Through the Dark

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Waking up on a Monday morning was the worst. I've always hated Mondays—they mark the beginning of yet another long workweek. Glancing at the clock on my bedside table, I saw it was already 5:30 a.m. With work starting at 7:30, I groaned and forced myself out of bed. I rummaged through my closet for my clothes and the other things I needed for the day. Once everything was ready, I headed to the bathroom for a warm shower, silently reminding myself how fortunate I was to be here in London instead of stuck in that miserable little town I once called home back in California.

Remembering my past always brings me pain. I was only ten years old when my parents died in a car accident. After that, I was forced to live with my aunt—an uncaring woman who never wanted me in the first place. She was mean, selfish, and quick-tempered. Whenever I refused to buy her alcohol or cigarettes, she would beat me. For four years, I endured life in her so-called home.

When I turned fourteen, I could no longer stand her cruelty, so I ran away. But life outside was just as unforgiving. I was lost, homeless, and reckless. I tried to find work, but no one would hire me because I was too young. Desperate and with no other choice, I turned to the only option I thought I had—selling my body. That's how I was drawn into prostitution. At that time, it paid far more than any shop or market job could ever offer.

It was through that money, however, that I managed to put myself through college.

Finishing my degree in Arts and Music also marked the end of my life in prostitution. I left California behind and flew to London, where I applied for a position as a Music Advisor at a recording company. I got the job, and now I'm finally living my life to the fullest.

*****

After taking a shower, I dressed in a crisp white long-sleeved blouse paired with a black pencil skirt and matching black pumps. I applied light makeup and finished with a spritz of vanilla perfume across my skin.

Grabbing my purse and keys, I decided to head to a coffee shop for breakfast since I didn't have enough time to cook at home. I ordered my favorite chicken sandwich and a café latte, then paid for my meal.

Just as I was about to head toward an empty booth by the window, I accidentally bumped into someone. My tray slipped from my hands, and in an instant, my coffee spilled all over my clothes.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, heat rushing to my face in embarrassment.

The man I had collided with immediately bent down to help. He picked up my sandwich—thankfully still safe in its paper wrapper—and handed it back to me, then offered a napkin to help wipe away the mess of spilled coffee.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't see you walking there," the guy said, still helping me wipe the coffee from my hands and clothes.

I looked up at him, and shock rushed through me.

Green eyes. Pink lips. Brown hair. A sharp, defined jawline. Broad shoulders. A strong, muscled frame—though not overly so. Easily six feet tall. Oh. My. God.

He met my gaze, his green eyes locking with my hazel ones, and then he smiled. A rush of heat crept into my cheeks, and I quickly looked away, pretending to focus on wiping the coffee from my clothes.

"You should've watched where you were going next time. Lucky for you, I've got extra clothes in my car." I muttered, still mortified by the whole scene.

"Yeah... I'm really, really sorry," he said sincerely.

I rolled my eyes, snatched the sandwich from his hand, and started to walk past him. But before I could get away, he gently caught my wrist.

"I'm truly sorry for bumping into you and spilling your coffee. By the way, I'm Harry—Harry Simpson."

My breath hitched. Of course I knew who he was. "I know," I replied quietly. "And I'm Samantha Jameson, Well Sammy for short."

He smiled at me again—for the second time—and I swear my heart skipped a beat. 

"Well, can I at least buy you a coffee to make up for ruining your breakfast?" he asked.

"It's fine. You don't have to," I replied bluntly, still trying to shake off my embarrassment.

"But I want to. Come on—it's just coffee."

I hesitated, debating whether I should, but in the end, I found myself saying yes.

*****

While waiting for him in the booth, my mind began to wander.

God, he's hot. Those sparkling emerald eyes, the way his abs pressed against that white shirt, and those tight black skinny jeans... Oh no, Sammy. Stop it. Boys are all the same. Don't go falling for him. You literally just bumped into each other—he'll probably forget you by tomorrow. Besides, he's a superstar, and you're nowhere close to that. I scolded myself silently.

A moment later, he returned, setting a steaming cup of coffee in front of me before sliding into the seat across the table. In his other hand, he carried his own coffee and a slice of blueberry cheesecake.

I raised an eyebrow, confusion flickering in my eyes. "So why are you still here, Mr. Simpson? Don't you have better things to do?"

He just winked at me and took a bite of his cheesecake, as if that were answer enough.

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