The Wrong Room

CLARA's POV

When I told Stella I had a plan back at the office, I was lying through my teeth.

My actual reality was far less glamorous. I was a twenty-four-year-old woman standing in the center of a chaotic luxury hotel lobby, wearing an oversized gray hoodie, black leggings, and a messy bun that had given up on life somewhere over Iowa. I had zero strategy for this trip. My only goal was to avoid thinking about Rhys and to survive the next seven days without suffering a public breakdown.

Three days had passed since my meltdown in the office. Three days of packing and repacking the massive suitcases Stella had stuffed with aggressive revenge outfits I would likely never wear. The flight to Seattle had been a grueling six-hour test of endurance. My mother chattered nonstop about Declan's big break in professional hockey, Alistair made endless business calls, and I spent the entire duration pretending to sleep against the cold window.

Now we were here.

The hotel lobby was an overwhelming sensory assault. Pristine marble floors stretched out under blinding crystal chandeliers. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the sprawling Seattle skyline. And everywhere I looked, the space was swarming with people. Beautiful women in expensive designer clothes. Men in tailored suits. Camera flashes erupted in rapid succession, painting the walls with harsh white light, while reporters shouted over the general din of the crowd.

Then there were the hockey players.

I could spot them instantly. They possessed a distinct, casual arrogance. They moved through the dense crowd with broad shoulders and easy strides, and the regular guests naturally parted for them like they were royalty holding court.

"What do you think, Clara? Have you ever seen anything like this?" My mother turned to me, her manicured hands clasped together.

"Mom. I am only here for Declan. That is it." I kept my voice flat, staring straight ahead at a massive floral arrangement.

"Lenora, let her breathe. Come on, let's go check in before the line gets any longer." Alistair placed a heavy hand on my shoulder and guided her toward the front desk.

I exhaled a long breath and followed their path, keeping my head ducked to avoid the flashing cameras. A group of men in team jackets pushed past, laughing loudly and blocking my view of the reception area. I stepped to the side, waiting for the path to clear.

When I looked back up, my parents were gone.

I scanned the bustling registration desks, the lounge areas, and the massive pillars. They had vanished into thin air. My mother had a notorious habit of getting distracted by shiny things and wandering off, leaving me to track them down.

I groaned and pulled my phone from my pocket, opening my contacts to call her.

"Oh thank god, I have been looking everywhere for you!"

Sharp fingernails dug into my bicep.

Before I could even process the sudden pain, a woman yanked my arm with shocking force. I stumbled forward, my heavy boots squeaking against the polished marble as she dragged me away from the reception desk.

"Wait. I think you have the wrong person." I tried to plant my feet and pull my arm back.

"No time for modesty! The team is waiting and we are already fifteen minutes behind schedule. Why were you just standing there? We need to move right now." She was a woman in her mid-forties, wearing a sharp blazer and a headset, and she possessed the grip strength of a professional wrestler.

"Ma'am, seriously, there has been a mistake. I am just looking for my parents." I twisted my shoulder, trying to break her hold as she hauled me down a quiet, carpeted corridor away from the main lobby.

She ignored my protests. She swiped a black keycard against a set of massive double doors, twisted the handle, and practically shoved me inside the room.

I stumbled over the threshold, catching my balance just in time to stop dead in my tracks.

This was not a standard hotel suite. The massive space had been transformed into a high-end photography studio. Towering lighting rigs stood in every corner, casting a brilliant, warm glow across the room. A seamless white backdrop dominated the far wall. Expensive cameras rested on heavy tripods, and black equipment cases were stacked haphazardly against the expensive wallpaper.

"I know this setup is overwhelming for your first major gig. But this opportunity is huge. Your connection really pulled strings to get you in here." The woman moved past me, frantically organizing a stack of papers on a glass coffee table.

"My connection?" I stared at the back of her head.

"Your brother. Declan Pierce. He worked really hard to make this happen for you." She turned around and offered a bright, stressed smile.

My brain stalled out. I felt the blood drain from my face. "Declan did what?"

"You are leading the ad shoot today. Mr. Voss specifically requested the creative director be someone young, someone with a fresh perspective. When Declan mentioned his brilliant sister was coming to town for the game, it all fell into place." She tapped her pen against her clipboard.

"Wait. Mr. Voss? Are you talking about—"

A heavy oak door on the far side of the suite clicked open.

The remaining words died in my throat. Every coherent thought I possessed vanished into thin air.

A man stepped out of the adjoining bedroom.

He was tall. Extremely tall. His broad shoulders filled the doorframe, and he was shirtless.

