Chapter Two

Sophia

If you'd asked me a week ago who Alexander Knight was, I would've shrugged. Sure, I'd heard the name, Knight Enterprises was always in the news. Billionaire, ruthless businessman, women falling at his feet. I wasn't living under a rock. But I had better things to do than keep up with men whose egos were bigger than their bank accounts.

So when he approached me at the gala last Friday, all sharp suit and smug smile, I knew immediately who he was. The infamous Alexander Knight. And I knew just as quickly that I wanted nothing to do with him.

The women in that room practically sparkled for him. Their laughter got louder when he walked past, their perfume clouded the air around him, and yet... none of it impressed me. I'd seen that type before: men who thought the world was theirs for the taking. Men who broke hearts for sport. My father had been one of them.

So when Alex Knight stopped in front of me and said, "Hi, I don't think we've met," I didn't even give him a smile. I just said, "You're right. We haven't. And we don't need to."

Then I turned away.

I half expected him to push, to insist, to prove he couldn't take no for an answer. Men like him usually don't hear the word. But when I glanced sideways, I saw him frozen with that smile plastered on his face, like I'd short-circuited his brain. That was my cue to leave.

By Monday morning, I was back in my office, trying to forget him.

"Tell me everything,"Maya said as she plopped into the chair across from my desk. She was my best friend since college, co-founder of our event planning business, and the kind of woman who lived for gossip.

"There's nothing to tell."

She gave me a look. "You can't just say that with that expression on your face."

"What expression?" I asked, flipping through the budget sheets.

"The one that says, 'I annoyed someone powerful, and I'm secretly proud of it.'"

I sighed. Maya could read me too well. "Fine. He tried to talk to me. I told him we didn't need to meet. That's it."

Her mouth dropped open. "You rejected Alexander Knight?"

"Rejected is a strong word. I dismissed him."

"That's even worse!" she squealed, clapping her hands. "Oh my God, Sophiabecause you know how many women would kill to be in that man's bed?"

"Which is exactly why I want no part of him," I said firmly. "He's not my type."

"Not your type, or too much your type?"

I threw a pencil at her. "Go do your job."

She ducked, laughing as she left.

The truth was, Alexander Knight was dangerously close to my type, at least on the surface. Tall, devastatingly handsome, confident. The kind of man who could walk into any room and own it. But beneath that? He was every red flag I'd learned to run from.

My phone buzzed. A text from Mom.

"Dinner at six tonight. Don't be late, Sophia. Your brother's bringing his new girlfriend".

Great. Another evening of being grilled about my love life.

My parents lived in Queens, in the same twostory brick house they'd bought thirty years ago. I loved them, but I wasn't in the mood for their questions. Especially not after a long day of wrangling vendors and trying to convince a high strung bride that the world wouldn't end if her roses were ivory instead of cream.

"Sweetheart!" Mom hugged me tight when I walked in, the smell of garlic and tomatoes clinging to her apron. "You look tired. Are you working too much again?"

"I'm fine, Mom."

"Fine means not fine," she muttered, ushering me to the dining room.

My brother, Daniel, was already there with his new girlfriend, a bubbly blonde named Marissa who laughed too loudly. Dad sat at the head of the table, glasses low on his nose, scrolling through the news on his phone.

Dinner was the usual chaos. Mom fussing, Dad grumbling, Daniel showing off his girlfriend. And inevitably, the question came.

"So, Sophia," Dad said, not looking up from his phone. "Any special man in your life?"

I stabbed a piece of chicken. "Nope."

Marissa giggled. "Oh, come on, a woman as beautiful as you? You must have someone chasing you."

My mother sighed dramatically. "She's too picky."

I bit back a smile. If only they knew I'd just dismissed the city's most eligible billionaire.

Later that night, as I drove home, I replayed the moment at the gala in my head. The way Alexander had looked at me, startled, almost thrown off balance. For a second, I'd glimpsed something beneath the arrogance, confusion, maybe even intrigue.

