Chapter 311

Serena's POV

"Kennedy," I breathed, trying to keep my voice steady. "Could you come pick me up? I'm outside Golden Dragon Hot Pot."

"What happened to your dinner? "

"It's over," I said, my jaw clenched. "Please, just come get me."

I hung up and stood on the sidewalk, watching my breath form little clouds in the frigid air. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. The way he had looked at me across the table, those gray eyes filled with judgment, that infuriating half-smile playing on his lips when I'd challenged him.

I paced back and forth, my heels clicking against the pavement. A few passersby glanced at me, but I barely noticed them. In my mind, I was replaying every condescending word he'd said, every dismissive gesture. Mateo García. The name alone now made my skin crawl.

Twenty minutes later, Kennedy's black sedan pulled up to the curb. He jumped out and rushed toward me, concern etched on his face.

"Jesus, Serena, you're shaking!" Before I could protest, he pulled me into his arms, his body warm against the winter chill.

"Let's get you in the car," he said, keeping an arm around me as he guided me to the passenger side.

Once inside, I sank into the heated leather seat, finally feeling the cold that had seeped into my bones while I'd been standing outside fuming.

Kennedy slid into the driver's seat and turned to me. "So what happened? How'd it end so quickly? Where's Marlon? He just let you wait out in the cold by yourself?"

I shook my head, still seething. "It wasn't Marlon. I met someone else. Someone who made my stomach turn. I couldn't eat another bite, so I left."

Kennedy's eyebrows shot up, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. "In this day and age, someone actually managed to make Serena Sinclair throw down her napkin and walk out? This person must be quite something."

"You have no idea," I muttered, staring out the window at the glittering scene. "I've never met anyone more self-important and condescending in my entire life."

"I don't know," Kennedy said, pulling away from the curb. "I think they sound interesting."

I turned to him, incredulous. "Interesting? They're insufferable!"

Kennedy's smile widened. "Maybe. But they did something I haven't seen in years."

"What's that?" I asked, annoyed.

His eyes met mine, suddenly serious. "They made you feel something. Actually feel something, Serena. You've been walking around like a ghost for so long, I was starting to forget what you look like when you're truly alive."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Deep down, I knew he was right.

I looked away, uncomfortable with the truth. "Whatever. I'm never going to see him again anyway, so it doesn't matter."

Kennedy shrugged, focusing on the road. "Where are you staying? Did you get a place yet?"

"Just a hotel for now," I said, grateful for the change of subject. I could see him about to say something-probably to offer his guest room again-but I quickly added, "I booked at the top place downtown. I'll be fine."

He seemed to accept this, driving in comfortable silence until we pulled up outside the grand entrance of my hotel. The doorman approached as Kennedy parked.

"I can take it from here," I said, reaching for the door handle.

Kennedy nodded. "I'll come by to pick you up tomorrow morning."

"Good."

"Goodnight, Serena."

"Goodnight, Kennedy."

He helped retrieve my luggage from the trunk, and I watched as he drove away, his taillights disappearing into the night traffic. I hurried into the warmth of the lobby, the opulent chandelier casting a golden glow over the marble floors.

At the reception desk, I put on my most pleasant smile. "Good evening. Reservation for Sinclair, Serena."

The concierge typed quickly, her movements efficient and professional. "Yes, Ms. Sinclair. We have you in one of our premier suites. May I see some identification?"

I handed over my ID, signed the necessary forms, and collected my room key card.

I slid the key card into the door, relieved to finally have some privacy after the day's exhausting events. The hotel room was spacious and elegant, but all I could think about was washing away the chill that had seeped into my bones from the bitter winter.

Dropping my bag on the couch, I made a beeline for the bathroom. The thought of a hot shower was too tempting to resist, especially with the fear of catching a cold lurking in the back of my mind. I turned the water to near scalding, letting steam fill the bathroom as I stepped in, feeling the tension in my shoulders begin to dissolve under the hot water.

It wasn't until I turned off the shower that I realized my mistake. In my haste, I'd forgotten to grab the bathrobe from the closet. Sighing in frustration, I wrapped a towel around my body and used another to dry my dripping hair.

I pushed open the bathroom door, blinking through the steam, and froze. There, sprawled across the bed - my bed - was a man. Not just any man. Mateo García.

Our eyes met, his ones widening slightly in surprise. For a moment, neither of us moved. I felt like a deer caught in headlights, unable to process what I was seeing.

Then reality crashed down on me, and I couldn't stop the scream that tore from my throat. "AHHHH!"

In my panic, my grip on the towel loosened. Before I could catch it, it slipped, pooling around my feet and leaving me completely exposed. Mortification flooded through me as his eyes dropped, taking in every inch of my naked body.

I screamed even louder, desperately trying to cover myself with my hands.

"This isn't a deliberate show for me, is it?" Mateo drawled, his voice deep and infuriatingly calm despite the situation.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. How dare he suggest I would do something like that?

"Y-you close your eyes! Close them right now!" I demanded, my voice shaking with a mixture of rage and embarrassment.

He raised an eyebrow, unmoving on the bed. "Why should I?"

His gaze remained steady, but there was something in his expression that made my humiliation worse - a complete lack of interest. As if my naked body meant nothing to him, was worth nothing more than a passing glance. Part of me wanted to slap him; another part was crushed by his indifference.

I lunged for the towel, clutching it against me, and backed toward the bathroom. Lucas still hadn't moved from the bed, his casual posture suggesting he owned the space, that I was the intruder rather than him.

"Get out of my room!" I hissed before retreating into the bathroom and slamming the door shut.