Sophia’s POV

“Y-your bride?” I stammer.

His eyes glint with something I can’t name. It’s all the answer I need.

My throat shuts. 

The man I’m to marry is Alexander Thorne? This seducing, dark-haired billionaire?

An engine roars a short distance away. 

My eyes flick over him to see a black jeep reversing. Layla’s friend.

Oh my god!

Alexander pokes my rib.

My body jerks in reaction, sending my hands on his shoulders.

Dark eyes hold my gaze.

And instantly, memories from New Year’s Eve flood my head—the second time I met him.

He lifts his eyes to the wall I just jumped off from, then returns them to mine. “Have you lost your mind?” 

“Put me down.” I croak, surprisingly finding my voice. 

“So, you can keep running?” He replies softly, as if I’ve hurt him. As if we mean anything to each other.

Layla’s friend drives off in this moment, leaving me on the quiet street with a man far too beautiful and dangerous to be alone with. 

Last year, on December 31st, I fell under his spell. The heat spreading through me now is proof that the spell hasn’t worn off.

He starts to move. “Look at you, all sweaty and breathless—”

“Alexander, put me down.” I grip his shoulder, wriggling.

His grip suddenly tightens around me.

My body locks, my chest pressing too close for comfort.

I stop breathing.

Cold eyes stare into my soul, unflinching. And it hits me hard—there’s no more escaping.

“You can breathe…” he says in my face and resumes walking.

My face hardens. I release my breath, and dread solidifies in its place.

I turn my head to see a man in a suit opening the rear door of a dark gray Mercedes-Benz G-Class.

When we get to the car, Alexander carefully drops me on the rear seat, legs out.

My hands tremble. 

The other man hands him something. My shoes.

“Running away in heels? How brilliant.” He mocks, tossing my shoes into the car.

I glance at it and catch a glimpse of my bare feet. Dirty. White manicured nails stained brown.

This can’t be my end.

Think, Sophia. But I draw a blank.

“Give us some privacy, Garvey,” he instructs, taking the door from the man. He pushes it wide, then stands between my legs while dusting off his sleek dark suit.

I fold my lips, eyes locked onto him, head wondering when my parents will come out to catch me.

He touches my thigh all of a sudden. I wince and move a hand toward him.

“You hurt yourself.” He says, jaw clenching, eyes on me.

Something vibrates between us.

He withdraws his hand and steps back, then slips his phone out of his breast pocket.

“It’s your father calling.”

I stare at his screen, and my pulse sprints into chaos.

At the same time, my phone begins vibrating behind me. I reach for my purse and pull it around. I take my phone out fast. 

My mom is calling, too.

My throat tightens, a sickening twist of frustration and defeat pools in my stomach.

I’m doomed if I walk into the house looking like this, caught after attempting to flee.

I lift my head, looking to him for help, suggestions, anything. I’d rather deal with him than go back inside to face my parents’ wrath.

Alexander turns off the screen of his phone. He snatches my phone in a flash and locks the screen.

“Get your legs in, Soph,” he mutters, gently pushing my legs inside.

I blink in confusion.

“Garvey?” He snaps his fingers. “We’re leaving.”

Oh, great.

His chauffeur tracks toward the car.

Alexander reaches for my seat belt. My breath stops as I fall back on the seat. He buckles me in and shuts the door.

I whip around when the other door opens. Garvey holds it.

My chest is pounding.

In four seconds, Alexander appears, entering beside me. Instantly, the car fills up with his expensive scent, overpowering.

The door shuts, and Garvey takes the wheel.

The engine roars to life.

He turns my vibrating phone to me, showing me the caller ID. 

“The love of your life?” He scoffs. “Who’s that? Your boyfriend?”

“What?”

“Turn it off,” his voice dips as he drops my phone in my lap. “That’s the first thing you do when running away: Be unreachable.”

***

The car is quiet. We’ve been driving for more than twenty minutes. My phone is turned off, and Alexander has ignored my dad’s call twice now.

I’ve been replaying all that has happened tonight.

From running away—a well-planned escape—burning with determination and fury, to sitting inside the car of the very situation I was running from, looking stupid and injured. 

The icing on top: I’m finding out that the man my parents set me up with is none other than Alexander Thorne. A tall, sharp-jawed, charismatic, and lethally beautiful man. The CEO of Thorne Electronics—a multibillion-dollar company. 