I shook it off. Men like him weren't worth my time. I had a business to grow, clients to please, and a life to build on my own terms.

Still... I couldn't help but wonder if I'd see him again

Alexander

I don't chase women.

It's not arrogance, it's fact. They usually do the chasing. Or at least the well rehearsed dance where we both know exactly how the night will end.

But Sophia Carter changed the rules.

By Tuesday, I had my assistant Jeremy pull some strings and find out who she was working with. Turns out her company, Luxe Moments, had just landed a contract planning a corporate event for one of our subsidiaries. A perfect opportunity, gift wrapped for me.

"You're not seriously thinking of attending that event-planning meeting, are you?" Jeremy asked as we walked down the glass hallway toward the elevator.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you never attend event planning meetings. You don't even attend half the board meetings."

I smirked. "I suddenly feel invested in tablecloth colors."

Jeremy groaned. "This is about that woman from the gala, isn't it?"

I didn't answer.

The meeting was scheduled at Luxe Moments' office downtown a small, chic space with white walls, gold accents, and the faint smell of lavender. I walked in with my usual confidence, expecting at least a flicker of reaction when she saw me.

Sophia didn't even flinch.

"Mr. Knight," she said coolly, standing behind her desk. "This is unexpected."

"Please," I said, settling into the chair opposite her. "Call me Alex."

"I'd rather not."

The corners of my mouth twitched. "Fair enough. Shall we get started?"

She slid a folder across the desk, her expression businesslike. "We've prepared three concepts for your corporate retreat. Minimalist, modern luxury, or traditional formal. I recommend modern luxury, it fits your company's brand and your investors' expectations."

I barely glanced at the folder. "Which one do you like?"

Her brows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Which one would you choose?"

"This isn't about me, Mr. Knight. It's about your company."

"But I'm asking."

She hesitated, then muttered, "Minimalist."

"Then minimalist it is." I pushed the folder back.

Her eyes narrowed. "That's reckless decision making."

"I prefer to call it trusting your instincts."

I caught the flicker in her eyes, the tiniest crack in her armor. Amusement, maybe even surprise.

And just like that, I knew I was getting under her skin.

That night, I met my oldest friend, Marcus, for a drink. He was the opposite of me steady, married, two kids, never a scandal to his name.

"You're grinning like a lunatic," Marcus said, sipping his whiskey. "Who is she?"

I leaned back. "Sophia Carter. Event planner. Smart. Gorgeous. Immune to my charm."

Marcus laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink. "Immune? That's a first."

"I'm serious. She doesn't give a damn who I am."

"Then maybe you should leave her alone. Sounds like she has her head on straight."

I shook my head. "That's exactly why I can't. I want her."

Marcus gave me a long look. "Careful, Alex. Wanting and needing aren't the same thing. And you don't do well when lines blur."

I waved him off, but his words stuck with me.

Because already, this didn't feel like my usual game.

By Thursday, I had a new excuse to see Sophia. I sent flowers to her office, not roses, not something cliché. White tulips, tied with a navy ribbon. Classic, understated, nothing that screamed "billionaire trying too hard."

The card simply read: For the woman who doesn't need to be impressed.

An hour later, I got an email.

" Mr. Knight, please refrain from sending personal gifts to my office. It's unprofessional". – Sophia Carter

I couldn't stop smiling.

Unprofessional. God, she was infuriating.

Friday night, Lila cornered me at our family dinner. "So," she said, pouring herself a glass of wine. "How's Sophia?"

Mom perked up immediately. "Sophia? Who's Sophia?"

"No one," I muttered.

"Ah ha!" Lila smirked. "I knew it. He's obsessed."

I glared at her. "Drop it."

Mom clasped her hands together. "Alexander, are you finally dating someone worth mentioning?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. This was exactly why I didn't bring women home. They were all temporary. Until now.

