Chapter 1

The Awakening

The bright sunlight streaming through the window pulled me from sleep. The first thing I registered was the pounding in my head—a deep, relentless ache. I kept my eyes shut, dreading the sharp sting that would come with opening them. But that wasn’t the only issue. My mouth was unbearably dry, my tongue thick and stuck to the roof like sandpaper. A stale, bitter taste coated it, making me grimace,

I was in rough shape, and I knew it. In four years of college, this was easily one of the worst hangovers I’d ever had. The moment I shifted, a wave of nausea and pounding pain hit me, confirming what I already feared—it was only going to get worse.

I forced one eye open—and instantly regretted it. The harsh morning light stabbed through my skull, amplifying the relentless pounding in my head. Groaning, I shifted to escape the glare and collided with something—or someone. The warm, solid presence beside me sent a jolt of unease through my haze.

My groggy mind latched onto that last detail, yanking me into full awareness—and panic. My eyes flew open, but the sudden rush of light sent my vision into a blur, my brain scrambling to make sense of it all. Shapes wavered, unfocused, as my pulse hammered in my ears. Every muscle locked up, my body primed for fight or flight.

The logical part of my brain finally sputtered back to life, struggling to process the chaotic flood of visual input. As the blurry shapes sharpened into something recognizable, one desperate thought looped in my mind: Please don’t let it be some dude. My body tensed, already bracing for two very different reactions—one if the person beside me was male, another if they were female.

I carefully rolled away from the person beside me, putting some much-needed distance between us. In a split second, my brain processed the visual input—without a doubt, my bed partner was female. A very nude female. A wave of tension drained from my body, my stress dialing down to a more manageable level.

I had moved past the panic that had consumed me and was back to being a regular person, not the overly analytical version of myself that stress had forced me to become. As I looked around, it hit me—this wasn’t my hotel room. The woman I had been sharing the bed with looked vaguely familiar. She was facing away from me, but something about her silhouette made me feel like I knew her. Who was she? I couldn’t place it. It struck me as strange; none of the rooms in the brochures we’d gotten for the spring break trip looked like this. How had we ended up here, both of us naked in bed?

At that moment, my bed partner stirred and turned to face me. Her nude form stretched before she sat up, and my panic shot through the roof. My heart raced, threatening to explode in my chest. Then, it hit me—I recognized her immediately. Karen Olson, head cheerleader, one of the most popular coeds, and easily one of the most desirable women on campus.

To make matters even worse, she was engaged to Michael Stanley—a self-proclaimed legacy and the son of a U.S. senator. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he had a clear path to a future in politics, and life would be easy for him—and for anyone who managed to hitch their wagon to his star.