One Night Stand With My Cocky Boss

~Sienna~ The night sky over Bellmore was dusted with stars, their soft glow spilling over the terrace at Verità, one of the city’s most romantic restaurants. Fairy lights sparkled above me, casting a warm light that danced across the silk of my dress. A flutter of nerves and excitement rushed through me. Four years—four years I’d been waiting for this moment. “Tonight's special,” I’d told myself. Grant had never been one for grand gestures, but this... this was different. He’d chosen the place, made the reservation. “Meet me there,” he’d said. And I’d let myself hope that tonight might finally be the night. My phone screen blinked back at me. He was late, the minutes dragging as I tried to keep my anxious mind from running wild. Finally, I saw him cross the restaurant’s entrance, dressed in knickers and a sleeveless shirt that flaunted those small arms of his, his tall frame familiar yet distant. I sat up straighter, my pulse racing as he walked toward me, though something in his expression seemed off. There was a heaviness in his gaze, a look that had my heart lurching with a mix of excitement and unease. “Grant,” I said, feeling the words catch in my throat. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for tonight.” He gave a small, tight smile, his hands clasping on the table, his fingers laced together as though holding something back. My own hands fidgeted in my lap, my anticipation turning to dread. “Sienna,” he began, his voice low and strained. “There’s… something I need to tell you.” The slight tremor in his voice felt like a punch, but I forced myself to stay calm, nodding. "Okay…?" He took a deep breath, looking away, his eyes fixed on some invisible point. “I’ve met someone else.” For a moment, the words didn’t register. “You… met someone?” My voice was shaky as I searched his face, trying to make sense of what he was saying. The words sounded distant, surreal. He exhaled, his gaze still averted. “She’s… the one I love, Sienna.” The breath left my lungs. “What? But we’ve been together for—” “I know,” he said flatly, his eyes finally meeting mine. “And I never planned to tell you like this, but… I can’t keep doing this. You need more than I can give, and—” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Sienna, but this has to end.” The weight of his words settled like stones in my stomach. Four years. Four years of love, sacrifice, and compromise for a future that was never meant to be. I’d thought he was my anchor, my partner, someone I could lean on. But now it felt like he’d let go of my hand, leaving me to drown on my own. I never expected he would leave me because of the intense argument we had three nights ago about him not supporting me with my father’s medical bills, the way Grant’s face tightened every time I asked for help. I should have taken the clue. I wanted to ask why he couldn’t have told me sooner, wanted to scream at him for abandoning me when I needed him most, but the words wouldn’t come. There was nothing left to say. Without another word, he rose from the table and walked away, leaving me sitting alone, surrounded by the fragments of a life I’d thought was ours. --- I didn’t remember leaving the restaurant. I only knew that I was walking the streets of Bellmore, numb and directionless, until I found myself stepping into the dim, comforting lights of The Ivy—a bar I’d passed a hundred times but had never gone into. It felt like a refuge, somewhere removed from everything I’d just lost. I ordered drink after drink, the bartender giving me a curious look as I tossed them back. The alcohol burned, but it didn’t dull the ache that had settled in my chest, heavy and unyielding. It was as though everything around me was moving underwater, distorted, while the pain stayed sharp and clear. “Looks like you could use something stronger,” a smooth voice said beside me, jolting me from my haze. I turned to see a man leaning against the bar, his dark eyes studying me, a spark of curiosity in his gaze. He was impeccably dressed, white collared shirt with his sleeves rolled up casually, revealing veiny, heavily tattooed forearms. A faint scent of cologne surrounded him. I let my eyes rake over him for a little longer before looking away. “Not sure anything’s strong enough for that,” I muttered, tipping back another drink. My voice sounded small, foreign to my own ears. He smirked, a hint of warmth in his expression. “I don’t usually recommend drowning sorrows, but… you look like you could use the company.” He slipped into a stool beside me, and the way he casually he ran a hand over his raven-black curly taper fade—it was attractive as hell. "I'm Lucas. Nice to meet you, Sienna," he said with a grin, nodding toward the beaded bracelet on my wrist—it had my name on it. I rolled my eyes; I really needed to take this damned thing off already. He leaned in closer, taking a sip from my drink. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I didn’t pull away. There was something about him—a calmness that felt grounding, as if he could steady me through the storm raging in my chest. “I just got out of… something,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper. “Yeah, me too,” he said, his tone surprisingly soft. He looked away for a moment, a flicker of something raw passing through his gaze. “Worst blind date of my life. Figured this bar was a better use of my time.” Despite myself, I smiled, the faintest lift at the corner of my lips. “I’ve been with someone for four years,” I murmured. “Or at least, I thought I was.” “Four years?” he echoed, his gaze sharpening as he took in my expression. He nodded, as if understanding without me having to say more. “Sounds like you got the raw end of the deal.” The words stung, but there was a comfort in them, in the shared understanding that I didn’t have to explain. And as I spoke, my voice cracked with laughter, with anger, even tears that slipped out despite my best efforts. He listened to it all, and somehow, he didn’t turn away. As the night wore on, one drink turned into another, the world around us slipping away until it was just his eyes, his voice anchoring me in the moment. After a while, he reached for my hand, his touch gentle, steady. He leaned closer, his gaze locking with mine, then his crimson lips crashed into mine, a mix of wine and cigarette on his breath. "I don’t mind being your rebound. You can use me to get over him. What do you think?" His voice was low as he broke the kiss, his blue eyes searching mine for an answer. At first, I was surprised, wondering why such a good-looking guy would want something like this. He looked rich and confident; don’t men hate being rebounds? His lips met mine again, his hands feeling every inch of my body through the silk material of my gown. I moaned softly at how his touch ignited something within me. And in that moment, I realized that I wanted this—I wanted more of this feeling, anything, that would pull me from the ache Grant’s words had left behind. Without a word, I nodded, letting him lead me out of the bar and to the hotel across the street. Inside the room, he pulled me close, his hands brushing my cheek, my hair. His touch was slow, careful, almost reverent, as if testing the edges of a fragile thing. My heart raced, my body responding to the warmth of his hands on my skin, grounding me in the present, pulling me from the hollow ache Grant had left behind. I melted into him, losing myself in the way he held me, the way his breath felt against my skin. It was the sound of his voice, low and soothing, the way he murmured my name as if it held some meaning, that let me finally let go. For the first time, after years of loyalty to that bastard, I allowed myself to feel another man’s touch. He guided me to the large bed, and in that moment, the pain began to slip away.