Accidental One Night Stand With Billionaire

Mistook

A week later

Blues Bar, located on a somewhat secluded street, hadn't always done well in business, but ever since Chloe started working there, the place had become more popular by the day.

Her music was like a spell, capable of calming people's anger, bringing them joy, and making them feel completely at ease.

For an entire week, Chloe had been missing. The bar owner, Mag, had tried calling her so many times that her phone was nearly dead, but she still couldn't reach her.

Customers were growing more restless, almost to the point of tearing the bar apart.

Tonight, the bar was packed again, and with only five minutes left until showtime, there was still no sign of Chloe. Mag was starting to sweat with worry.

Standing on her toes, Mag anxiously scanned the bar, and finally, she saw a figure dressed in white appear around the corner. She couldn't contain her excitement and shouted, "She's here! Chloe's here!"

Instantly, the bar fell silent. As Chloe stepped inside, hundreds of pairs of eyes followed her every move. She was a bit taken aback.

After a brief moment of silence, thunderous applause erupted.

She felt a bit overwhelmed by the attention. Naturally quiet and reserved, Chloe had always been cautious in this mixed crowd, but the regulars had grown accustomed to her presence and enjoyed communicating with her through her music.

Nodding slightly, Chloe sat down at the piano. Instantly, her slender, pale fingers began to dance across the keys, producing a stream of smooth, powerful, yet graceful notes that filled the room. The guests seemed enchanted, their worries melting away.

At some point, the music began to change, causing the patrons to stop whatever they were doing and fixate on Chloe as she played quietly. Her expression remained mostly unchanged, her eyes downcast, revealing only the slight tremor of her long lashes.

The music sounded like a lament, a mournful wail, as if it were crying out in pain, evoking a sense of heartbreak in those who listened.

***

At midnight, Chloe finished her shift. She closed the piano lid as Mag approached her.

"Chloe, are you in some kind of trouble?" Mag was a widow in her thirties, warm-hearted and sincere.

Chloe smiled faintly, her lips curving into a gentle crescent, "Mag, I'm sorry about this past week, I—"

"No need to explain," Mag interrupted. "If it wasn't absolutely necessary, you wouldn't have done this!"

Mag glanced toward the entrance, not seeing the man who usually came to pick up Chloe every day, Amos. "Let's wait a bit longer; the person who usually picks you up isn't here yet."

A sharp pain shot through Chloe's heart, but she maintained a soft smile. "No, it's fine. I'll go on my own." There was a bittersweet sadness to her smile.

Noticing the change in Chloe's music tonight, Mag, who had seen all kinds of people and events in her life, had already guessed what was going on. She patted Chloe on the shoulder and said, "If anything happens, don't forget you still have me."

"Mm." Chloe smiled gratefully.

Raising her head, she saw a tall figure at the door, and the faint smile froze on her lips. Mag followed her gaze to the man at the entrance—he was no longer the dashing, handsome man he used to be. His hair was disheveled, and stubble covered his face.

Chloe's expression disappeared, and suddenly, a cold indifference enveloped her. She drifted past the tall man at the door like a wisp of white smoke.

Seeing the distant, ethereal look in her eyes, Amos suddenly felt a sharp pain. He had a sense that his Chloe was slipping away like a wisp of smoke, drifting out of his world forever.

His eyes turned red in an instant. He reached out with his long arm and grabbed her delicate, pale wrist.

"Chloe, we need to talk." His voice was hoarse and raspy.

Chloe slowly lifted her eyelids, casting a faint glance at the man—or rather, her gaze passed right through him, distant and ethereal. She didn't say a word, just tried to pull her wrist free.

Her wrist was so slender and fragile that it seemed like it would snap with the slightest twist, so Amos quickly released her.

"I was wrong, but I truly love you. I was drunk, and I mistook her for you!"

Grabbing Chloe's hand, Amos shouted, his frustration and self-loathing clear in his voice. He was furious that Chloe wouldn't listen to his explanation.

"Ha…" Chloe laughed through her tears. Her newly dried tears started to fall again, big and heavy. She quickly wiped them away, her bloodshot eyes sharp as daggers, staring at Amos's handsome face as if wanting to cut it open to see if there was blood underneath that mask.

Mistook her?

He claimed he mistook her!

Could someone truly in love make such a mistake?

She didn't want to shed another tear for this man, but the dull ache in her heart was impossible to ignore.

Chloe's laughter sent chills through Amos, her mockery piercing his heart. He couldn't stand her sarcasm. He tightened his grip on her hand, leaving her wrist red.

"Chloe, please don't do this," Amos pleaded, a tear slipping from his eye. He quickly turned away, not wanting her to see it.

"Take your hand off!" Chloe's voice was icy, her entire body bristling like a porcupine. She yanked her hand free and immediately wiped it with a tissue, as if his touch had dirtied her.

"Chloe…" Her actions deeply hurt Amos. Was he really that filthy? After all, wasn't it common for men to have multiple women? And he hadn't done it on purpose!

Chloe gritted her teeth and growled, "Shut up! Don't humiliate me anymore!"

Betrayal was betrayal, with no excuses and no chance for forgiveness.

Not sparing him another glance, Chloe straightened her back and walked away with her head held high.

"Chloe..." The man let out a pained cry, his eyes moistening. His moon had truly forsaken him. Without the moon, how could the stars shine?

No!

He wouldn't allow it!

He got up and followed her from a distance, knowing her temperament all too well, too afraid to approach. He wished he could cut his flesh into pieces and feed it to the dogs, then carve out his heart and offer it to her.

But it was too late. Last night, when he had climbed into that bed, he had lost that privilege.

Could he tell her that it was because he loved her too much, loved her to the point of drunkenness, to the point of madness, to the point where his intelligence was reduced to zero, that he had ended up in the wrong bed?

Even he couldn't believe such an excuse, so how could he make her believe it?