"She's... different," I admitted quietly.

That was all it took for Mom's eyes to light up.

"Oh, darling," she said, practically glowing. "I can't wait to meet her."

I didn't admit it aloud, but I couldn't wait either.

The problem was, I had no idea how to get Sophia Carter to let me in.

Because for the first time in my life, I wasn't chasing a conquest.

I was chasing something I didn't have a name for.

Chapter Four –

Sophia

I told myself the tulips annoyed me.

That's why I emailed him, curt and professional, telling him never to send personal gifts again.

But if I was being honest, dangerously honest I'd stared at them for a full five minutes before typing that email.

White tulips. My favorite. How the hell did he know that?

Maya walked into my office mid-stare, a latte in one hand and her phone in the other. She froze, then gasped so loudly I nearly dropped the vase.

"Oh my God. Did he send those?"

I sighed. "Yes."

She squealed, almost sloshing her coffee. "Sophia! They're gorgeous. And you love tulips."

"That's not the point."

"It's exactly the point." She set her phone down and leaned across my desk. "This is Alexander freaking Knight. He doesn't send flowers. He sends diamonds. The fact that he chose something this... subtle? Girl, he's smitten."

I rolled my eyes. "Or he's just playing another game."

Maya tilted her head. "And what if he's not?"

That question lingered long after she left.

Later that week, Ethan came over to my apartment with takeout. My big brother had always been protective, especially since Dad wasn't exactly a role model in the romance department.

"You look distracted," he said between bites of lo mein.

"I'm fine."

"Fine means not fine."

Ugh. First Mom, now Ethan. "It's nothing."

"Nothing with a name, maybe?"

I glared at him. He just smirked.

"Okay, spill," he said. "Who's the guy?"

I hesitated. Ethan wasn't the type to gossip, he'd probably go punch the man instead. Still, I trusted him. "It's... Alexander Knight."

His chopsticks froze halfway to his mouth. "The billionaire? The one who's always in the tabloids with a new woman every week?"

"That's the one."

"And you're talking to him?"

"Talking is generous," I muttered. "He's chasing. I'm resisting."

Ethan leaned back and whistled. "Wow. So, basically, you're the only woman in New York who told him no. No wonder he's obsessed."

I groaned. "You sound like Maya."

"Because Maya's right. Guys like that..." He shook his head. "They're dangerous, Soph. You let them in, you get burned."

"I know," I said softly.

And I did. That was the whole point.

But knowing it didn't stop the moments from creeping in.

Like when Alex showed up at the follow up meeting, genuinely paying attention to the color schemes and vendor lists. Billionaires don't care about color palettes, but there he was, nodding thoughtfully, asking real questions.

Or the time he lingered after a presentation, waiting until everyone else had left.

"You don't make it easy, you know," he said, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded.

"Maybe that's because it's not supposed to be easy," I replied.

He smiled, slow and disarming. "Good. I like a challenge."

I hated the way my stomach flipped.

The following weekend, Maya dragged me out for brunch. She claimed I needed "sunlight and pancakes" after a week of back to back clients. Halfway through my mimosa, she leaned across the table.

"So, are you really not going to give him a chance?"

"Maya"

"Listen," she said firmly. "I know your history. I know why you're cautious. But you can't paint every man with your dad's brush. What if Alex is different?"

I stabbed my pancakes. "He's not. He's rich, arrogant, used to getting what he wants."

"True," she said, sipping her drink. "But he keeps showing up. That has to mean something."

I didn't answer. Because she wasn't entirely wrong.

That night, as I curled up in bed, I replayed the moments again. The tulips. His questions in the meeting. The way he'd looked at me, not with that smug playboy grin, but with something else. Something quieter.

I told myself I wasn't falling. Not even close.

But deep down, a tiny voice whispered that the cracks were forming.

And if I wasn't careful, Alexander Knight might slip through.