CHAPTER 4 - MASK OF INDIFFERENCE

ELENA'S POV

I walked into work on Monday, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee and the hum of chatter putting me at ease in a way that felt almost too normal after the whirlwind weekend I’d barely survived.

The Sapphire Hotel lobby glowed under its warm pendant lights, the marble floors polished to a shine that reflected the early morning sun filtering through the tall windows. It was a new week, a fresh start, or at least that’s what I kept telling myself as I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and forced my steps to stay steady.

I’d spent the entire weekend locked in my tiny apartment, replaying every second of that night like a looped nightmare I couldn’t escape. I'd expected my first time to be… different, but I guess things don't just work out the way we plan.

By Sunday night, I’d convinced myself it was just a one-night mistake, a reckless birthday slip that would fade into nothing if I refused to acknowledge it. I’d even taken a morning-after pill just to be safe, standing in the pharmacy aisle with my heart in my throat as the pharmacist rang it up without a word. The small white pill had gone down with a glass of water and a silent prayer that I hadn’t just ruined my life over a stranger whose face I now knew belonged to one of the most powerful men in the city.

As I clocked in at the staff terminal behind the bar, the familiar beep grounding me back to reality, Mike gave me a nod from his usual spot by the register.

“Hey, birthday girl! Ready to get back to work?”

His gruff voice carried that same no-nonsense tone it always did, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he was genuinely glad to see me after my day off.

I smiled, trying to play it cool even as my pulse fluttered with the leftover fear I’d carried all weekend.

“Yeah, ready as I’ll ever be.” The words came out light, almost breezy, and I hoped the energetic mask I’d practiced in the mirror that morning was holding.

My black apron tied snug around my waist, hair pulled into a neat ponytail, and just enough makeup to hide the faint circles under my eyes from too many sleepless hours. I moved behind the bar like it was any other shift, wiping down the polished wood surface and checking the stock of garnishes—limes sliced fresh, cherries glistening in their jar, the faint clink of ice already filling glasses for the early regulars.

The day went by in a blur of serving drinks and laughing with customers, the routine wrapping around me like a comforting blanket that almost made me forget the dread coiled tight in my chest. I poured gin and tonics with steady hands, mixed cosmopolitans for the woman in the corner booth who always ordered the same thing after her meetings, and chatted with the usual suits about the weather and the latest sports scores.

My laughter rang out at the right moments, bright and familiar, even as my mind kept drifting back to the what-ifs that had haunted me since Saturday. I’d been worried about rumors, about someone from housekeeping or one of the security guys, seeing me slip out of his room at dawn with my clothes hastily buttoned and my face flushed. I’d imagined the whispers in the break room, “did you hear Elena hooked up with a VIP in 314?” Or worse, a note from him, something slipped to Mike or left at the front desk apologizing for grabbing me the way he did, that firm hand on my wrist pulling me into a night I couldn’t take back.

But nothing. No sideways glances from the kitchen staff when I grabbed my first tray. No hushed conversations that stopped when I walked into the lounge. It was like it never happened, the hallway cameras apparently blind to my escape, the universe granting me this one small mercy.

As the afternoon wore on, I started to relax, the tension in my shoulders easing with every uneventful hour that ticked by on the bar clock. The lunch crowd thinned into the slower mid-afternoon lull, and I found myself humming along to the soft jazz playing over the speakers while I polished wine glasses until they sparkled.

Maybe I’d gotten away with it. Maybe the night really was just a hazy dream that would dissolve completely if I refused to give it any more power. For him it was probably just another night—another conquest in a long line of them for a man like Alexander Grey. But for me…

I shook my head, focusing on the task at hand, squeezing lemon wedges into a fresh pitcher of iced tea for table five. The fear that had gripped me all weekend began to loosen its hold, replaced by a fragile sense of relief. I’d dodged a bullet. No one knew. My job was safe, my reputation intact, and I could go back to being the reliable bartender who remembered every regular’s usual and never let the chaos of the hotel get to her.

Just as I was starting to think I’d dodged a bullet for good, the heavy wooden door to the bar swung open with a decisive push. A group of men in black entered—four of them, all in tailored dark suits that screamed security detail rather than casual guests.

They moved with military precision, fanning out to stand still along the perimeter of the room, scanning the scattered tables and the bar area like they were waiting for someone important. Their expressions were blank, professional, eyes hidden behind subtle sunglasses even in the dim interior lighting. The air seemed to shift instantly, a subtle tension rippling through the space as conversations dipped and heads turned. I felt a presence behind me, heavy and commanding, like the room itself had tilted toward the grand staircase that led down from the mezzanine level.

I turned slowly, my heart skipping a beat as my gaze lifted. Alexander Grey walked down the stairs, his steps measured and unhurried, his eyes scanning the room like he owned the place. Which, I guess, he kinda did—Grey Enterprises had holdings everywhere, and rumors had swirled for months that he was eyeing the Sapphire for some kind of acquisition or partnership.

He looked every bit the billionaire CEO even in casual mode: charcoal slacks perfectly tailored to his long legs, a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, revealing the strong lines of muscle I remembered far too vividly from that night. His whiskey-brown hair was styled back, jaw set with that same chiseled sharpness, and those piercing green eyes swept the bar with the kind of authority that made people sit up straighter without realizing it.

My heart was racing as I wondered what he was doing here.

“Did he know I’d worked here? Was he looking for me?” I thought to myself. The questions slammed through my mind in a frantic rush, my palms suddenly damp against the bar rag I clutched like a lifeline.

He spotted me almost immediately, his eyes locking onto mine for a brief, electric moment across the length of the bar. I felt a jolt of electricity shoot straight through me, the same undeniable spark that had ignited everything.

For that split second, the world narrowed to just us again, the chatter and clink of glasses fading into background noise. My breath caught, memories flooding back uninvited.But then it was like a switch flipped. His expression turned cold, indifferent, the warmth I’d glimpsed vanishing behind a mask of pure business detachment. The green eyes that had once burned with hunger now held nothing but polite neutrality, as if I were just another face in the crowd, another employee blending into the hotel’s beige walls.

He walked towards me, his eyes never leaving mine, each step deliberate and measured, the group of men in black falling into silent formation a respectful distance behind him. My heart pounded in my chest so hard I was sure the entire bar could hear it, the blood rushing in my ears drowning out everything else.

The distance between us closed too quickly, the polished floor carrying him forward like the room itself was conspiring against me. I stood frozen behind the bar, tray of clean glasses forgotten in my hands, every nerve ending screaming with a mix of panic and something dangerously close to anticipation.

“This couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not now,” I muttered under my breath.

In front of Mike and the regulars and the handful of guests nursing their afternoon drinks, he was going to say something—acknowledge the night, demand an explanation, or worse, expose me in the most humiliating way possible. My mind raced with worst-case scenarios, a quiet word to Mike about inappropriate staff behavior, a public reminder of that impulsive grab on my wrist, or maybe just the cold dismissal that would confirm I’d been nothing more than a fleeting distraction.

He stopped in front of me. “Good day, miss," he said politely, voice low and deep.

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. This was it. He was going to out me in front of everyone.