The next morning, Sophie woke up to the soft knock of the maid on her door. Her body felt heavier than usual, her mind clouded with lingering exhaustion. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table—it was past ten. Strange. She hadn’t slept in this late in years.
“Ma’am?” the maid called again, her voice was hesitant.
Sophie sighed, dragging herself out of bed and opening the door. The maid stood there, holding a sleek black card in her gloved hand.
“This is from Mr. Hazelwood,” she said, her eyes fixed on the floor, as though afraid to meet Sophie’s gaze.
Sophie’s brows furrowed. “What is it?”
“A black card, ma’am,” the maid said softly. “He asked me to deliver it to you this morning before he left yesterday .”
Sophie stared at the card, her heart was a mixture of irritation and curiosity. So, this was his version of an apology? No explanation. No effort to actually address what had happened. Just a shiny piece of plastic with a limitless balance. Typical Drake Hazelwood.
She took
