Chapter One

Clary starts running down the hall of the hotel she's staying at with her boyfriend after she checks her watch. Shit, shit, shit, shit! She thinks to herself. If I come in too late who knows what he'll do to me! Her name tag from her boyfriend's work conference starts hitting her in the face as she picks up her speed to get inside the closing elevator. She barely catches it, no thanks to the elderly couple staring wildly at her standing inside it. She doesn't care, as long as she doesn't make him mad by being 'too late'.

This is so stupid. I'm23 years old, I shouldn't have to have a curfew. Ugh. She thinks while climbing out of the elevator. She glances down at her watch again. Okay, it's 10:21. He said he'd be back at 10:30. As long as I beat him to the room, everything will be fine. She hadn't meant to be so late, the time just sort of snuck up on her. This was the fourth time her boyfriend's work conferences have sent them to New York, and she hadn't actually seen the city. Not once had she gotten to see the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, Central Park, Times Square, or anything else for that matter, besides the four walls of the room of whatever hotel they were staying at that week. So that's why she decided if she would not go today, she may not have ever get the chance to.

It's just not fair! I'm trapped! She has thought this time and time again. As she starts picking up her pace again, she pulls out her room key to help her remember her room number, but the key never makes it out of her wallet because she is distracted due to a loud crash coming from the inside of the room she just passed. It's none of your business, Clary. Just keep going. You have to beat him to the room. She chants mentally, but while doing so, she finds herself knocking on the door to check on whoever it is. There's no talking. No one answers the door. It's none of your business. Keep going! But what if someone got hurt or something happened and they can't move or talk? What if they need help?! No, you're going to be the one who will need help if you don't go! She argues with herself, but can't seem to walk away. She knocks once more, turns the door knob, and is shocked when it opens without a key.

"Hello? Is anyone in here?" she finds herself asking. Well THAT explains the crash… she thinks when she sees all the broken glass from plates and champagne glasses on the floor wrapped in a velvet red table cloth. That's when she sees a man; passed out on the other side of the table.

She rushes to him, only to smell alcohol all over him. And that explains the reason for the crash. She kneels down next to him just to be sure he is okay. She grabs his wrist and leans down a little further to check his pulse and to see if he's breathing. Okay, he's good, now get out of here! She stands up and is about to start running down the hall again, but something is attached to her wrist. She looks down to see bright golden eyes narrowing at her.

"Who the hell are you?" he asks her. Well isn't he rude?

"I was only here because I heard all the glass brake, and I was just making sure you were okay. I'm sorry for intruding. I'll go now." She mumbled, but his grip only hardened. He starts to stand, and when he does, he looks her up and down.

"Well, that didn't exactly answer my question, Clarissa Fairchild. He says back. How the hell does he know my name?

"You're name tag." He simply states, reading my expression.

"Oh." Was all she said.

This was when she notices how beautiful this man is: his sun like eyes, and his golden hair that had small waves in it, his strong chiseled masked by a five o'clock shadow. That was just his head. She did a double take when looking him over. His biceps are bulging out of a tight black t-shirt, and the muscles over his torso are very evident. Her eyes continue her path downward to his light blue jeans, and then down to his bare feet where she noticed a small puddle of blood.

"Um, your, your foot..." she stuttered. She cannot figure out if his appearance was the reason her throat suddenly swelled up, or if it was the blood. He knits his eyebrows and looks down, but his face softens when he realizes what she's talking about.

"I'll be fine." he says as he brings his head back up to fix his gaze on hers.

"Let me help you clean it up. It looks like a really deep gash. You may need stitches." Why did you just say that? He said he would be fine, you have somewhere to be, don't you…?

"No, really, I will be just fine. Thank you, though, Clarissa." His eyes are still glued to hers.

"It's Clary… and no problem." She mumbles, and then something suddenly pops in her mind. SHIT! Sebastian is going to flip out! She starts making her way out the door. When she closes it, she looks down at her watch. 10:41. Crap. She fishes out her wallet for her key, again, and looks for the room number: 532. She glances up at the door she was just in to determine how far away she was. 538, I'm not too far.

She starts going back down the hall. 536, 534, ah, 532. She places the key in the door, but the light flashes red. She tries it the other way, but it still doesn't let her in. what the hell?! She fumbles with it some more and finally, it flashes green and she pulls the handle. She pushes the door open to find Sebastian sitting on the bed. He doesn't look too angry…

"Hello Clary." He says sinisterly while narrowing his eyes at her.

This is going to be bad…