The Billionaire in Disguise

In the Arms of a Stranger

დ Elara დ

I barely made it two steps outside before the cool night slapped some sense into me. David had one arm around my shoulder as he gently steered me out the door like I was some half-broken doll. The bar’s warm light spilled out behind us, but it faded fast as the world turned colder and darker with every wobbling step.

“Come on, Elara,” he said. “Let’s get you home, all right?”

“Home is on fire,” I muttered. David made a soft sound, somewhere between sympathy and exhaustion.

“You drank enough to fuel a tractor,” I heard him whisper, but I didn’t say anything. My feet scuffed against gravel as he guided me across the uneven dirt lot behind the Rusted Fig, where a handful of old trucks and dusty sedans sat like forgotten stories. Then my foot caught on something. Something soft. Human. I pitched forward, arms flailing, and landed hard on my hands and knees. Dirt scraped my palms. My jeans tore at the knee.

“What the—” I twisted, ready to rip someone apart. “Who the hell just lies in the middle of a parking lo—” I stopped as I stared at the man. A man who was flat on his back. He wasn’t moving. And there was blood. A lot of it. My brain finally connected the dots, and my stomach rolled. “Is he…oh, s**t…is he dead?” my voice cracked as I crawled closer. David hovered behind me, panic already blooming across his face.

“Nope. I didn’t sign up for this. Nope. Not getting caught up in some dead body business. Nope. I do not get paid enough for this,”

“David!” I exclaimed, but he was already backing up.

“I’ll call someone, I swear! Just…just don’t touch him, ok?”

“Are you seriously leaving?” I looked up, horrified.

“Not getting involved, Elara,” he hissed.

“Fine, I’ll take him home with me,” I snapped. He nodded before he turned and bolted back inside like a coward. I blinked after him, stunned. Then I looked back down at the man. Blood matted one side of his hair. Dirt smeared his cheek, and his shirt, ripped, soaked through in places, clung to a chest that rose, barely, with shallow breaths. So, he wasn’t dead. He was just barely clinging to life in a dirt lot behind a bar where I drank my soul out of existence. I pressed two fingers to the side of his neck, heart thundering. Pulse. Weak, but there. “Hey,” I said as I leaned over him. “Hey, wake up. Can you hear me?” nothing. Not a sound. I shook his shoulder gently. “Come on. Open your eyes,” his eyes fluttered open, but just for a second. Eyes so blue that I almost forgot he was bleeding. Suddenly, I was sober. I scrambled to my feet and looked around. An approaching car made me breathe easier. The Uber that David had ordered.

“Elara?” he said as he rolled down the window.

“Yeah, um…my friend is really out of it,” I said. The man climbed out of his truck and eyed the man on the ground.

“Is he…ok?”

“Yeah, he bumped his head,” I lied. I had no idea what had happened to him. In truth, I should have taken him to the hospital. But I was too drunk, albeit somewhat sober, to think logically.

“If he gets blood on my seats, I’m charging extra,”

“Sure,” I said. Between the two of us, we managed to get him on his feet and into the back of the trunk. I slid in after him and cradled his larger body against mine.

“Right, where to?” the man asked. I paused. There was no way I could go back home. Not to Matthew.

“Nightglen Winery,” I said without thinking. “Fast,” the drive was silent, but thankfully, it didn’t take long. The man in my arms seemed to regain some consciousness, but not enough. When we reached the vineyard, the house lights were off except for the porch lamp. Rows of dark vines stretched into the distance, swaying under the moonlight. Home. Not the kind with comfort and warmth, not tonight, but the only place left that didn’t reek of betrayal. I shoved the door open and half-dragged the man out of the car.

“Need help with that?” a voice called from the porch. Rowan. Perfect timing. He stepped into the light, shirtless in plaid pajama pants, his hair a blond mess of sleep and suspicion. His eyes locked on me, then dropped to the bloodied man barely standing beside me. “What the actual…Elara?”

“Not now,” I snapped, as I tried to shift the man’s weight as he sagged. “Just help me,” Rowan jogged over and caught the stranger's arm on the other side.

“Who the hell is this?”

“I said not now,”

“Elara, he is bleeding all over you,”

“Better him than Matthew,” I muttered. Rowan paused and stared at me like I had just lost my mind. Maybe I had. We hauled the guy up the porch steps and through the front door. Rowan grumbled something under his breath as we dumped him, gently, onto the living room couch. The man let out a low groan, then fell silent again. Blood stained the throw pillow. I winced. Rowan hovered, arms crossed, watching me like I was going to spontaneously combust.

“Elara—”

“I’ll explain in the morning,” I said, brushing a hand through my tangled hair. “Just...not now. Please,” tonight had been an epic disaster.

“Well, we can’t just leave him like that,” Rowan pointed out.

“I can’t…I just…I can’t deal with that now,” I said as I backed away. An image of David doing the same thing flashed through my mind, but my stomach twisted, and I knew I was about to throw up. I made a run for the nearest bathroom.

“Get to bed, I will handle the stranger you brought home…but in the morning, you have a lot to explain,” Rowan said from the bathroom doorway. I waved my hand dismissively as I vomited again into the toilet bowl. Nice. Real nice. Tonight had been more than an epic disaster.

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