He’s also the first man ever to seduce me in the most unusual way. An acquaintance. Not a stranger as I’d expected. 

The dome lights come on.

He turns toward me, closing the distance.

I draw back.

When he drops his gaze to my exposed thighs, I can only curl my fingers.

“Let me see…” he says, gripping my left thigh gently.

A buzz of warmth trickles up my legs. My chest rises.

I watch him inspect my injured thighs with an attentiveness that shouldn’t feel intimate, but does, dark hair sleeked back and glossy.

“You know you could have gotten yourself killed.” He murmurs.

I pinch the ends of my dirty skirt, pulling and wishing it could cover more skin. I should have worn pants, but there was no time to think my outfit through. 

“Jumping off walls and trees… you’re a skilled monkey.”

Monkey?

“Why’d you let me jump?” I reply in defense. “You could have said it was you at the wall. Instead, you—” 

“You didn’t recognize my voice.” His eyes flick to mine. 

I was too busy trying to stay alive. But I keep mute, staring at him.

My mind chooses this moment to replay how he touched me last year. Instant heat spreads to my cheeks.

“You’ve got some minor cuts and scratches…” he says casually.

Fighting the butterflies, I form a fist and ask, “Where are you taking me?” 

He’s silent for a moment, holding my gaze and breath captive as if deliberating his words.

Then he answers, “My home.”

My brain fogs.

I hear his phone vibrate, and somehow I see the caller ID: Mr. Edward Rose—my dad.

He answers immediately.

“Good evening, Father-in-law.”

Father–what?

My eyes pop, brain still buffering.

“There’s been a collision. I might not make it for dinner.”

Sophia’s POV

“Your daughter’s run away?” Alexander utters like it’s news to him.

He takes the phone off his ear and switches to loudspeaker.

“Sophia’s never acted out like this.” I hear my dad’s response. “She’s just a little sensitive…” 

My heart shatters.

“The news must have left her shocked,” Alexander says calmly, looking into my eyes. “I’ll have my people look for her. And personally bring her home to you… With the M&A underway, we wouldn’t want the media to get a wind of this.”

“You’re right, Son.”

Unwelcomed, tears sting my eyes.

My life is worth a business deal, but I’m just a little sensitive?

I turn to the window, tuning out the rest of the call.

I’ve had enough—enough of being tossed around like everyone’s puppet.

As soon as the car becomes quiet, I turn to him, fist tightened. “Drop me off—”

The dome lights go off suddenly.

My eyes flick to it, then back to his still figure in the dark.

“Alexander, I want to get off.”

“I don’t live on the streets,” he replies and moves, lowering the center console. “Why would you wanna get off here?”

It’s dark, but my eyes follow his movement as he takes something out. 

“Just drop me off. I don’t want to—” 

“Sophia?” 

I blink.

Ping. 

A sound slices cleanly through the car.

My pulse quickens.

And immediately, flames rise from a sleek, silver lighter. 

“You never called.” He says softly, torching the bottom of… a cigar!?

My lips part open, my eyes widening and moving from the flames to his face.

His jaw tightens, and he meets my gaze. “Why? Forgot about me?” 

I’m speechless as I hold his gaze.

Slowly, he puts the cigar between his lips. Smoke floats out of his mouth without warning, traveling to my nostrils.

My lungs rebel, threatening a cough.

Click. The lid snaps shut. And the fire disappears.

He pushes the console back into the seat. My eyes follow his hand.

And—

My seat belt is unbuckled next.

Shoulders tensing, I watch it retract.

He grips my wrist.

I pull back. “Alexander, what are you—”

He pulls me close in one swift move. 

A gasp leaves my lips. My heart staggers, my body stiffening as it meets his.

He leans close and touches my left ear with his lips.

I shrivel in fright.

“I didn’t stop thinking of you…” He whispers, warm tobacco breath brushing my skin. 

“Alexander…?”

Cold fingers suddenly crawl on my left thigh.

I hold the seat fast, my eyes flickering to his chauffeur before dropping to his left hand on my thigh.

Cigar between fingers, he smooths his palm over my knee, staring into my eyes with an unsettling calmness—a knowing that I would cave just like I did in that hall on New Year’s Eve.

