The music in the upscale lounge is loud, the air thick with the smell of expensive perfume and alcohol. Amelia is surrounded by her closest friends, sipping champagne and laughing despite her nerves about the upcoming wedding. Her best friend, Claire, raises her glass with a mischievous grin.
“To Amelia, the last night of freedom before tying the knot!” Claire’s toast is met with cheers.
Amelia chuckles nervously, the weight of wedding planning and her future with Brad resting heavily on her. But Claire insists tonight is about letting loose. “Come on, Amelia, just one drink! You deserve it.”
Amelia hesitates but takes the cocktail Claire hands her, not noticing the sly glance Claire exchanges with another friend.
As the night wears on, Amelia feels the effects of the drink—more potent than she’s used to. Her vision blurs slightly, and her inhibitions slip away.
Claire, insists on a wild dare: “One last dance with a stranger before you say ‘I do.’”
Reluctantly, Amelia agrees.
Her friends cheer as she steps onto the dance floor, locking eyes with a handsome, mysterious man Claire encouraged her to dance with. He’s magnetic, with a confident smile and eyes that seem to see right through her. Claire nudges her forward. “Go on, one dance won’t hurt.”
As Amelia stepped onto the dance floor, the stranger's eyes locked onto hers, drawing her in. Claire's encouragement echoed in her mind, "One last dance with a stranger before you say 'I do'." The music shifted to a sultry, slow-burning rhythm, the lights dimming to enhance the intimate atmosphere.
The stranger's confident smile beckoned her closer. Amelia's feet seemed to move of their own accord, her body swaying to the music. He reached out, his hand enveloping hers, sending shivers down her spine.
His touch was electric, sparking a forbidden excitement within Amelia. She felt alive, her senses heightened as they moved in perfect sync. The stranger's eyes never left hers, his gaze piercing through the dim lighting.
As they danced, Amelia's inhibitions slipped away, the champagne and cocktail mixture coursing through her veins. The stranger's hand drifted to her waist, his fingers brushing against her skin, sending waves of pleasure through her body.
Their bodies moved closer, the space between them dissolving. Amelia's heart pounded, her breath catching in her throat. The stranger's face was inches from hers, his warm breath caressing her skin.
Time stood still as they swayed to the music, lost in the moment. Amelia's thoughts grew hazy, her doubts and fears melting away. For one fleeting instant, she forgot about Brad, the wedding, and her uncertain future.
The stranger's lips brushed against her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "Let go," he whispered, his voice husky and persuasive.
Amelia's resistance crumbled. She let herself be swept away by the music, the moment, and the stranger's intoxicating presence.
Their dance became a sensual, wordless conversation, their bodies speaking a language all their own. Amelia felt seen, understood, and desired.
As the music faded, the stranger's grip on her waist tightened. Amelia's vision began to blur, her knees weakening.
"Claire," she murmured weakly, "I think I need to sit down."
Before she knew it, the stranger was guiding her off the dance floor, the room spinning into a hazy blur.
As Amelia stumbled out of the lounge, the cool night air hit her like a slap in the face. She blinked, trying to clear her blurry vision. The stranger's grip on her arm tightened, steadying her.
"Where are we going?" Amelia asked, her voice slurred.
"Someplace quieter," he replied, his deep voice soothing.
Amelia's mind fogged, she couldn't think straight. Claire's laughter echoed in her mind, along with the ominous feeling that something was off.
The stranger led her to the elevator, the doors slid open but Amelia hesitated, unsure if she should get in.
Amelia’s awareness comes and goes as the stranger ushers her into the elevator. The ride is blur, at some point, she feels the cool press of an elevator button under her back as she’s leaned against the wall.
In the elevator, Amelia's knees buckled. The stranger caught her, holding her close.
"This is going to be fun," he said sacarstically.
Amelia's world spun, colors bleeding together. She felt herself being lifted, carried out of the elevator.
"Room 221." she heard the stranger mutter under his breath.
Her legs wobble as the stranger holds her by the waist, steadying her as they step into a hotel room. The world feels distant, her surroundings muffled like she’s underwater.
Amelia felt the plushness of the bed beneath her, a stark contrast to the spinning chaos in her head. Her limbs were heavy, her vision clouded. She blinked slowly, trying to orient herself, but the effort was futile.
The stranger gently laid her down, his hands momentarily hesitating as if unsure of what to do next. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.
Amelia vaguely registered the sound of the door closing behind him, the click echoing in the quiet room. The dim light cast shadows on the sleek furniture, and the faint hum of the air conditioner was the only noise that accompanied her racing thoughts.
Amelia tried to sit up, but the room tilted, forcing her back down. A wave of nausea rolled through her, and she pressed her palms against the mattress to ground herself.
“Get up, Amelia,” she whispered to herself, though her voice sounded foreign. Her thoughts swirled chaotically—Brad’s face flashed in her mind, his usual patient smile now replaced with something distant and cold.
The door creaked open suddenly, and Amelia’s pulse quickened. But it wasn’t the stranger.
A man stepped inside, his expression puzzled as he glanced from Amelia to the room number on the door. “A drunk stripper?” he said more to himself, his tone tinged with confusion.
Amelia stared at him, her voice caught in her throat.
“I... I'm not...” she managed to say, her head still spinning out of control. Her limbs were too heavy to move, her mind too fogged to explain.
The man frowned and took a step closer, his gaze hovering around her. “This isn't what I paid for?”
Amelia’s lips parted, but no words came out. The stranger’s absence suddenly felt even more disconcerting, and fear tightened her chest.
The man seemed to sense her distress and raised his hands in a placating gesture. “You're pretty enough,” he said quickly. “Hope you can deliver what you've been paid for in this state.”
He backed toward the door, his eyes scanning her one last time as if to make sense of the situation. “On second thought, I think I like that you're a bit drunk.” he said and locked the door shut.
And everything went black.
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