Author's Preface
The first thing Zoren became aware of was sunlight. A narrow beam slipped through the half-open curtains and settled directly across his face, forcing him awake.
He frowned. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, his head worse. He groaned under his breath and lifted a hand to shield his eyes before attempting to sit upright. The moment he did, the room tilted.
"Fuck..." He pressed two fingers against his temple, waiting for the dizziness to settle.
Right. The whiskey. He had drunk far more than he usually allowed himself. For several long seconds, he simply sat there, breathing slowly until the pounding inside his skull eased enough for him to think.
Only then did he finally look around. This wasn't his penthouse. His brows knitted together.
Dark leather furniture. Long red sofa. A polished marble coffee table. The familiar amber lighting. The private lounge. His private lounge.
A quiet curse escaped him.
Of course.
The VIP suite inside Aurora Lounge.
One of the few rooms in the club inaccessible to ordinary guests. A place reserved exclusively for its owners. He and four of his closest friends had invested in the club years ago, long before any of them had become too busy to enjoy it.
Now it mostly served as somewhere private to escape the public eye.
Or...
Apparently...
To humiliate himself.
Fragments of the previous night surfaced one after another.
The drunk man.
The punch.
The frightened woman.
Dark hair.
Vanilla.
Gray eyes meeting warm brown ones.
Her fingers wrapping gently around his injured hand.
The bandage.
The kiss.
His breathing stopped.
Everything came back at once.
Every single second.
His eyes widened.
Then both hands dragged slowly down his face.
"What..."
Silence.
"...the fuck?"
He remained frozen. Trying very hard to convince himself he had remembered incorrectly.
Unfortunately...
He hadn't. He remembered everything. The way she had looked at him. The softness of her voice. The warmth of her hands. The taste of vanilla on her lips.
The way she'd sat on his lap.
And finally—
His expression collapsed into complete disbelief. "I..." He stared blankly at the opposite wall. "...came from her hands..."
Another pause.
"...and then I passed out?"
His eyes closed. "What the actual fuck..."
Never.
Not once in his entire adult life had anything remotely this embarrassing happened to him. He had spent years building a reputation as a disciplined lawyer—a man impossible to shake in court, composed under pressure, impossible to read.
And yet...
One mysterious woman with vanilla lip gloss had managed to reduce him to someone who climaxed far too quickly...
...then promptly lost consciousness.
He groaned aloud. "I am never drinking whiskey again."
His gaze drifted downward. The bandage was still wrapped neatly around his knuckles. He turned his hand over slowly. It looked almost absurd against his skin.
Small. Carefully applied.
Almost... Tender.
His thumb brushed absentmindedly across it. She had done that. Without expecting anything in return. His attention shifted around the room.
An opened alcohol wipe rested on the table beside the sofa. The empty wrapper from the bandage remained where it had been discarded.
Everything confirmed the night had been real. Not a dream. Not whiskey-induced imagination.
Then he noticed himself. His charcoal suit was wrinkled beyond saving. His tie had disappeared entirely. His shirt hung partially unbuttoned. His belt remained fastened, but the zipper of his trousers was still halfway down.
"...Fuck." He muttered the word this time with considerably more feeling.
He immediately stood, fixing his clothes with practiced efficiency despite the lingering embarrassment crawling up the back of his neck.
Five minutes later, he stepped out of the private lounge.
Aurora Lounge looked nothing like it had the night before. The music had been replaced by quiet conversation among employees preparing for another evening of business. Bartenders stocked shelves. Staff polished glasses. Someone adjusted chairs near the bar.
Everything smelled faintly of fresh coffee instead of expensive perfume.
The bartender behind the counter looked up. "Morning, Boss."
Zoren returned the greeting with a distracted nod before stopping in front of him.
He hesitated. This was ridiculous.
Yet he still asked.
"...Did you happen to see the woman who was with me last night?"
The bartender blinked. "The woman?"
"The one with long black hair."
Zoren cleared his throat. "...Asian."
Recognition flashed across the man's face almost immediately.
"Oh."
Then, unexpectedly... A knowing smile followed. It wasn't mocking. It was simply...
Curious.
After all, none of the staff could remember the last time Zoren Eikland had asked about a woman after spending the night with one.
"I think she left around one in the morning, Boss."
"Alone?"
"No."
"The Black lady she arrived with came back for her."
Zoren nodded slowly. "Did either of them leave any information?"
The bartender shook his head. "I'm sorry. They were guests. We don't keep personal records."
Of course they didn't. He had known the answer before asking.
Still...
Disappointment settled somewhere unexpectedly inside him.
"Thanks."
He turned to leave, but his phone rang. The screen lit up.
Erik. Mikkel's personal security officer. His entire expression changed. He answered immediately.
"What happened?"
Silence.