He keeps brushing my knee, waiting.

My chest ripples with heat. My body begins turning toward him, burning with something I don’t recognize.

He lets go of my wrist, and slowly, his right hand slips under to hold my thigh. His thumb starts caressing, fingers rubbing.

Sparks sizzle up my leg. And just like that, I melt onto him, face on his arm, eyes closing and indulging. 

Last year’s encounter is re-enacted. But this time, there are not a hundred guests around, waiting to catch him. Or us.

“Soph?”

“Mm,” I murmur, opening my eyes to look at him.

“Not even a text? I thought we formed a connection.”

We did. I want to say, but my lips feel heavy. 

I left for London again in February, and for months, I’ve wanted to contact him. But how can I tell him his friend warned me to stay away? 

My heart pounds as I stare into his eyes, mesmerized and watching him put the cigar between his lips. 

“Did Dimitri tell you to stay away from me?” He exhales a stream of smoke in my face. 

I choke on my cough, swallowing it back, and I know he has his answer.

He stays quiet, softly caressing my thigh, sending wicked sensations coursing through me. And I can’t help thinking: If I let this continue, I won’t be able to say no next time.

“And you listened to him?” He interrupts my thought, stopping his hand on my knee.

I keep my eyes on him, having no words to say, even if Dimitri is like an older brother I always listen to. 

“He’s going to be pretty upset when he finds out.” He mutters and lowers the window.

Grateful for the fresh air, I sigh, “Finds out what?”

He puts his cigar down and says, “Sophia, you and I are getting married in October… The announcement goes out next week.”

My breath pauses. My head instantly buzzes with fear, unable to object, unable to think. It’s suffocating.

From running away to getting seduced and still trapped?

The car comes to a smooth halt.

I smooth shaky fingers over my mouth, shifting away.

I look out the window to see a high-rise building. I can barely see the top from inside the car.

Alexander slowly takes my hand in his. “Let’s go inside. I live in the penthouse.”

***

My reflection in the elevator panel makes my stomach drop—mud-stained clothes, torn skirt, feral hair. I look like something he shouldn’t have brought home, yet he holds my hand firmly as we ride up.

Other than visiting a sick college mate with five others, I’ve never been to a man’s house. But Alexander isn’t just any man. He dangerously undoes me without trying hard.

The elevator dings. And my heart starts to pound.

Sixty-nine floors above the ground. Several miles away from all that’s familiar and safe. 

It takes us ten seconds to get to a large door. One he unlocks with a finger scan. It clicks open, we enter, and the door slams shut. 

I take a step into the foyer.

“No shoes in the house.” He squeezes my hand to stop me and drops to a knee in a breath, taking out a pair of black slippers from a console table.

My lips press together, my fists tightening around the strap of my purse as I stare at his dark brown hair. The warm light reflects on it. 

I slowly step out of my heels and slip my aching feet into furry, oversized slippers. 

He tucks my shoes in and rises.

I back away as I’m caught off guard by how much he towers over my small 5’4 self.

Next, he steps out of his shoes into another black slippers, holds my hand again, and leads me inside.

He flips a switch. My senses flare as everywhere lights up. 

All glass and steel. So much space and perfection; I immediately feel overwhelmed.

He leaves no room for admiration, pulling me with him. “I’ll give you a house tour later. We need to get you out of those clothes first.”

I lift my eyes to him, wondering what’s going to happen to me tonight.

We turn two corners before he stops in front of a door. He pushes it open and turns on the light. It’s a bedroom. 

My chest tightens on instinct. 

He takes a step in. But I pause, halting him. He looks over his shoulder.

“What is it?” 

“I-is this your bedroom?”

He turns back, closing the space between us.

“Is that where you wanna go? My bedroom?”

A quiver races through me.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, lifting a hand to touch my face. “We’ll spend the night there together.”

What?

He pulls me inside the room, taking my purse from me. “I’ll hold on to this.”

Sophia's POV

"It's a guest bedroom." He says, rolling the strap of my purse in his grip.

I stare at my purse, mouth open. I don't know if it's shock from learning that I'm spending the night in his bedroom or from having my purse snatched from me. My phone, my money, all I have left are inside the purse.

"Sophia?"

My eyes lift to his. I close my mouth quickly and hold his dark gaze. It softens, confusing me.

