Dr. Sophie Everhart stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the strap of her sequined dress. The reflection staring back at her looked confident and ready for a night of celebration. Her best friend, Jenna Cade, peeked over her shoulder with a wide grin. "You look stunning, Soph. Ready to have some fun?" Jenna's eyes sparkled with excitement. Sophie smiled, feeling a rare sense of anticipation. "Absolutely. Let's go celebrate Nina's upcoming wedding in style." The bar was already buzzing with energy when they arrived. The group of young medical professionals, all dressed to impress, made their way to a reserved table. The evening was filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the camaraderie that came with years of working together through the highs and lows of medical school and medical practice. Sophie raised her glass. "To Nina, the soon-to-be Mrs. Turner. May your marriage be filled with even more joy than your single life." Jenna added, "And may you always have a bottle of wine in the house for emergencies." "You guys are the best. I can't believe this is actually happening!" Nina burst out laughing. Another one of their friends, Lisa, smiled. "Nina, remember that time we went camping, and you swore off love after that disastrous date?" Nina shook her head. "Oh, how could I forget? That was the night I fell in love with the great outdoors… and swore off dating apps." "And now look at you, all grown up and about to get hitched! Who would've thought?" another friend said. "Definitely not me. I thought Nina would be a lone adventurer forever, like a real-life Lara Croft." Sophie giggled. Jenna snorted, "Speaking of adventures, remember when Nina decided to climb that mountain on a whim?" Nina blushed. "You mean the mountain that turned out to be a very steep hill? My epic fail." Sophie sipped her fruity drink. "Hey, it was still epic in our eyes. And now you’re about to embark on the biggest adventure of all—marriage." Jenna raised her glass. "Just remember, if you need advice, we're here. Between us, we've got a wealth of wisdom." Nina sighed. "Oh, I know. That's why I'm so confident. I have the best support system in the world." Sophie hugged Nina. "Cheers to that! And to many more nights like this, filled with laughter, love, and a little bit of chaos." The girls raised their glasses. "Cheers!" "Alright, enough about me. Who's ready for some karaoke?" Nina raised her glass at her friends. "Only if Sophie promises not to hog the mic this time." Jenna fake-pouted. "No promises. You all know I'm a karaoke queen." Sophie tossed some sparkling garland around her neck. Jenna laughed. "Let’s make a deal—no one sings 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' more than once." Sophie ran for the stage, alcohol coursing through her veins. "Deal. Now, let's get this party started!" *** A few tables away, Tristan Blackwell sat with a group of his colleagues from the Blackwell Institute and Waverly County ER, all enjoying a relaxing night out. The atmosphere was filled with laughter as they shared stories and unwound from their demanding jobs. The soft glow of the restaurant's ambient lighting highlighted their smiling faces, and the clinking of glasses punctuated their conversations. Amidst the shared jokes, the burdens of their work temporarily lifted. Tristan nursed his drink as he scanned the room with casual interest. The dim lighting and vibrant atmosphere hummed with the energy of a Friday night. His gaze caught on a familiar face—Jenna Cade, one of the ER physicians. She was laughing, surrounded by a group of women at the karaoke stage. His attention was drawn to one in particular, a striking redhead with a voice that wasn’t half bad as she sang a lively rendition of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” by Cyndi Lauper. Amused, Tristan found himself occasionally watching the group throughout the night. They were clearly enjoying themselves, lost in the music and the haze of celebratory drinks. The redhead, whose name he didn’t know, seemed to be the life of the party, her smile infectious as she danced and sang with abandon. But as the night wore on, Tristan's casual amusement began to wane. Something about the scene shifted. One of the men dancing with the group—a tall, handsome stranger with an easy smile, his dark hair neatly styled and his suit perfectly tailored to his athletic frame—seemed to be focusing on the redhead. At first, Tristan dismissed it as harmless interest, the kind that often sparked in places like this. But as the minutes ticked by, he noticed the man's eyes never left her, observing her every move with a disconcerting intensity. Tristan’s instincts, honed from years of working in the ER and dealing with all kinds of people, began to tingle with unease. There was something off about the way this guy moved closer to her, each step seeming more calculated than the last. His interest in her was far from innocent; there was a