, velvet drapes the color of deep wine.

A fire flickered even though the evening was mild, casting shadows that danced across the walls and glinted off the crystal tumblers on the bar cart. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and leather, expensive, masculine, curated.

It was a room designed for power. For men who made decisions that could ruin lives over a single drink. And it was exactly the sort of room Daniel wouldn’t have envisioned himself in just ten years ago.

He had started his career working legal aid cases in a cramped, underfunded office with buzzing fluorescent lights and a broken coffee machine. Long hours, impossible clients, and thankless victories. Back then, he was the guy who patched up the wreckage of other people’s lives. Things like tenant disputes, wrongful evictions, custody battles, and the worst of them all. The domestic **** cases.

Those had hit a little too close to home.

He had seen too many bruises on too many women. Too many broken wrists disguised as accidents. He had seen his aunt broken and bruised He’d grown up watching the way men used power not as protection, but as a weapon. Watching women survive by shrinking, by staying silent.

That work had nearly gutted him. But it had also shaped him.

It had made him believe in justice. In fairness. In the idea that he could be different.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. Here he was reflecting on what he had wanted to be, and now he was a corporate lawyer, now he was here waiting for Olivia. Intent on destroying her.

He told himself this wasn’t the same. That this was different. That Olivia wasn’t some **** client in need of saving. That she was a threat. A liar. A predator in lipstick and leather who had torn his life apart with a smirk.

The memory of what he had seen of his wife entangled with Olivia came flooding back. And anger resurfaced.

———

When she opened the door, she was greeted by a room that exuded quiet, deliberate masculinity.

This was curated. Intimidating by design. Dark wood. Heavy drapes. The scent of sandalwood and something faintly smoky. A fire flickered in the background, casting gold against the deep burgundy walls and the sleek crystal decanter resting beside two tumblers.

Perhaps he’d chosen this room to impress or to attempt to dominate her, but no this was not what she felt. She felt nothing but anger.

She looked at him, Daniel stood near the window, back lit by the pale glow of the city skyline. Jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms, drink in hand. His expression unreadable. Cold. Controlled.

Olivia stepped in closer, eyes fixed on him.

He raised a tumbler filled with brown whiskey. As if he was attempting to offer some sort of peace.

She shook her head.

Whatever this was it wasn’t friendly, it wasn’t romantic, and it certainly wasn’t desired.

“Well?” She asked.

He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, leaning back against the desk.

“You got what you wanted didn’t you? So, get on with it.”

Olivia didn’t move. Didn’t shrink back. Didn’t flinch.

And he just quietly lifted himself off of the desk and said quietly, “Take off your shirt.”

He didn’t approach. Didn’t raise his voice.

He just said it … and waited.

Olivia exhaled quietly, she’d come here knowing what was going to happen. But imagining it, and experiencing it, were two different things. Without a word she reached up and began to unbutton her blouse. She didn’t say anything didn’t act afraid, she just looked at him. Hazel eyes locked onto him.

And For the first time, he really looked at her.

She was thin, but not fragile. There was something wiry about her, something taut and controlled. Her collarbones were sharp beneath the open neckline of her blouse, her throat slender.

She wasn’t beautiful, not in the way Samantha was. But she was… striking.

Her face was all sharp angles. High cheekbones, a slightly upturned nose, lips that always seemed pressed together in some unreadable thought. The scar over her left eyebrow, faint but there, told a story he didn’t know.

She undid her blouse and revealed beneath a lacy black balconette style bra, with red accents, a little bow in the middle. It was a sight not meant for him.

And finally he stepped closer to her. And he watched her flinch. And Daniel stopped.