Love beyond Numbers

KATHERINE POV.

I stared at the wineglass in my hand, the deep red liquid swirling lazily as I tipped it back and forth. The TV hummed softly in the background, a rerun of some sitcom I wasn’t paying attention to.

The apartment felt cavernous, even though it was barely big enough to hold my couch, a coffee table, and my regrets.

Divorce, I had learned, wasn’t just the end of a marriage. It was the end of routines, dreams, and the version of yourself you’d built around someone else.

My someone else had been Max. Sixteen years of marriage, reduced to courtroom arguments and a signature on a dotted line. Sixteen years of loose sweaters, muted lipstick, and dimmed smiles because Max didn’t like “ungodly” or “attention-seeking” clothing.

Sixteen years of believing his sweet words and ignoring the sour undercurrents of his actions. And for what? To walk into our bedroom one night and find him tangled with a redhead who didn’t own a single “godly” item of clothing?

I scoffed at the thought, taking a generous sip of wine.

The sharp knock at my door startled me, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. Before I could rise, the door swung open, and Lucy and Angela barged in like a pair of storm fronts, each carrying shopping bags and brimming with energy.

“Katherine Turner!” Lucy announced, hands on her hips. “You’ve had enough sulking.”

Angela held up a garment bag with a mischievous grin. “Tonight, we’re dragging you out of this self-imposed exile.”

I blinked at them, bewildered. “I didn’t agree to anything.”

“You don’t have to,” Lucy said, breezing past me and plopping onto the couch. “We’re staging an intervention.”

Angela pulled the glass of wine from my hand, replacing it with a steaming cup of coffee. “We love you, Kat, but you’ve been wallowing for weeks. Max is gone, and good riddance. Now, it’s time to remind the world—and yourself—who you are.”

“And who am I, exactly?” I asked dryly.

Lucy shot me a knowing look. “You’re Katherine Turner. The woman who used to light up rooms with her smile. The woman who could wear red lipstick better than anyone and make heads turn without even trying.”

I snorted. “That woman left years ago. I’m 39 and—”

“And still stunning,” Angela interrupted. “Don’t give me that ‘old and washed-up’ nonsense. Now, let’s find something that screams ‘new beginnings.’”

They didn’t give me a choice, pulling me into my bedroom and flinging open my closet doors.

“Kat, why is everything beige?” Lucy asked, rifling through the hangers with a look of despair.

“Because Max liked neutral tones,” I admitted.

Angela groaned. “Max is gone, and so are his opinions. We need color. We need power.” She whipped out a faded gray sweater and immediately tossed it aside.

Lucy dug through the garment bag and pulled out a dress that made my heart skip. It was red, tight, and unapologetically bold. “This,” she said, holding it up with a flourish.

I stared at it like it might bite. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes,” Angela countered. “You’re wearing it, no arguments.”

An hour later, I found myself squeezed into the dress, my hair curled and lips painted a deep crimson. It had been years since I’d looked this...alive.

My reflection in the mirror startled me—a far cry from the woman in loose cardigans and tired eyes.

Lucy whistled as she handed me a pair of heels. “Damn, girl. Max doesn’t deserve a single tear after seeing you like this.”

Angela grinned. “Let’s get out of here before she changes her mind.”

The club was a bluster of lights, sound, and motion. I felt out of place immediately, clutching my clutch bag like a lifeline as we navigated the crowd.

“Relax, Kat,” Lucy shouted over the music, her arm looped through mine. “We’re here to have fun, not overthink.”

Angela handed me a drink—a bright pink concoction that smelled like candy and regret. “Drink up! It’s time to celebrate your freedom.”

I took a tentative sip, wincing as the alcohol burned my throat.

“See? Not so bad,” Angela teased, raising her glass.

As the night wore on, I loosened up, letting the music and the atmosphere work their magic. It wasn’t long before I caught sight of him—a tall, striking man leaning casually against the bar.

His chiseled features and piercing blue eyes made him stand out even in the dim, chaotic club.

“Oh my God,” Lucy whispered, nudging me. “Kat, he’s staring at you.”

“He’s staring at everyone,” I muttered, feeling self-conscious.

“Nope,” Angela said, grinning. “He’s definitely looking at you. Go talk to him.”

“Are you insane?” I hissed.

“Maybe,” Lucy said, shoving me gently. “But you’re doing it anyway.”

Before I could protest, my feet were moving, carrying me toward the bar.

Up close, he was even more handsome—his strong jawline, the faint stubble that only added to his appeal.

“Hi,” I said, my voice barely audible over the music.

He smiled, and my knees nearly gave out. “Hi.”

We talked—well, shouted over the noise—about nothing and everything. His name was Adrian, and he had a way of making me feel like I was the only person in the room.

One drink turned into two, then three. The laughter came easier, the conversation more effortless. Before I knew it, he was leaning in, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that sent sparks down my spine.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured against my ear.

My breath hitched, and before I could second-guess myself, I said the words I never thought would come out of my mouth. “Do you want to get out of here?”

His answering smile was all the confirmation I needed.

He was young. Maybe in his early twenties. I've never dated or been with someone younger, but this is a celebration night and everything dies here.

A one-night stand.

The elevator ride to his hotel room was a blur of heated kisses and wandering hands. By the time we stumbled into his suite, the tension between us was electric.

I didn’t think about Max, or my divorce, or the fact that Adrian was clearly younger than me. All I cared about was how he made me feel—alive, desired, and free.

As we fell onto the bed, his touch was both gentle and commanding, like he knew exactly what I needed. For the first time in years, I let myself surrender to the moment.

Max had never had sex with me this way before, Adrian basically made love to me, my eyes got attracted to the dragon tattoo on his chest but before I could touch it, he cuffed my hands together and stretched them over my head.

And we continued. Well, this would be the last time I had a one-night stand with a young hot stranger.

Or so I thought.