predatory edge to his gaze that made Tristan’s skin crawl. When the group of women and their dance partners finally returned to their table, catching their breath and refilling their cocktails, Tristan watched closely. The man had maneuvered himself next to the redhead. As she turned away to laugh at something one of her friends said, Tristan saw the man subtly drop something into her drink. Time seemed to slow, the jovial atmosphere around Tristan fading into the background. His grip on his drink tightened as he realized what he’d just witnessed. The easygoing, celebratory vibe of the night was suddenly overshadowed by a dark, urgent sense of danger. He knew he had to act quickly and decisively before the redhead took a sip of that drink. By the time Tristan excused himself from his friends and made his way toward her, it was too late. Not only did the redhead take a sip, she tossed the entire drink back with a smile. He made his way across the room as the man she’d been dancing with was leading her toward the exit. "Hey!" Tristan called out, his voice authoritative and firm. "Where are you taking her?" The man paused, his grip tightening on the redhead’s arm. "Mind your own business.” He pulled her close. “C’mon, beautiful." "Actually, it is my business." Tristan stepped closer and glanced at the redhead, who was clearly struggling to stay conscious. "I’m a doctor. She looks like she might be contagious for cranial rectumitus disease. You don’t want to be near her, or you might catch it.” The man’s eyes widened in fear, his bravado faltering. "I—I didn't know. I’ll just leave then." As the man disappeared into the crowd, Tristan chuckled. He’d told the man he might be exposed to “head up his ass disease.” He gently pulled the redhead into his arms. “C’mon, let’s get you someplace safe. What’s your name?” She murmured incoherently, her body limp against his chest. Tristan's instincts kicked in, and without a moment's hesitation, he started making his way back toward the group of women. The once lighthearted mood had shifted, his focus now solely on the redhead and the danger she’d unknowingly placed herself in. As he approached, he spotted Jenna Cade, who had been laughing and singing earlier but now seemed more alert as she noticed him heading in their direction. Jenna’s expression changed from relaxed to concerned when she recognized him. Tristan wasn’t just any guy from the bar—he was her boss, the head of the Waverly County ER. She knew Tristan well enough to recognize that something was wrong. “Jenna,” Tristan said in a low, urgent tone as he reached her. “I need her purse.” “What? Why?” Jenna’s words were slightly slurred, her earlier fun clearly catching up with her, but she handed over Sophie’s purse without hesitation. Tristan took it quickly. “She’s been drugged, and I’m getting her out of here. I’ll have her call you in the morning.” Jenna, though not entirely sober, seemed to grasp the seriousness of the situation. “Oh my God, thank you, Tristan.” Her voice was filled with relief and gratitude as she steadied herself against the table. With the purse in hand, Tristan moved swiftly. He needed to keep the redhead away from the predator and get her to safety. The carefree night had taken a dark turn, but he was determined to ensure it wouldn’t end in disaster. "It's okay, sweetheart. I've got you," he whispered, making his way out of the bar. Tristan wondered why no one else in the bar tried to stop him. He was behaving as suspiciously as the other man, though he had told her friend and his friends he was leaving and why. The ride to his home on the grounds of the Blackwell Institute was a blur. Tristan’s primary concern was the redhead’s safety and ensuring she got through the night without any more harm. He carefully carried her inside and up the flight of stairs. He laid her down on her side on his bed and removed her heels before covering her with a warm blanket. He sat nearby, keeping a vigilant watch over her until he was sure she would keep breathing. Finally, he dozed off. *** The next morning, Sophie awoke, disoriented and with a throbbing headache. She looked around the unfamiliar room, her mind racing. "Where am I?" she whispered, sitting up slowly. The room was spacious, with high ceilings and exposed wooden beams giving the room a warm, earthy feel. The centerpiece of the room was a large, king-sized bed with a sturdy, handcrafted frame made from barn wood. She was lying covered with soft, cream-colored linens, layered with a thick plaid wool blanket in deep reds and greens, and a collection of mix-and-match pillows. On either side of the bed were matching nightstands made from the same wood as the bed frame. Each nightstand held a vintage-style lantern lamp with a warm amber glow. The nightstand closest to her held a bottle of water. At the foot of the bed was a wooden trunk with iron hardware. Her dress lay folded upon it, her clutch on top of it. Beside that were her shoes. That