"You can use the bathroom here. It has everything you'll need for a bath..."

"A bath?"

"Or a shower..." He adds, letting go, and walks into the closet.

I scan the room. A neatly laid bed-white sheets, a vanity desk, and a sofa.

He returns with white towels rolled in his hand and places them on the bed.

"They're fresh... I'll get you something to wear."

I nod, raking a trembling hand through my hair.

When he gets to the door, I call, "Alexander?"

He turns around.

"Um... why are you holding on to my purse?"

He exhales, eyes darting as if he's thinking. But I know he's not.

"For precautionary measures." He says, deadpan.

"I'm-I'm not going to run away."

"I know... You can't."

I swallow my next words, my neck tightening.

He walks out and closes the door.

"Oh, God," I palm my face with both hands.

What have I gotten myself into? What have my parents done?!

"Think, Sophia. Think, think..." I chant under my breath, clasping my fingers. Yet nothing comes to mind.

His bedroom? Is he going to sleep with me?

Oh my god.

There's a knock on the door.

I jump, my head snapping in that direction. It's pushed open, and Alexander walks in.

Beige and blue striped Polo shirt in hand, and something else.

I put my hands together, playing calm, while my head is in disarray.

"Garvey will get you some clothes. You can just wear this for now. This..." he holds something else to me. "I don't have women's underwear. But these are fresh and unworn."

Boxer shorts?

My lips fall apart.

"I can take it back if you don't want it."

"No, I-"

I pause to take a deep breath.

"Thank you," I murmur, taking them from him without meeting his gaze.

"You can lock the door if it'll make you feel at ease. Come to the living room when you're done."

I give him a nod.

The minute he leaves, I rush to lock the door.

In the shower, I'm painfully reminded of the cuts and scrapes my escape cost me.

One particular cut-long and reddened-curves from the middle of my thigh to the back. A branch from the tree sliced through.

Wait! What if Alexander comes inside?

My eyes widen as I go still in the shower. I turn it off, listening for any sound while my heart drums.

I locked the door, but this is his house.

Only quietness meets my ears.

Sighing in relief, I turn the shower on again. I'll worry about my parents and everything else later. I just need to survive the next thing tonight brings.

Now cleaned, I put on the boxer shorts first, then my bra, and his shirt. It swallows me whole, becoming a short dress. Next, I carefully wear my contact lenses. I'm hyperopic and not allowed to talk about it.

I grab my dirty clothes and exit the room.

The living room is empty. I stroll in, giving myself a little tour with my eyes.

Everywhere looks like him-clean, tasteful. Expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows, an immaculate view of the city, diamonds; I'm almost swallowed up in the midst of it all.

"Took you long enough..."

I turn around sharply to see him coming from a hallway.

My heart softly ripples as I stare.

His dark hair is damp, beautifully falling over his eyes. He's clothed in all black-a loose buttoned-up shirt and matching pants. My purse is still in his grip.

He drops it on the coffee table.

"Sit. Let me treat your wounds."

My eyes fall to the first-aid box sitting on the arm of a sofa.

When he comes close, I inhale his fresh scent-a mixture of amberwood, cocoa, and the ocean. I almost swoon.

"Put your clothes in that bag."

My eyes stay on him as I reach for the plastic bag.

He pulls up his sleeve, absentmindedly, then grabs the first-aid box, but I catch a glimpse of a red tattoo just before his sleeve falls.

My eyes spread.

"Sit, Soph," he repeats, dark eyes tracking back to mine.

He has a tattoo?

Slowly, I sit on the ivory sofa, noting how my pulse beats faster.

He lowers himself before my knees, dropping the first-aid kit on the floor. His eyes are on the ground as he takes things out of the box.

He lifts his head now, eyes on my legs.

I stare at the little, red cuts on my thighs, wondering if they'll sting or if I'll feel something else.

He slowly presses an antibiotic ointment on his finger and brings it to my leg.

I wince, folding my fists on the sofa.

He rubs gently, taking his time on each cut. "They won't leave scars."

"Thank you," I mutter and stare at his head, his sharp nose, his small lips, his long lashes, his large, veiny hand. How is he so perfect?

"Let me see the other one."

My skin starts to tingle. I hesitate, yet I pull my thighs apart by only a few inches, showing him just the beginning of the long cut.