Then the color drained from his face. "What do you mean he almost got hit by a car?"
His voice echoed sharper than intended. The bartender instinctively looked away. After nearly a minute, Zoren finally exhaled.
"...He's alright?"
Relief arrived so suddenly his knees nearly weakened. On the other end, Erik explained everything. A woman had pulled Mikkel out of the road moments before impact.
No injuries. Only frightened.
Zoren closed his eyes. "Good."
Another pause. "Did you identify the woman?"
"Unfortunately not sir, but I gave her one of your calling cards if she contacts us, we'll know."
Zoren nodded once. "When she does..." His voice steadied again. "...I want her properly thanked and compensated."
He ended the call. For several moments he simply stood there, staring at the dark screen of his phone.
His son had almost been killed. And where had he been?
Passed out.
Thinking about a woman whose name he didn't even know. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Enough.
Whatever had happened last night... Stayed last night. He had responsibilities. A company waiting. A son depending on him. A new position he had never wanted but could no longer avoid.
He slipped his phone into his pocket, picked up his coat, and walked toward the exit.
"Forget her," he spoke the words quietly.
Mostly to himself.
"...She's just a beautiful stranger."
The problem—
He already knew he was lying.
---
The drive from Mikkel's school was unusually quiet.
Oslo drifted past the windows beneath a pale morning sky, the streets still damp from the rain that had fallen before dawn.
Inside the car, however, silence settled like a third passenger. Zoren kept both hands on the steering wheel, his attention fixed on the road ahead.
Beside him, Mikkel sat unusually still in the passenger seat, his small legs swinging just enough to betray his nervousness.
He knew that silence. His father wasn't shouting.
Somehow...
That was always worse.
After several long moments, Zoren finally spoke. "Mikkel."
The little boy immediately straightened in his seat. "Yes, Daddy?"
His voice was careful. Too careful. "You ran away from your security team."
Mikkel lowered his eyes. "...Yes."
"You crossed a public street by yourself."
"...Yes."
"You wanted to ride your bicycle alone."
Another small nod. Zoren inhaled slowly, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. His voice remained calm, not because he wasn't angry but because anger wasn't what his son needed right now.
"What happened yesterday wasn't a small mistake."
Mikkel quietly twisted the sleeve of his sweater between his fingers. "I know."
"You could have died."
The words hung heavily inside the car. "I know..."
This time, his voice came out much smaller. "I'm sorry."
Zoren glanced toward him briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "No."
Mikkel looked up.
"I'm sorry isn't enough."
The little boy frowned.
"When you make a mistake this dangerous..." Zoren continued quietly, "...I need something more than an apology."
He paused. "I need you to promise me."
Mikkel blinked. "Promise what?"
"That you'll never do something like that again."
Silence.
Outside, traffic lights changed from red to green. The car rolled forward. Finally...
"I promise." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I won't do it again."
Only then did some of the tension leave Zoren's shoulders. "Good."
Another quiet minute passed.
Then—
"But..."
Zoren sighed internally. There it was. "But what?"
Mikkel's face brightened immediately. "The angel saved me."
Zoren glanced sideways. "...The angel?"
The little boy nodded enthusiastically. "The lady."
"What lady?"
"The one who pulled me away from the car."
His blue eyes widened with complete sincerity. "She looked like an angel."
A faint smile almost escaped Zoren despite himself. "Did she?"
Mikkel nodded harder. "She had really long black hair."
His hands stretched outward dramatically. "Like this long."
"And it moved when she ran."
He demonstrated with both hands, making imaginary waves through the air.
"It looked..." He searched carefully for the right word. "...pretty."
Zoren couldn't help smiling this time. "So that's your official eyewitness description?"
"It's important."
"Apparently."
Mikkel leaned forward excitedly. "And she smiled at me."
"Did she?"
"Uh-huh."
"But..."
He frowned thoughtfully. "...she didn't have wings."
Zoren chuckled quietly. "No?"
"I checked."
"You checked."
"Yep."
"So maybe..."
Mikkel lowered his voice into a dramatic whisper. "...she was an angel hiding as a person."
Zoren laughed. Actually laughed. The sound surprised even him. He reached over and gently ruffled his son's blond hair.
"You watch too many movies."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
"I don't."
"You've watched the dragon movie six times."
"It was seven."
"Exactly."
Mikkel grinned victoriously. Then his smile softened. "I hope I see her again."
Zoren's own smile faded almost imperceptibly. "So do I."
The words slipped out before he realized he'd spoken them aloud. Mikkel looked at him curiously. "You want to thank her too?"
"...Yes."
Zoren answered after a moment. "I do."
Because she had saved the most important person in his life.
His son.
He owed that unknown woman far more than money. Far more than gratitude.
If fate ever allowed him to meet her...
He intended to thank her properly.