No Second Chances Ex-husband (Lauren and Ethan) novel Chapter 65

LAUREN'S POV

Knock. Knock.

The sound startled me so much that I jerked upright in bed, my heart hammering as if I’d just been caught doing something wrong. My eyes darted around wildly, struggling to adjust to the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn halfway, leaving streaks of morning light cutting through the dusty air. I blinked, confused, as the memories of last night refused to piece themselves together.

I wasn’t home. That much I knew. The bed I laid on was too soft, the sheets too silky, and the faint smell of cologne clung to the fabric in a way that told me clearly — this wasn’t mine. My gaze traveled slowly across the space, and that was when the mess hit me like a bucket of cold water. Clothes were everywhere. My clothes. My dress lay crumpled on the floor near the edge of the bed, one heel toppled in the corner, the other buried halfway under the dresser.

My throat tightened as a sickening realization crept in. I froze, my eyes widening as I felt the cool air brush across my skin. With trembling hands, I lifted the duvet, just a little, praying I was wrong.

I wasn’t.

I was naked. Completely bare beneath the blanket, exposed in a way that made my heart pound faster and faster until I felt dizzy.

Knock. Knock.

The pounding on the door returned, sharper this time, demanding. I nearly jumped out of my skin. My mind screamed questions I had no answers to. Who was at the door? Where was I? What did I do last night?

Fear pressed down on me, but instinct pushed me into action. I scrambled off the bed, nearly tripping over the sheet as I snatched my underwear from the carpet. My hands shook as I slid it on, then grabbed the wrinkled gown and pulled it over my head. My hair was a complete disaster, strands sticking out in every possible direction, but there was no time to fix that. Panic was already clawing at my chest.

I bent down, gathering pillows that had fallen to the floor, stacking them back onto the bed as if putting them in place could erase the evidence of what had happened here. My movements were frantic, my breath unsteady. Whoever was behind that door clearly wasn’t going away.

I swallowed hard and forced myself toward the door. With hesitant fingers, I turned the knob and pulled it open.

A tall woman stood there, sharp-eyed and dressed in sleek black, her presence commanding the hallway. Beside her loomed two bodyguards, men with broad shoulders and unreadable expressions. The three of them stepped in as if they owned the place, and the air instantly grew heavier.

Her gaze swept over me slowly, deliberately, from the messy strands of hair down to the hem of my gown. The way her lips twitched told me exactly what she thought of me.

“I take it you’re Lauren,” she said finally, her voice laced with disdain.

Heat crept up my neck, and my hands instinctively tugged at the bottom of my gown, trying to make it cover more than it possibly could. “Yes. How may I help you?” My voice came out softer than I intended, betraying the nervousness I was trying so hard to hide.

“Mr. Hale told us to lock up once it was 8 a.m., and it’s already 8.” She tilted her phone toward me, the glowing screen proof of the time. “So, would you mind stepping out?”

Her words struck me like ice water. Mr. Hale? The name twisted in my mind, unfamiliar and yet weighted with importance.

“Mr. Hale?” I echoed, confusion written all over my face. “Who is that?”

The woman’s brows arched slightly, and she exchanged a look with one of the bodyguards, almost as if mocking me without saying the words. My stomach sank. It wasn’t my fault I didn’t know who this mysterious Mr. Hale was. I couldn’t even remember how I ended up in this room.

“You don’t need to know,” she replied coldly, her tone dismissive. “All you need to know is that it’s time for you to leave.”

Her words — time for you to leave — echoed in my head, louder and louder until it felt like they carried another meaning, a hidden weight I couldn’t quite grasp. Something tugged at me, like I was forgetting something important.

And then, like a knife slicing through fog, it hit me.

The interview.

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