Chapter 312

Serena's POV

Alone again, I leaned against the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed deep crimson, and my chest heaved with each rapid breath. My eyes, wide with shock and brimming with tears, stared back at me.

What was Mateo García doing in my room? In my bed? And why did it have to be him of all people who saw me like this? In his eyes, I must look exactly like the woman the gossip columns painted me to be - desperate, throwing myself at powerful men.

I gripped the edge of the sink, trying to steady myself. Mateo was nothing like the man I'd once believed I could trust. Nothing like Lucas. Lucas wasn't nearly as hateful and arrogant as him.

And yet... a single tear rolled down my cheek, surprising me. I couldn't remember the last time I'd cried for anyone but Lucas. Why was I crying now? Why was I allowing Mateo García to affect me this way?

One tear became many, and suddenly I was sobbing silently, years of pent-up pain and frustration pouring out. I pressed my hand against my mouth, trying to muffle the sounds. I would not let him hear me cry. I would not give him that satisfaction.

A loud bang on the door made me jump.

"How long are you planning to hide in there?" Mateo's voice was sharp with impatience. "Come out and explain yourself!"

The urge to throw something hard at the door was overwhelming. Who did he think he was?

"Open the door!" he demanded, pounding again.

"No!" I shouted back, finding my voice.

"Serena Sinclair!" he growled my name like it was an accusation.

"Go away!" I yelled, past caring about dignity.

His response came immediately, dripping with arrogance. "My room. Why should I leave?"

"This is MY room!" I screamed, all my usual poise and composure evaporating in the heat of my anger.

Years of etiquette and careful self-control vanished. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to fling open the door and unleash every furious, undignified word that bubbled up inside me. I wanted to become the very thing I'd always refused to be - a screaming, raging woman who cared nothing for appearances.

Mateo paused, and when he spoke again, his words were measured and deliberate. "This. Is. My. Room."

I froze, confusion momentarily overriding my anger.

"I just spoke with the front desk," he continued, his tone slightly more controlled. "They mixed up our rooms. My room is 1217. Your room is 1211. When you checked in, they gave you my key card by mistake. Understand?"

My mind raced to process this information. Surely a luxury hotel of this caliber couldn't make such a basic error?

"If you understand, then come out now," Mateo demanded, interrupting my thoughts. "Stop squatting in my room."

That accusation rekindled my fury instantly. "I am NOT squatting!"

"Then why aren't you coming out?" he challenged.

My situation suddenly crystallized with horrifying clarity. I had disrobed in the bedroom, leaving all my clothes on the sofa outside the bathroom. And now I stood here, with nothing but a towel between me and him.

"I...I don't have my clothes," I admitted, my voice dropping to a mortified whisper.

More pounding on the door. "Open up!"

"I just told you I have no clothes on!" I shouted, exasperation making my voice crack.

"How am I supposed to hand you your clothes if you won't open the door?" he shouted back, equally frustrated.

I recognized the impossible logic of the situation. Carefully, I readjusted the towel, tucking it securely above my breasts and making sure it covered me to mid-thigh. With a deep breath, I unlocked the door and opened it the tiniest crack-just enough to peek through with one eye.

Mateo stood there, his gray eyes darkening as they narrowed at me. The hallway light outlined his tall frame, casting half his face in shadow.

His lip curled into a mocking smile. "Why the theatrics? It's not like there's anything worth seeing."

My cheeks burned with humiliation and rage. "Just because it's not for your viewing pleasure doesn't mean you get a free show."

His expression hardened. "Free show? Please. You'd have to pay me to look."

"Mateo García!" I hissed, genuinely hurt by the venom in his words.

He held up my neatly folded clothes. "Do you want these or not?"

"Yes," I practically whispered, hating how vulnerable I felt.

"Then open the door wider. I can't fit anything through this tiny crack."

I cringed at his crude reference to my clothes. My entire body shook with the effort of restraining myself from doing something reckless-like slapping him.

I tightened my grip on the edge of the door, my knuckles turning white with the strain of controlling my emotions.

I took a deep breath, preparing to open the door just wide enough to snatch my clothes without compromising my dignity any further.

Just as I started to turn the handle, the door suddenly burst inward. Mateo had apparently lost his patience and decided to force his way in at the exact moment I was opening it. The collision of opposing forces sent us both off balance.

"What the-" I didn't even finish my exclamation before Mateo tumbled forward, his tall frame completely losing equilibrium.

Time seemed to slow as he fell toward me, his gray eyes widening with surprise. I tried to step back, but there was nowhere to go. We crashed to the floor with a painful thud, his body landing directly on top of mine, his face buried in the crook of my neck. His weight pressed me hard against the cold tile floor, knocking the air from my lungs. I felt like my entire body was falling apart. Intense pain was coursing through every inch of me.

"Get off me!" I shrieked, a mixture of shock and fury coursing through me. What had I done in my past life to deserve this torment?

"You-you asshole! How long are you fucking planning to lie on top of me? Get off!" I shouted, deliberately using the most offensive words I could think of. I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel as uncomfortable as he'd made me feel with his arrogant assumptions that I was throwing myself at him.

Mateo lifted his head, his jaw clenched tight. "Shut. Up." Each word emerged like a bullet.

But I wasn't about to be silenced. I squirmed beneath him, trying to free myself from his weight. He felt like a concrete wall pinning me down, immovable and hard.

"Stop moving," he growled, his voice dangerously low.

"Get off me, you creep!" I continued, pushing against his chest.

Something shifted in his expression then-his gray eyes darkened, and a dangerous spark ignited in them. "A creep, am I?" he asked softly, his voice sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

My heart hammered in my chest, but I refused to back down. "Yes, you are! Now get off-"

Before I could finish, his mouth crashed down on mine, silencing my protests. My eyes flew open in shock, my body freezing beneath his. This couldn't be happening. Mateo García-the man who acted like I was beneath him-was kissing me!

Rage boiled up inside me, fierce and immediate. Without thinking, I bit down on his lower lip-hard. I tasted blood just before he jerked away.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he shouted, touching his finger to his lip and staring at the blood in disbelief.