Page 6 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
I just wanted to see him again.
Chapter Two
Olivia
The door to Room 208 felt heavier than I'd imagined.
I stood outside, fingers on the handle, the metal's chill seeping through my skin. The hallway stayed quiet, except for faint music from the distant stage, bass thumping the walls into a subtle shake.
I took a deep breath and pushed it open.
The room hung dark, just a dim yellow wall lamp in the corner casting a warm glow on the carpet. Smoke thickened the air, heavy with cigar and whiskey scents, plus something else—a cloying, uneasy sweetness.
Then I saw him.
It was him.
I knew it.
But now, with him fully in view, I realized the stage's shadows had only shown me an outline.
He sprawled on the floor, half-propped against the sofa, dark suit jacket tossed aside somewhere, white shirt a wrinkled mess, collar undone. His brown hair tousled, losing that irritating precision from before. Glass shards littered the carpet, a shattered bottle spilling whiskey mixed with blood—a cut on his palm still oozed.
Even in this mess, his features cut sharp—deep brows, high nose, jawline like it was ruler-straight, trimmed beard adding to that aggressive handsomeness.
Sweat beaded on his temples, brows furrowed, breath coming fast, chest heaving.
Not drunk. Drunks didn't look like this.
Fuck.
Drugged.
And it looked bad.
I should've turned and left.
God knows the trouble I'd dive into if I stayed.
This wasn't my problem—some stranger, a guy who'd eyed me with contempt. What he looked like now had nothing to do with me.
My hand already gripped the handle.
But right before I twisted it, he let out a low groan.
It sounded... painful.
My fingers froze.
Damn it. Fine, Olivia, just a quick check, then go.
I bit my lip, let go of the handle, and turned back.
"You," I started, voice shaky, "you okay?"
He opened his eyes, dark in the dim light, pupils blown wide, whites shot with red.
"Get out," he rasped, anger barely contained.