My eyes dragged downward, refusing to obey my frantic internal commands to look away. Golden studio light spilled across his chest, highlighting eight distinct, flawless ridges of muscle. His skin carried a faint sheen of sweat. A deep, defined V-line disappeared beneath the waistband of low-slung, black dress pants. It was a physique forged through years of brutal physical conditioning. He looked dangerous.

My gaze traveled upward, taking in the sharp angle of his jawline. His dark hair was messy, pushed back in thick waves as if he had just run his hands through it. Then, I met his eyes.

They were blue. Piercing, calculating, and cold.

They locked directly onto mine.

Kaelen Voss.

He stood there in the flesh, looking infinitely better than the glossy magazine photograph Stella had shown me on her monitor. The raw, predatory energy radiating off him was suffocating. My lungs forgot how to pull in oxygen. I was going to pass out in a luxury hotel suite while staring at a man who did not look entirely human.

"Mr. Voss, I am so sorry for the delay. This is Clara Vance, the new creative director we discussed." Sheila stepped forward, her voice dropping an octave in an attempt to sound professional.

"It is no issue, Sheila. I am ready whenever she is." His voice washed over the room. Deep. Smooth. Carrying a low rumble that sent a sudden jolt straight down my spine.

His striking blue eyes never wavered from my face.

I hated the immediate physical reaction my body had to him. Heat rushed up the back of my neck. A heavy flutter erupted in my stomach. My thighs clenched together of their own accord.

"Wonderful. Miss Vance, you can take it from here. I will be right outside in the hall if you need anything at all." Sheila gave a sharp nod.

I opened my mouth to speak. My vocal cords refused to produce a single sound.

The corner of Kaelen's mouth twitched upward. A slow, knowing smirk formed on his lips. He knew exactly what his bare chest and heavy stare were doing to my nervous system.

"You can leave, Sheila. I only need to be alone with my creative director." He did not look at her when he spoke.

Sheila shot me a strange look. It was a heavy mix of deep concern and blatant envy. She turned on her heel and slipped out the double doors.

The heavy metal lock clicked into place.

It was just the two of us.

A thick, suffocating silence stretched across the room. He did not move. He did not say a word. He just stood near the doorframe, his bare arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching me. Waiting for my next move.

I dug my nails into my palms. The sharp sting forced my brain to reboot.

"Look, I do not know what is going on here, but I am not a creative director." I blurted out, my voice sounding far too loud in the quiet room. "That woman grabbed me in the lobby and dragged me in here. She thought I was someone else. So whatever this is, you have the wrong person. I am going to leave."

I pivoted on my heel and aimed myself at the double doors.

"Do you really think this was a mistake, Clara?"

My first name rolled off his tongue like a physical command. I froze in place. A chill raced over my skin, raising goosebumps on my arms.

I turned back around slowly. "How do you know my name?"

Kaelen pushed off the doorframe. He uncrossed his arms and took a single, deliberate step toward me.

The massive suite instantly felt the size of a closet.

"I know you are not a creative director. I know exactly who you are." His voice was low and steady, lacking any hint of surprise.

My heart slammed against my ribs. "Then why did you let her bring me in here?"

"I know exactly why you are here." He took another step.

The air between us grew heavy and thick. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to bolt. To unlock that door and run back to the safety of the crowded lobby. But my boots remained glued to the carpet. The intense way he studied my face, like he was dissecting a puzzle he had already solved, held me firmly in place.

This was a setup.

"What do you mean by that?" I lifted my chin, forcing my voice to remain steady. "I am here to support my stepbrother. That is the only reason."

His smirk deepened. "Is that the lie you told yourself?"

"It is the truth." I snapped.

"Then why did you agree to come right after seeing my photo in that magazine?" He closed the remaining distance between us.

My breath hitched.

How did he know about the magazine? How could he possibly know what happened in Stella's office?

"Your stepfather hates me. He has for years. Your mother knows the history between our families." Kaelen towered over me, forcing me to tilt my head back just to maintain eye contact. "And yet, you agreed to come to Seattle. To a game where you knew I would be playing. Right after a major scandal. So tell me, Clara. Why are you really here?"

I swallowed hard. The pounding of my own pulse echoed in my ears.

"I do not know what you are talking about." I whispered.

He let out a low, dark chuckle. He leaned down, placing his face inches from mine. A faint, jagged scar sat just above his left eyebrow. His body heat washed over me, carrying an intoxicating scent of clean soap and expensive, spicy cologne. It made my head spin.

"Let me make this simple for you." His gaze dropped to my lips before snapping back up to my eyes. "I have a proposition. One that benefits us both. But first, I need to know something."

My chest rose and fell rapidly. "What?"

His blue eyes turned deadly serious.

"What are you willing to give me?"