"You're lucky it's not deep."

He picks up the ointment again and presses it onto two fingers.

A voice whispers in my head to stop him. To do it myself. Instead, I shut it down quickly, focusing on his hand.

The second they touch my skin, heat sparks. It stings so much, but I feel other sensations.

I tighten my fists and shut my eyes.

Fingers slide down my right thigh, over the cut. When he lifts my leg, a tiny sound comes out of me. One he doesn't acknowledge.

I find myself reclining into the sofa, allowing my head to swim, allowing the heat to gather low. My body reacts before my mind can agree. Exactly how it happened on New Year's Eve.

We were seated at the same table in that hall, in the Belcroft estate, joyous and celebrating a tycoon turning 61-Dimitri's father.

I'd been stealing glances at Alexander the whole night. He started reciprocating and flirting. I had so much champagne and freedom. It was the first time my parents let me stay out late.

Only a seat separated us, but it was empty. Alexander crossed it and brushed my thigh to get my attention. I turned to him with a soft sigh. Sparkling eyes were already on me, hands still caressing. He wrote his number on a paper towel, passed it to me, and I almost risked it all.

It was a moment that altered everything I knew about love and desire. For the first time in my life, I imagined following a man home. Whatever the consequence, I was ready to suffer it. But the night took a different turn.

"This cut needs a bandage..."

My eyes open to see him still meticulously attending to my wound, unaware that he's driving me nuts.

He takes out adhesive bandages. I watch him stick one first. The second one, he waits for me to lift my leg.

I hesitate, but lift my thigh to give him room. And something else happens.

He sticks it on, then caresses it with a thumb.

I sit up to stare, wondering if he's just trying to make it stick, and I'm the one imagining things. But he does it again-slower, with more pressure.

My pulse skitters.

He lifts his eyes to mine, dark and brooding.

And it hits me-he knows what he's doing to me. I stiffen. Goosebumps form on my skin.

He rises slowly.

"Lean against the sofa, Beautiful..." his mouth drips honey.

He leans down, takes my chin, and lifts it.

I stare into charming eyes as my fingers dig into the sofa, and my chest drums in alarm. I should stop this. My dad would kill me if he knew this is what my running away led me to, yet I slowly sit back and shut my eyes.

The heat from his breath hits my face, and a yearn awakens in me, mixing with the ache of fear.

His lips touch mine, and the world tilts.

He's slow, tentative. Melding our lips together as if teasing.

My nails press deeper into the sofa, my body getting weightless.

He seals my lips, shifting his hand behind my head. Pressing. My insides tumble down.

Soft lips coax mine open. I taste him-he lets me. He claims, unrestrained yet skilled.

He shifts a hand to my right bosom.

A gasp slips out of me, but he swallows it, teeth scraping my lip.

I let out a soft sound, reaching for him because I begin trembling. I grab his collar with both hands, pulling him close without meaning to.

He trails his kisses to my jaw, still working his hand.

I sigh, arching naturally, curling my fingers tight around the fabric of his shirt.

He drops onto the sofa beside me.

His right hand leaves the back of my head, lifting me off the sofa. In a flash, I'm pulled up into his lap.

Breathless, I stare at him, body shaking. I stare into those eyes that started this inexplicable madness I feel.

But he's also breathing hard in my face, wide-eyed. His brows crinkle like he's trying to decipher something in my head.

I gawk at his lips, reality creeping in slowly.

He hesitates, seeming unsure of himself, but he brings his head close, taking my lips again.

A sudden blaze ignites in my chest. It consumes me when his tongue brushes mine.

His hands roam, one pulling me close, the other finding the softness of my chest.

"A-alex-xander..." I spiral on a wave of pleasure, eliciting soft, breathless sounds.

I touch him.

"Arms around my neck." He urges.

My hands lift, curving behind his neck. At the same time, strong arms pull me even closer.

I feel something against me. No. Two things. One is hard, pushing heat straight to my face. The other is... sharp?

His teeth drag my top lip, and his tongue slithers back into my mouth, distracting me. He pulls my lips, kissing me full and hard. No air.

Everything blurs.

I feel his hands on my thighs, caressing, inching closer until they slip under my shorts.

My senses fly awake before I lose myself.

I gasp, grabbing his wrists.