was when she realized she was wearing a man’s white undershirt over her underwear. She sat up slowly, the room spinning slightly as she did. Her body felt heavy, and her thoughts were sluggish, like she was wading through thick fog. She looked around, trying to get her bearings. A familiar ping made her jump. She reached for her clutch and pulled her phone free, desperate for some clue, something to explain where she was and how she got here. As she unlocked the screen, she saw a trio of text messages from Jenna. The first message was sent just after midnight. Jenna: Glad Tristan’s taking care of you. You were drugged by the guy you were with on the dance floor. Sophie frowned, trying to remember. Flashes of the night came back—dancing, laughing with Jenna and their friends, and then...nothing. Her heart pounded as she opened the next message. Jenna: Call me when you're conscious. She swallowed hard, confusion mixing with fear. Conscious? What happened? Then she read the final message: Jenna: Shit, I forgot to tell you, Tristan’s a good guy, he won't hurt you. Sophie’s breath caught in her throat. The fog in her mind slowly started to clear as she pieced together the fragments of the night. The man Jenna was talking about... it had to be the one who intervened at the bar. Now she remembered him asking Jenna for her purse, telling her she’d been drugged. The sound of footsteps approaching made her muscles stiffen. She further tensed when a ruggedly handsome man in his forties appeared in the doorway. He stood around six-foot-two with a well-built, athletic frame. Naked from the waist up, he held a towel, dabbing at blobs of shaving cream. He had a few distinctive tattoos, including a detailed compass on his forearm, and a quote in elegant script on his ribs that read, "Not all those who wander are lost." His hair was dark brown, almost black, and had waves. Sophie wanted to run her fingers through it, but it was his piercing blue eyes that made her tingle. "Good morning. I’m Tristan. How are you feeling?" he asked. Sophie blinked at him, confusion mingling with gratitude. "I’m not sure. What happened? Where am I?" She gripped the sheets tightly. He pointed to the water and offered two acetaminophen tablets from a clearly marked bottle. "You were with friends at the Blue Cottage last night. I saw the guy you were dancing with put something in your drink and intervened before he could take you away. I spoke to your friend Jenna and told her I was going to make sure you were okay. It was here or the ER. I figured you’d prefer here.” Sophie took the familiar pills from his hand, reached for the glass and sipped the water, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and relief. "Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.” She sipped more water. “Where is here?” “It’s my home in Spring Hill.” He sat down beside her, his expression serious yet kind. "You don't have to thank me. I’m just glad I was there. I think you’re through the worst of it. You’re safe now." Sophie’s mind raced as she tried to piece together the events of the previous night, but Tristan’s calm demeanor helped steady her. He walked over to the bed and sat down beside her, his gaze steady and full of concern. The reality of the situation was sinking in. She was in Tristan’s home, and he had taken care of her when she was at her most vulnerable. Gratitude welled up inside her, but before she could find the words to express it, he spoke again. “I’m sorry about your dress,” he said, a hint of regret in his tone. “It might be a casualty of the night. You woke up around two a.m. and, well, you were pretty sick. I washed it after you...uh, violently threw up.” Sophie felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but Tristan’s matter-of-fact tone made it easier to bear. He wasn’t judging her, just letting her know what happened. The thought of him taking care of her, even in such an unglamorous situation, made her feel a strange mix of mortification and gratitude. “Thank you,” she finally managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. He gave her a small, reassuring smile. “You don’t have to worry about anything. Just rest and take your time. If you need anything, I’m here.” Sophie nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing as she realized she was truly safe. His kindness and the way he had handled everything left her feeling both humbled and cared for. Settling back into the pillows, she knew she was in good hands. As she looked into his eyes, she felt a connection that went beyond thanks—a glimmer of arousal. *** As soon as Tristan left the room, Sophie swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, still feeling slightly disoriented. She picked up her dress from the top of the chest. With some effort, she tried to slip it on, but it was immediately clear that the dress had indeed become a casualty of the night. It was now too small, likely from shrinking in the wash. Frustration