Dangerously Tempted

Chapter 11: Flirting and Dancing Pt.1

Isabel

When I woke up in the middle of the night, the silence was eerie, almost oppressive. My mind, still sluggish, struggled to catch up with reality. I didn't remember coming back to bed, and there was no recollection of Odile's presence. The fog of forgotten moments unsettled me. I pulled the blanket tighter as I turned over, and there they were—her eyes, watching me.

But this wasn't the Odile I knew. She looked... wrecked, like she'd been fighting a battle no one else could see. Her body carried brutal marks—cuts and bruises carved into her skin. My heart stumbled.

Her bottom lip was split, blood dried around the wound, and a harsh gash ran through her eyebrow. The sight shook me, but what gnawed at me even more was the dull throb in my own head—a sharp reminder of the liquor I'd drowned myself in earlier.

Ding ding ding.

The pieces of the night started slipping together. The balcony, the bottle, the weight of it all pressing down. What was I thinking? Shame coiled in my chest, but I shoved it away. There were more important things right now.

"What happened to you?" My voice cracked, dry and hoarse. I needed water, but more than that, I needed answers. I needed to understand what kind of hell Odile had been through while I was spiraling into my own.

Her eyes narrowed, and the air between us thickened with tension. Was she... angry at me? I didn't get it.

"Nothing."

Nothing? Frustration bubbled up. I was exhausted, hungover, and she was going to play this game with me now? "I'm not blind, Odile. I can see the cuts. What happened?"

I couldn't make sense of it. Who the hell had she fought? Ramos? One of the chefs? None of it fit. Odile wasn't like that. She was always composed, always in control. This was new, terrifying territory.

Her eyes darkened. "I could ask you the same thing."

A bitter taste filled my mouth. She didn't mean my physical state. She was talking about me, about what I'd done tonight. But I wasn't the one who looked like I'd gone through hell. My cuts were hidden, internal, tangled in the mess I'd made of my mind.

"If you were wondering how you got into this bed and aren't still lying on the balcony floor," she added, her voice cold and sharp. "Ramos brought you back here. Suzanne watched you after you scared the hell out of her."

Her words felt like a blow. Suzanne. The shame dug deeper—what kind of mess had I become to worry her like that? But Odile's gaze didn't soften, her eyes fixed on me as if waiting for something I couldn't quite give.

"I didn't mean to... be an inconvenience. I didn't want to scare anyone." My voice sounded weak, pathetic. "I just wanted to relax."

"So, you chose to do it with liquor on the balcony?"

When she said it like that, it sounded so incredibly stupid. My stomach twisted again, this time with shame. I wasn't trying to make excuses. I hadn't been thinking straight. But why was she so damn upset?

"I wasn't thinking, okay? I just needed a moment." My defenses flared, the walls I was so good at building starting to rise. I hated how exposed I felt under her gaze, hated that I'd let things spiral out of control.

"Why?" she pressed, her eyes boring into me. "Why did you need a moment? Why did you need to get drunk?"

I winced at the way she said it—like I was some reckless child. I wasn't. I knew better, but... maybe I didn't. I had been pissed off, frustrated with things I couldn't control. "I was pissed off."