This was meant to have been posted in January to keep with the times but I had a lot of personal issues and then an emergency surgery so I am now trying to play some kind of catchup. Thanks for all who have messaged me about this story, I promise I will keep it going. :)

January…

The morning light was far too bright for Rose's sensitive eyes. As she opened one eye, the other struggled to follow suit. She had been staring at the ceiling for far too long, watching as the strange haze of the night slowly merged with the early morning glow. January had brought a frosty morning, and a weak winter sun shone through the windows, providing just enough heat to cause the glass to expand and crack. Waking up in a stranger's bed, in an unfamiliar flat, in a city that wasn't her own, Rose felt a profound sense of vulnerability.

The warmth of another body beside her kept the cold at bay, but it did nothing to alleviate the intense fear that the shifting weight next to her belonged to Cal. Even in the depths of her dreams, a strange hand had reached for hers. It was just that—a single touch. An offer of comfort that she had accepted, entwining their fingers as if they were lovers. That small gesture comforted her and allowed her to fall asleep again, soothing away the fears that had crippled her in waves.

A while later, the weight beside her lifted, and her hand was left searching inside the covers for someone's comfort. Instead, she found solitude in the depths of her sleep. A short time later, she heard a door click quietly open and shut; she assumed he had left and returned. The smell of coffee drifted through the air, followed by a running shower, and then…

"Good morning," Jack's voice was quiet, a soft halo of sunlight illuminating his crown. He smiled, but the expression didn't quite reach his eyes, a more intense blue than those she had seen beneath the streetlights at midnight. His hair was lightly damp and limp, hanging in his face. He stood in the flat's kitchen, adjacent to the bedroom. The tiny, grey-hued corner featured a row of cupboards, a cooker, a small refrigerator, a washing machine, a small round table, and two chairs off to one side. Behind him, another door stood open enough for the bathroom.

"Morning," Rose replied, uncertain about her surroundings and the erratic thoughts racing through her mind. Everything felt disjointed, and her cheek and head throbbed with pain. She struggled to process her vision and hearing, which sometimes felt as though they were muffled as if she were in a tunnel. Yet, when she looked at him, everything became razor-sharp.

"I went for a run and left you some sweatpants and a shirt of mine in case you needed a shower. When I came back, you were still asleep," he said, his lip twitching with amusement. "Or pretending to be."

Jack's small smile made her self-consciousness fade away. But as she attempted to lift the covers from her legs, an overwhelming thud echoed through her cheek, forehead, and eye, as if she had taken a bullet to the skull, and all her weight seemed to dissipate.

"Are you okay?" Jack's concern was palpable as he gently touched her shoulder. Though initially frightening, his touch began to soothe her. "I'm here for you."

Helping her stand, he supported her back and shoulder until the throbbing subsided for just a moment, allowing her to open her eyes again. Though her vision was still blurred, she felt an overwhelming sense of vulnerability—especially in the presence of a stranger. However, that feeling seemed to fade as she glanced around the room, searching for something.

"Do you have a mirror?" she asked.

"Are you sure you want to see?" he replied.

"Yes," Rose said, though she felt hesitant.

"There's one in the bathroom." Jack kept his hand on her for guidance, and Rose found her steps were surprisingly steady. She wanted to see her reflection. She needed to see just what damage had been done to her. A sinking, low feeling began in her stomach as she thought of Cal and how he had acted towards her, and she swallowed back the panic.

The bathroom was filled with moisture from Jack's shower, and the warm, damp air enveloped her as soon as she stepped inside. The scent of his masculine body wash lingered in the air, reminding her of the previous evening spent beside the Thames, where they had embraced for what felt like an eternity and kissed long after the fireworks had ended. Her legs had nearly buckled from exhaustion during those moments.

As she glanced down at the way his hands rested on her waist, atop her burgundy evening gown, she became acutely aware that he could feel every struggle she fought beneath his calm fingers. Above the sink hung an oval mirror, fogged up with steam. For a silly moment, she hesitated, almost wishing she didn't have to see the extent of the damage done to her face. Ignoring it, for now, is a perfectly reasonable option.

"There's no severe damage," Jack said, sensing her reluctance to look at her reflection. She noticed a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt he had left out for her, sitting on a small set of drawers next to the sink.

"How do you know?" she asked.

"I… checked."

