The Morning After

I begged my boss to fuck me, and he didn't say no. The thought circles my mind in an endless, nauseating loop as I stumble through the club, pushing past bodies, desperate for air. Behind me, Miley's voice rises in accusation, but I don't stop. Can't stop. Because the man in that hallway was Victor. Victor Ashford. My cold, untouchable boss. The man who rejected my Christmas gift. The man getting married to the blonde screaming behind me. The man whose hands I just had all over my body. "Amelia, wait!" His voice—Victor's voice, not V's, they're the same voice, oh God—calls after me, but I'm already at the exit, bursting into the cold night air. The valet tries to ask if I need a car, but I wave him off and keep walking, my heels clicking frantically against pavement. My phone buzzes repeatedly in my clutch—messages I can't read, calls I can't answer. Was he V? The question hammers at me with every step. The cedar and smoke scent. The commanding voice. The way his hands knew exactly whe