welled up, but she knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just another thing to deal with. With a resigned sigh, she slipped out of the dress and put the oversized shirt back on. It was soft and comfortable, smelling faintly of laundry detergent. Sophie made her way to the bathroom, hoping to freshen up and gather her thoughts. As she stepped inside, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and winced. Her hair was a tangled mess, her face pale and blotchy. The dark circles under her eyes and smudged makeup made her look like she was auditioning for the role of Ursula from The Little Mermaid. She shook her head, trying to push the thought aside as she used the facilities. When she finished, she noticed a small note propped up on the sink: Towels are clean, new toothbrush in top sink drawer, and clean tee shirt with tie shorts are in the top dresser drawer. If you need me, I’m in the downstairs office. Tristan had thought of everything, making sure she had what she needed to feel comfortable. She opened the drawer and found a toothbrush, still in its packaging, and brushed away the cotton mouth. Then she stepped into the shower. The smell of the musk-scented soap wrapped around her. The masculine shampoo and conditioner worked out the knots in her hair. Clean, wrapped in a towel, she found the tee shirt and shorts neatly folded in the dresser as promised. Dressed, Sophie felt a little more human, though still a long way from normal. She knew she needed to talk to Tristan to figure out what happened and how she would move forward. But first, she needed to speak with Jenna. Picking up her phone, she realized it was dead. Steeling herself, she quietly opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. The house was quiet, the only sounds coming from the faint ticking of a clock somewhere and the soft hum of distant activity. As she walked, she took in her surroundings—a warm, inviting space with well-worn furniture and soft lighting. It was clear this was a home, not just a place to live. Her bare feet made no noise as she padded down the stairs, following the subtle sounds she assumed were coming from Tristan’s office. The hallway at the bottom was lined with bookshelves, the walls adorned with framed photos and art that gave her small glimpses into the life of the man who had taken her in. As she reached the door to the office, she paused, gathering her thoughts. She wasn’t sure what to say or how to begin the conversation, but she knew she couldn’t avoid it. Tristan had gone out of his way to make her feel safe and comfortable, and she owed it to him to at least try to understand what happened. With a deep breath, she knocked lightly on the door, pushing it open when she heard his voice inviting her in. Tristan looked up from his desk, his expression softening when he saw her. “Hey,” he greeted, his voice gentle. “How are you feeling?” Sophie hesitated before answering, her hand still on the doorknob, “Better, I think. Just...confused.” Tristan nodded, setting aside the papers he had been reviewing. “That’s completely understandable.” She stepped farther into the room, taking a seat in the chair opposite his desk. “I don’t remember much after dancing at the bar. Just bits and pieces.” Tristan leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the desk, his brow furrowed with concern. "Did you call your friend Jenna?" Sophie blinked and gave him a sheepish grin, brushing a lock of her red hair behind her ear. "Uh, no... my phone's dead, actually.” Tristan chuckled softly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. "You can use mine if you need it." Sophie’s face flushed with embarrassment as she waved the phone away. "I, um, don't really remember her number off the top of my head." She winced slightly. "I’m one of those who relies on contacts for everything.” He smiled at her predicament, the tension of the situation softening. "No worries. I get it. New generation, right?" She nodded, still feeling a little foolish. Then her eyes wandered to shirt and shorts she was wearing. "By the way, about the dress... don’t worry. I don’t care. It’s just a dress." Tristan’s smile turned apologetic, his eyes twinkling with humor. "Yeah, I, uh, never washed sequins before. I’ll make it up to you, I promise." Sophie laughed, the sound light and warm. "You saved my life. I think that more than makes up for it." The room grew quiet for a moment, both of them absorbing everything that had happened that night. Her voice growing steadier, she spoke up again, "You really saved me. I’m Sophie, by the way." Tristan met her gaze, his expression shifting to something more protective. "I’m just glad you’re okay, Sophie. That’s all that matters." As she sat there, feeling an unexpected warmth and safety in his presence, Sophie realized that maybe this night had changed something fundamental for her. She didn’t know what it was yet, but she knew one thing—she was in good hands.