Rose turned in his arms, but he kept his hold around her waist, and she realised she was now pressed tightly between him and the sink. The closeness quickened her breathing, and then an inconsequential thought struck her: she hadn't brushed her teeth and felt mortified. His fingers left her waist and gently traced upwards, brushing against the swollen area, momentarily distracting her from her overwhelming state.

"It's not broken; I would have known and taken you straight to the hospital if it were," Jack said, his jaw tightly set as he bit his lip. "I think you should have been checked over anyway."

"By whom? A doctor? They will only ask questions."

"And rightly so."

"I do not want to be a victim or a burden."

"You are neither, just a girl who fell in love with the wrong man."

"I never loved him," Rose's voice trembled with the weight of her words. She felt a surge of exhaustion, a need to collapse. "I was his victim."

"But not a burden."

"I am a burden to you." Rose tried to move away from him but was gently stopped by his chest.

"No, never!" Jack snapped, the most frightening thing she had seen in him. Yet, she wasn't afraid. His blue eyes flared wide, and she could only gaze into their depths, losing herself entirely. "Last night wasn't just about finding you; I'm glad we got to spend New Year's together in this fucked up world."

It was unsettling to look into a stranger's eyes and feel like she had discovered something profound. His hands rested on her waist, and his fingers caressed her cheek without wavering. Sincerity swam in his eyes, and she might drown in them if she wasn't careful.

"It was as though fate planned for us to meet that way last night."

"Call it what you will—fate, destiny, or sheer luck—but I'm glad it brought me to you."

Rose's stomach fluttered as if a restless butterfly were trapped inside. How many girls had he used this line on?

This felt dangerous…

Just how many times had she thought that now?

"Will you be working today?" Rose asked, trying to distract herself from the intensity of their moment but wishing to know if he would return to the hotel, knowing full well that Cal and her mother would still be there.

"No, I quit."

"So you just wander around until you find your next job?"

"Pretty much."

Rose wished she could laugh; he made it sound so easy. However, she had only about fifty pounds in her purse and owned nothing but her clothes. Glancing at her oversized sweatpants, she suddenly found them instead appealing. As if reading her mind, he smiled and adjusted his stance away from her.

"Take a shower and clean your face, and then we can examine you properly, without makeup and fresh-faced. There's a spare toothbrush in the drawer, and towels are in the cupboard."

Rose could only nod silently.

"Do you need anything else?"

She shook her head this time.

"Can you manage all right?"

Again, Rose nodded, but her eyes filled with unshed tears. Jack's kindness and the sense of safety she felt in his flat's bathroom were overwhelming.

"Well, if you need anything, just shout."

"Thank you, Jack. I sincerely appreciate everything."

"It's not a problem." Jack momentarily leaned against the bathroom door, finally letting go of her waist. It took him a moment to see that she was well enough to stand alone before he pulled a cord and started the shower. In the fogginess of the room, with steam filling the air, it felt like they were looking at each other through layers of a hazy dream. An unspoken hesitance hung between them.

"Will I be taking you back to the hotel today?" Jack broke the silence with a loaded question.

"No, I'll stay with you here for a while."

Rose didn't ask for permission or feel the need to. Instead, a small smile lingered at the corner of his lips as he nodded, saying "right," before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving her with a racing heart. This certainly wasn't what she had expected.

Concentrating on simply getting out of her dress felt like shedding a second skin; she was thrilled to be rid of it. Why had she decided to wear something that didn't truly reflect her? To please someone else. To please Cal…

Jesus Christ!

She glanced down at the red bodycon dress, noting the sheer lace and the ends of her lifeless hair; she reached for the zipper fastening at the back, only to realise she couldn't reach it. Her trembling hands only made matters worse, and soon, she found it difficult to breathe and even see. Panic surged within her, but instead of succumbing to it, she grasped the seams on either side of the zipper and ripped it straight down the centre, exposing her bare skin to the cool, refreshing air of the room. She was certain a frustrated scream had escaped her lips, but Jack seemed not to have heard. Soon after discarding her garment and underwear on the floor, she stood beneath a scorching hot shower, which did little to alleviate her dizziness but washed away the last remaining touch of Caledon Hockley.

She didn't know how long she had stood there, the water trickling over her strangely soothingly. This should have been a time for contemplation and reflection, but her mind was blank. There were no thoughts of the past or the next moment; perhaps that was the most freeing part.

After washing her hair and carefully brushing through the knots with her fingers, she towel-dried it as best as possible. Standing in Jack's oversized clothes, she leaned against the sink and brushed her teeth. Suddenly, she heard the door handle twist once, and Jack's voice came through.

