The Stranger’s Bed - by Dera Writes

Chapter two Lira's POV. Warmth was the first thing I felt when my eyes fluttered open. The rain was gone, the cold night was gone. Instead, the morning sunlight slipped through the wide tall windows, casting soft golden light across the room. The curtains were drawn back just enough for sunlight to warm the polished floor and the bed. The room wasn’t ordinary, it was too elegant, too expensive, with muted cream walls and dark polished furniture. That whispered of money and control. I sank deeper into the soft bed, the sheets smelling faintly of expensive cologne and something clean, almost like cedarwood. My head ached faintly, but my body felt lighter than the night before. I sat up slowly, blinking in disbelief. Where was I? How did I end up here? Across the room, a man in a white coat scribbled on a clipboard. His back was to me, and the coat marked him clearly as a doctor. My heart leapt as memories flooded back, my stepfather’s hands reaching for me, the clawing fear in my chest, the rain pounding as I ran through the night, desperate to escape. And then the man I had stumbled into, his strong arms steadying me before darkness claimed me. Before I could gather myself, the door creaked open. then, he walked in. The stranger from the drizzle, Only now he wasn’t just some figure in the storm. He looked different in the morning light, he looked more real and more powerful. Last night he had been in a dark suit, commanding even in the chaos of drizzle. Now he wore a brown suit, and in his hand was a glass of water. Suddenly, his eyes met mine, lingering in a way that made my breath catch. They were sharp and unreadable at first, as if measuring me in silence, but slowly they softened as he stepped closer. With that, my heart somersaulted so loudly that I was certain he could hear it. “You’re awake,” he said calmly, in a deep voice. My lips parted, but no words came, and my palms grew damp against the sheets. Then the doctor stepped forward, his gaze flicking to me before turning politely to him. “ Mr Westwood, there is nothing wrong with her,” he said. “She only fainted from exhaustion and shock. She needs plenty of rest.” After ward, he closed his clipboard and excused himself, leaving us alone. The name struck me immediately, Mr. Westwood. So that was who he was, The mysterious man with the unreadable eyes, the one I had clung to in desperation. Silence lingered between us, it was heavy and strange. His gaze didn’t waver, and it didn’t drift. He held it firmly, as though he could see through me. At that, I shifted uneasily, wishing the ground would open and swallow me whole. I wasn’t used to anyone looking straight into my eyes that way. Finally, he spoke again, his voice low and certain. “You fainted last night.....I couldn’t just leave you there.” Heat rushed to my face, before I could think, I muttered, “Thank you… really.” My voice was small, trembling with shyness. I lowered my gaze at once, staring at my fingers as they fidgeted nervously, but even without looking, I could still feel his eyes on me. I wondered if he would ask why I had been running, where I was going. My thoughts barely formed before his words cut through them, sharp and knowing. “What were you running from?” Immediately, my head snapped up. I looked up and saw him still watching me with the same unreadable intensity. My throat tightened, Then my voice came out weak and trembling. “I was running away… from my problem.” I could not bring myself to tell him the truth, not yet. How could I explain the kind of monster my stepfather was? Mr. Westwood walked closer, and then, to my shock, he sat at the edge of the bed, close enough that I could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. My heart stilled, then thudded wildly. I swallowed hard, unsure whether to lean back or stay still. “I don’t think I understand what the problem is,” he said firmly, his voice carrying authority, but yet tinged with concern. “But no human should run from their problems. You face them, and you conquer them.” With his statement, I almost laughed bitterly inside my head. If only he knew what I called “problem, he wouldn't say that. How do you conquer a stepfather who doesn’t see you as his daughter, but as something else to be used? How do you fight that? Just then, his phone rang. He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled it out. Immediately, my eyes widened and my breath caught. The phone gleamed, sleek and looked expensive, it was the latest design I had only seen in advertisements. It wasn’t just the kind of phone rich people carried, the kind only the powerful, the influential, the untouchable could flaunt. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t just wealthy. He was someone important. He glanced at the caller ID, then at me and said. “Just a second. I’ll be right back.” His tone was calm and assured, as though he was used to being obeyed. Then he Rose smoothly, and stepped out of the room. The moment the door closed, I released the breath I had been holding, my chest loosening slightly. now alone, I allowed myself to look around properly. My eyes landed on a framed photograph on the far shelf. Then I saw him shirtless, with his expression caught mid-laugh. His body was lean, strong, and impossibly attractive. Something about the picture made my cheeks warm. Beside it, another photo caught my attention. a framed photo of a lady, looking elegant and beautiful, laughing beside him. For a fleeting second, I thought they were a couple. But then I noticed the resemblance, the same eyes, and the same sharp lines of their faces. That's when my mind clicked: they were siblings. Just then, the door burst open, and two ladies swept into the room with their presents. They were dressed in matching silk gowns, their hair was styled to perfection, and their makeup flawless. Luxury clung to them like perfume. One of them carried a small cake with an unlit candle, smiling until her gaze landed on me. Immediately, her smile froze, and both of them stopped in their tracks, surprise flashing across their faces before it shifted to something sharper. I realised at once, the lady from the photograph was one of the two. She smirked, her voice cutting through the air. “Who are you? And what are you doing on my brother’s bed?” With the questions, my heart slammed against my ribs, and I knew my guess was right. She is Mr. Westwood’s sister. Before I could answer, the other lady’s eyes narrowed, her voice was sharp and accusing. “can't you talk?... what the hell are you doing here?” My lips fumbled, words tumbling out incoherently. “M–Mr. Westwood… saved me…” Before I could finish, the lady with the cake set it down roughly on the table across the room and stormed toward me, her face was tight with anger. She yanked me out of the bed with surprising strength. “You’re here to seduce him, aren’t you?” she shouted. Fear shot through me. My head shook quickly, desperately. “No, I’m not…” I said, trembling already. The sister stepped closer, her eyes running over me with open disdain. Her smirk was cruel. “Who let you in here with your wretched clothes?” As I could gather myself, the other lady dragged me toward the door, her nails digging into my arm. My heart pounded as she pushed me roughly forward. But just as she flung me toward the entrance, the door opened again. Then Mr Westwood stepped in and I fell straight into him. His arms caught me, and he held me once again.

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