CHAPTER 80: GET OUT

The next morning, sunlight spilled through the wide glass windows of Jake’s penthouse, slicing across the bed in golden bands. The brightness was sharp, enough to wake Jake up from the deep slumber the sedative had sent him in.

Jake stirred, groaning softly as his eyes fluttered open. His head throbbed painfully— a dull, pounding ache that seemed to start behind his eyes and settle at the base of his skull. He winced, pressing a hand against his temple.

Everything felt... off.

His mouth was dry, his throat parched. His body felt heavy, as if he’d run a marathon in his sleep. For a moment, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling and trying to piece together how he’d gotten home and in his bed, just in shorts.

The last thing he remembered was meeting Raymond.

They’d been at the lounge. Raymond had called, sounding distraught. Jake remembered the call — the panic in his brother’s voice, the way he’d said he needed him and how he’d asked him to join him at the lounge.

He tried to remember everything that happened after that but it just seemed impossible.

The only few things he could remember were rather blurry fragments: he and Raymond getting a drink and him consoling Raymond.... then nothing.

His brows furrowed as he tried one more time to think past that moment but then, nothing came.

What the hell had happened last night? Why can’t he remember any of it? How had he gotten home? Who’d brought him?

Jake pushed himself up slowly, the room tilting slightly as he did. He squinted at the half-empty glass on the nightstand. He didn’t remember bringing a drink upstairs.

Or being home.

He glanced around — his clothes and shoes were thrown across the bed. He’d never do that.

The whole thing felt wrong.

Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he blinked against the bright screen. His mind was foggy, a gnawing unease clawing at the back of it. If there was anyone who had an idea of whatever had happened last night, then it would be....

"Raymond," he muttered under his breath and hit the call button.

It rang once before his brother picked up.

"Jake?" Raymond’s voice came through, smooth and almost sleepy.

"Yeah," Jake said, his voice rough. "Hey, uh... what happened last night? I remember we were at the lounge, and then I woke up in my bed. I can’t remember anything from last night after I left the lounge."

There was a small pause before Raymond replied, tone casual. "Nothing happened. You were tired, man. You had a few drinks, I offered to drop you off. You crashed. That’s it. Perhaps that’s why you can’t remember anything."

Jake frowned. He could still feel it in his head that something wasn’t adding up. "Really? That’s it?" he asked, uncertainty clouding his voice.

"Yeah," Raymond said, a hint of amusement creeping into his tone. "You were out cold before I even left. Figured you needed the rest."

Jake rubbed his forehead. "That’s weird. I feel like—"

A soft knock interrupted him and a frown creased his brows. Someone was in the house with him?

Before he could respond or think more, the bedroom door creaked open.

Helena stepped in, barefoot, wearing one of his shirts — his white dress shirt, oversized on her small frame. She carried a tray with scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee.

"I see you’re awake. Good morning," she said, her voice warm and casual, like they’d been close all their lives.

Jake froze.

His phone nearly slipped from his hand. "Helena?" How could she be in and in his clothes? Why was he in shorts and why did it seem she passed the night with him?

Raymond’s voice came faintly from the line. "Jake? You still there?"

Jake hung up without answering, staring at Helena in disbelief.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

She blinked innocently, setting the tray down on the nightstand. "You don’t remember?"

"Remember what?" he asked immediately.

Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Last night."

Jake’s stomach twisted. "Last night— what about last night?"

Helena tilted her head. "You called me, telling me how much you’ve always wanted me," she said with a sly smile as she tried to run her fingers through his bare chest.

"What?" he asked, stepping back a little.

"You did," she said simply. "You called me. Said you were feeling lonely. Asked if I could come over. I was surprised, of course, but..." She shrugged lightly. "You insisted. And when I got here, well— one thing led to another and I had no choice but to pass the night. You were all over me," she said with a wink.

Jake blinked, shaking his head like he could physically knock the words away. "That’s not possible. I didn’t— I don’t even have your number so how could I have called you?"

"You don’t believe me? Fine then. Check your phone," she said smoothly.

Jake’s breath hitched as he unlocked his phone, scrolling through his recent calls and then his eyes widened.

There it was. Helena’s number. A call received from her at 9:34 p.m. — and one dialed back from him minutes later.

"What the—"

He looked up, his voice sharp now. "That’s impossible! I didn’t— I couldn’t have—"

Helena stepped closer, her expression soft but her eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. "You were drunk, Jake. You probably don’t remember. But I was here. You asked me to come."

He shook his head furiously. "No. No, I remember Raymond being at the lounge. That’s it. I don’t remember calling anyone. You’re lying. All of this is a lie."

She sighed, pretending to look hurt. "Jake, I didn’t plan any of this. You called me. I thought maybe it meant something. That maybe you’ve finally realized you liked me. What are you doing?"

His chest tightened with irritation and confusion. Nothing made sense. The fragments in his mind were jagged, incomplete.

"Just shut up and get out," he said finally, voice low and strained.

Helena blinked, startled. "Jake—"

"I said get out!" he cut in, not wanting to hear whatever stupid theory she had.

Her lips parted in mock disbelief, but she didn’t move. "Wow. So that’s it? You’re just going to pretend none of this happened?"

"I don’t know what happened," he snapped. "But whatever it was, it’s not what you’re implying."

Helena’s expression hardened slightly, the sweetness cracking. "Then maybe you shouldn’t drink so much before inviting women over."

Jake’s jaw clenched. "Out. Now."

She hesitated, then gave a small shrug — half amusement, half defiance. "Fine. But don’t blame me if you start remembering pieces later. I was only trying to be nice because I like you."

She turned, picked up her things and walked out slowly, hips swaying just enough to make her exit deliberately noticeable. She didn’t even bother to change out of his clothes.

The door closed behind her with a soft click.

Jake exhaled shakily, running both hands through his hair. "What the hell is going on?"

He sat back down on the edge of the bed, his mind spinning. Nothing added up — not Raymond’s story, not Helena’s.

He rubbed at his temple, trying to reconstruct the night again. The more he tried, the blurrier it got. He couldn’t even remember driving home.

Something in him twisted uneasily.

Then another memory jolted through him — Bella!

They were supposed to meet at the lounge. Had she canceled? Did she meet him? What was the details of the meeting?

He swallowed hard and hit the call button. He needed to know if they’d met last night.

The line rang. Once. Twice. Then it went to voicemail.

He tried again. Same thing. She wasn’t answering any of his calls. He knew he could simply ask her about it when he got to work but then, he was too anxious to wait.

He tried calling her again, pacing around. "Come on, Bella," he muttered. "Pick up. Please."

But she didn’t.

A tightness formed in his chest — dread, confusion, something bordering on panic. What if she’d tried to meet him but he’d left the?

Had she been stood up?

Jake stood abruptly, heading to the bathroom. The face staring back at him in the mirror was pale, disoriented, guilt-stricken. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to clear the fog in his mind.

Pieces were missing, but instinct told him something was very, very wrong. And he needed to find that out before it was too late.

Grabbing a clean shirt and slacks, he dressed quickly. The headache was still pounding, but the need to see Bella outweighed everything else.

He had to fix this. Whatever this was.

*********

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