"Are you all right? You've been in there for a while, that's all."

"It's all right, you can come in," she replied.

The door creaked, and in stepped Jack, bringing with him the scent of freshly made coffee and burnt toast. He took a moment to examine her, and suddenly, all consciousness returned in full flood. The t-shirt was huge and probably transparent, having chosen to forgo underwear. The sweatpants hung from her hips, and her bare feet poked through the bottom of her legs. He tilted his head and smiled. After brushing her teeth, she was about to pick up her clothes from the wet floor when Jack bent down, brushing his fingers against hers in the pile of garments. As their eyes met, he felt the broken zipper and traced his finger along it, silently asking her about it with his gaze.

"I couldn't escape it," Rose explained carefully. "Nor did I ever want to return to it again."

"Good." Jack glanced at her from head to toe, and she suddenly felt ridiculous. "You look better."

''Do I?''

''Yes, you still need some ice on that.'' Jack stood and took the garments into his own hands. ''I can put these in the trash.''

Rose should have mentioned that he carried only her underwear, but none mattered. Somewhere, someone had taken an imaginary pair of scissors and cut all ties to her past, and she had no reason to complain.

''Thanks.''

''Do you drink coffee?''

''Yes.''

''I've made some. Lie on the couch.'' Jack gestured towards the worn leather sofa in the living area.

''Why?''

''Please.''

''Is this to put ice on my face?''

''Have you looked in the mirror?''

''No.''

''Good.''

''Why?''

This was trust—implicit trust. Jack knelt beside her, leaning close to her face as if they were about to kiss. His gentle fingers brushed against her cheek before he applied the ice directly. She winced, not from the pain but from the shock, and immediately, he soothed her as though she were a child crying in pain. He gently stroked her forehead with one hand, and as the ice melted, a trickle of water ran toward her ear. He carefully wiped it away with his thumb and continued to stroke upwards. Her eyes couldn't look away from his. She had never felt so fragile and genuinely terrified, yet his gaze kept her firmly rooted there, lying on a stranger's sofa.

''Why? Why should I not look?''

Jack swallowed hard. She noticed the movement in his throat and saw his jaw tighten before he answered her softly.

"Because you need to see how you look. You will notice the difference between yesterday and today. You might feel less attractive, less beautiful, and less like yourself, but I want you to know that I never want you to have those thoughts or feelings. You are just as beautiful now—lying on this sofa, in my clothes, with ice dripping from your swollen cheek—as you were last night before he touched you. I saw you in that dress...in those heels. I saw your face before he hurt you, and I can see you now. The only difference now is how much I want to kill him.''

A tear trickled down Rose's face; this time, it was hot, not the coldness of ice. While sincere and lovely, his words cut her right down the middle. His gaze remained unwavering, and his fingers continued to stroke her forehead, but the pain in her cheek had turned into a dull throb. She couldn't think of a single reply other than to raise her hand and brush the hair from his eyes. God, how was he so beautiful? How could he think the same of her?

''I can only see how you would think that…''

''Do not try to justify anything. Please…''

Even when she wanted to look away from him, she couldn't.

''But why do you care so much about some silly girl who got wrapped up with the wrong guy?''

Rose could tell that he wanted to say more than he had, more than he should. As he continued to clean her eye, she noticed him exhale so violently that his nostrils flared and his jaw tightened.

"Because I do," he replied. "I cared long before I saw what he had done to you."

"Do you watch all the girls at these parties?" she asked.

"I have never watched anyone from afar except for you and my sister."

"I'm truly sorry for what happened to your sister," she said softly.

"And I am sorry for what has happened to you," he responded.

As he finished cleaning her cheek, his gentle fingers moved down to her face, and she didn't even flinch at his touch.

"Somehow, it was kind of worth it," Rose admitted shyly, but she continued with her revelations. "It's not every night you meet a guy willing to kiss a girl at midnight with such a swollen face."

"I did not just want to kiss her at midnight."

Rose managed to breathe despite her nerves, and her stomach fluttered with a million butterflies. The guy was there, on his knees in front of her, and suddenly, he leaned in as if he was going to kiss her again. And he did. The kiss held the same hesitance and intensity as before, but Rose responded with more fervour this time than the night before. She wasn't sure if it was because he had calmed her or simply because he was so beautiful, but she laced her fingers into his damp hair and felt how firm his lips were beneath hers. They stayed that way for a long time, exploring each other in the most tender and lovely way.