Lies on the Rocks

Clara

"I walked in on my fiancé getting railed by a man five days before our wedding. And when I confronted his lover, my supposed soulmate actually slapped me across the face to protect him."

I stared down at the amber whiskey swirling against the bottom of my heavy glass, watching the liquid catch the dim, neon light of the hotel bar. I sat perched on a sticky barstool, bitterly spilling the pathetic, ruined wreckage of my life to the astonished bartender. Slurring my words, I let out a hollow, broken laugh at my own misfortune. My chest felt hollowed out, scraped clean by the sheer, devastating humiliation of the afternoon. The stinging red mark on my cheek still throbbed, a physical reminder of the betrayal I had walked into.

The bartender froze with a damp rag in his hand. He looked rattled by the sordid tale, his eyes wide with genuine shock. He shook his head, tossed the rag over his shoulder, and reached for the top-shelf liquor bottle sitting on the mirrored display behind him. He unscrewed the cap and generously poured me another glass, filling it to the brim on the house.

"I am so sorry, miss. I hear a lot of bad stories in this line of work, but that is messed up. A girl like you deserves a real man, not human trash like that. Drink up. This one is on me. You are going to get through this, and you are going to find someone so much better."

I picked up the heavy glass and downed the burning liquid in one desperate gulp. The alcohol seared a fiery trail down my throat and settled hot in my stomach, but it did nothing to numb the sharp sting of Dominic's betrayal. I bleakly considered my situation as the room took on a soft, blurry edge. I was twenty-three years old, and my entire life was a carefully constructed lie. Maybe my generation was just useless. Boys my age were selfish, cruel, and incapable of providing the basic decency I craved. Maybe what I needed was an older, mature man. A man who actually understood how to satisfy and respect a woman, someone who possessed the experience to treat a partner properly instead of using them as a convenient prop for a fake, closeted life.

My phone suddenly began buzzing against the sticky counter, rattling the empty glass beside it. The loud, persistent vibration cut through the low, thumping music of the bar.

I blinked down at the glowing screen. My mother's contact name lit up in bright, glaring letters. A foolish, desperate glimmer of hope for maternal comfort flared to life inside my chest. I grabbed the phone, praying she was calling to check on me. I wanted to believe that, for once, she would drop the cold exterior, offer a shoulder to cry on, and protect her daughter.

I answered the call, my voice thick and shaky with unshed tears. "Mom, I need you."

Instead of warmth, my adoptive mother’s venomous voice pierced the line, causing me to flinch.

"You stupid, ungrateful child! What is this absurd tantrum I am hearing about from Dominic’s family? You broke off the engagement? Are you out of your mind? I am ordering you to return to Dominic’s house this very second to beg on your knees for his forgiveness!"

I pulled the phone an inch away from my ear as her shrieking echoed in the quiet corner of the bar. Trembling with the weight of the day, I gripped the device tighter, desperate to make her understand.

I tried to tell her, my voice cracking under the weight of the humiliating confession. "Mom, listen to me. Dominic is gay. He used me for a cover story. I caught him. He cheated on me in our own bed with another man. He does not love me. He never did."

She scoffed callously through the speaker, brushing off my pain like it was nothing more than an annoying inconvenience.

"And so what? Is he the first man on earth to stray? Infidelity is normal in these circles. Your father stepped out on me countless times over the years. You do not see me throwing a dramatic fit and ruining our financial alliances over it. A man has needs, Clara. You look the other way, you secure the ring, and you reap the benefits."

I gripped the edge of the bar, my knuckles turning white as I fought back a sob. "He hit me! When I yelled at the guy in our bed, Dominic slapped me across the face!"

She coldly reminded me of my place, her tone turning to ice.

"Use your head for once! You are merely our adopted child. We took you in, gave you a prestigious name, and fed you. We cannot support a useless freeloader forever, and you owe us for your upbringing. Dominic provides a powerful corporate connection for this family. You will patch up this alliance immediately. If your father finds out about this little stunt you pulled today, he will severely punish you. Fix it, Clara. Do not call me again until the wedding is back on."

She hung up without a single shred of empathy. The dial tone buzzed in my ear, a flat, lifeless sound that perfectly mirrored the gaping void in my chest.

The brutal reminder of my conditional place in the world cut like a jagged blade. They did not care about my happiness. They did not care that I had been physically struck, humiliated, and lied to. I was just a business asset to them. All I had ever wanted was to be chosen and loved for who I was, but to my adoptive parents, I was nothing more than a debt waiting to be repaid.

I pushed myself off the stool on trembling, intoxicated legs. The room spun around me, the neon bar signs blurring into long streaks of bright, chaotic color. I dug into my leather purse, pulled out a large bill, and tossed it down onto the counter next to my empty glass.

"Keep the change."

I mumbled the words to the bartender, not waiting for a reply. I stumbled away from the bar area and navigated my way across the expansive hotel lobby. My heels clicked unevenly against the polished marble floor. The bright overhead lights assaulted my eyes. I needed a bed. I needed a dark, quiet place to hide from the world, a place where no one could scream at me, use me, or hit me. I made my way over to the front hotel reception to book a cheap room for the night.

I leaned heavily against the smooth marble counter, fighting the dizzy spin of the whiskey threatening to pull me down.

"I need a room for the night. Something cheap, please. Just a basic room."

The receptionist gave me a polite, professional smile and began typing quickly on his computer keyboard.

"Right away, miss. Let me see what we have available for you this evening. It will just take a moment."

As I waited for him to process the request, a sharply dressed assistant stepped up beside me. He adjusted the crisp cuffs of his tailored suit and leaned over the marble counter, exuding an air of intense corporate urgency.

"Excuse me. I need a spare key for my boss, Mr. Thorne. I am his assistant."

Before the receptionist could answer the assistant, the front desk telephone began ringing loudly. The sharp, persistent sound filled the space, adding to the pounding headache forming behind my eyes. The receptionist answered the phone, wedging the receiver between his ear and shoulder. He nodded apologetically to both of us while he hastily grabbed two plastic room keys from a drawer beneath the desk.

He carelessly set out the two room keys on the marble top. One key was clearly marked with the number nine. The other key was marked with the number six.

Still talking into the phone, the receptionist pointed a finger at the keys. The sharply dressed assistant reached out and grabbed the room key marked nine. He did not even bother to look at the number printed on the plastic. He simply took it, turned on his heel, and walked briskly away toward the bank of elevators.

I stared down at the remaining key resting on the marble top. Unsuspecting and dizzy with the heavy amount of alcohol coursing through my veins, I reached out and took the key marked six. I mumbled a faint thank you to the distracted receptionist, picked up my purse, and staggered away from the desk.

The elevator ride felt like a slow, swaying pendulum. I leaned the side of my head against the cool metal wall, closing my eyes and praying my rolling stomach would settle before I threw up. When the doors finally chimed open, I stumbled out into the quiet, heavily carpeted hallway. The thick, patterned carpet muffled my erratic footsteps. The walls were lined with expensive-looking sconces casting warm, golden light across the dark wood paneling. The entire floor was eerily quiet, lacking the usual bustle of a standard hotel level. I walked down the long corridor, squinting at the brass numbers on the dark wood doors until I found the door marked with a gold number six.

I swiped the key card against the electronic lock. A green light flashed, the lock clicked, and I pushed the heavy oak door open.

I stumbled inside and froze in my tracks. I blinked hard, trying to clear my fuzzy vision. I was baffled by how impossibly lavish and vast the space was. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering, sprawling city skyline. Plush velvet couches sat in a sunken living area, and a massive crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm glow over the expensive art on the walls. This was definitely not a cheap, modest room. This was a sprawling penthouse suite reserved for elite guests.

Did the receptionist give me a pity upgrade because I looked like a wreck? I had only paid a modest fee for a basic room.

The sound of running water echoed from the en-suite bathroom, breaking through the heavy silence of the suite. I tilted my head, listening to the steady, heavy spray of a showerhead. I simply assumed the hotel staff had made an error or left the shower on while cleaning the suite. In my drunken stupor, my brain refused to process any logical warning signs. I was far too exhausted and intoxicated to care about a running faucet, and I certainly lacked the energy to go back down to the lobby and complain. The staff could figure it out tomorrow morning.

I kicked off my heels, leaving them abandoned near the entryway. I reached around to my back, unzipped my dress, and let the fabric fall into a puddle on the hardwood floor. I stood in the middle of the luxurious room wearing nothing but the provocative, lacy black lingerie I had bought earlier that day. I had spent hours picking out the delicate black lace, the sheer panels, and the thin silk straps, foolishly hoping to surprise Dominic and finally spark some genuine passion between us. The painful memory of my own naive hope made me sick to my stomach.

I pushed the pathetic thought away. I stumbled over to the massive king-sized bed sitting in the center of the room. The dark sheets looked like pure, expensive silk, piled high with an array of plush pillows. I collapsed onto the mattress, instantly sinking into the soft, cloud-like bedding. The fabric felt cool and luxurious against my bare skin, a stark contrast to the burning heat in my veins. The sheer exhaustion of the day and the heavy dose of whiskey finally won the battle for my consciousness. I closed my eyes, letting the darkness swallow me, and passed out cold.

Sometime later, cool droplets of water splashing onto my cheeks forced my heavy eyelids apart.

I groaned, trying to escape the annoying wet sensation. I blinked against the dim light, my vision slowly coming into focus. A towering, impossibly handsome stranger was leaning over me.

He was dripping wet. Droplets of water slid from his dark, damp hair down to his sharp jawline and dripped onto my skin. His hazel eyes were narrowed in sharp irritation as he stared down at my half-naked body sprawled across his bed. A white hotel towel hung perilously low around his sculpted hips, leaving very little to the imagination. My gaze trailed up the rigid lines of his stomach, taking in the magnificent, chiseled chest that glistened under the soft ambient lighting. He looked like a masterpiece carved out of solid marble, exuding a raw, dangerous authority that commanded the entire room.

Confused by this godly vision hovering above me, I blinked up at him through a hazy fog of leftover alcohol.

"Am I having a wet dream?"