Chapter 4

SOPHIA.

I sat at my desk, my fingers clacking away on the keyboard as I tried to focus on the screen. But my mind kept wandering back to him— the stranger I'd met in Santorini. 

It's been six months since that intense night but I had dreamt about him every night for the first three months— imagining his hand roaming over my skin and his cock drilling my pussy. 

I'd waited endlessly for his call but it never came. I'd even tried to find him online, searching through millions of profiles with the name Clinton, but it was as if he didn't exist. So, after two months, I just gave up on looking for him. Maybe the connection I'd felt was one-sided, just another vacation romance that meant everything to me and nothing to him.

But still, no matter how I tried to forget about him, his face— those fierce green eyes kept haunting me.

"Ms. Martinez, fall in line!"

A hand grabbed my shoulder and I jerked my head up to find David from accounting looking at me with wide, panicked eyes.

"What?"

But he was already gone, practically running to join... what the hell?

Every single person on the office floor had abandoned their desks. Computers sat abandoned, phones rang unanswered, and my coworkers stood in two perfectly straight lines down the main walkway like soldiers at inspection.

My heart lurched. Was this a fire drill? A robbery?

I scrambled to my feet, my chair spinning wildly behind me, and ran to squeeze into the line next to Martha. Everyone had their heads bowed and hands clasped in front of them like they were praying. I mimicked the pose, but confusion swirled in my stomach.

I turned slightly toward Martha, reducing my voice to a whisper. "What's going on?"

"Hush!" Martha's response was sharp, her face pale. "The boss is here."

The boss?

I'd worked at Wilde Group for six months, but I'd never seen nor heard about the CEO. 

His office on the top floor was always empty. Every time I'd asked about him, the conversations died. People changed subjects. Once, Janet from HR actually walked away mid-sentence when I'd pressed for details.

The CEO of Wilde Group was a ghost, a mystery, a name without a face.

And now he was here.

The elevator dinged and the entire room seemed to hold its breath. My heart began to race as a pair of shoes clicked on the marbled floor with an authoritative sound. 

I kept my head down, but I could see shoes passing. Three pairs of black oxfords— assistants or security, probably— scurrying behind a pair of burgundy leather shoes that probably cost more than my annual salary.

The burgundy shoes moved with an intimidating confidence and as they got closer to where I stood, my palms started sweating.

But as soon as he passed me, a familiar cologne scent hit me. That scent was so distinct that it was impossible not to be recognized. I racked my brain, trying to remember where I'd perceived that cologne, and that was when it suddenly hit me

The stranger from Santorini!

The footsteps suddenly stopped and the room was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat. Why had he stopped? Did he notice me?

Curiosity gnawed at my wit's end, overriding every instinct screaming at me to keep my head down. 

Just one look. I needed one look to confirm I was being ridiculous, that my mind was playing tricks, that there was no way...

I raised my head.

His back was turned against me but his build and stance was so large and intimidating. Then, slowly, he turned fully, and our eyes met.

The air whooshed out of my lungs and icicles flooded my veins.

No. Fucking. Way.

“Clinton?”

Martha tugged my arm. “Sophia, that's the CEO. Fall back in line,” she hushed, but I didn't budge, my gaze remained locked on Clinton's.

“Do I know you?” He purred, tilting his head and sizing me up. The question punched me in the chest.

That affectionate glow in his eyes has been replaced by a cold, icy stare that unnerved me.

He looked different now. He was no longer the charming, roguish stranger from the hotel. He was now an imposing figure in a bespoke suit, his expression unreadable, his eyes cold and distant. 

“Uhh... uhm,” I stammered as I noticed how my colleagues and higher ups were now glaring at me. “I... I'm sorry, sir.”

He arched his brows and muttered. “Who keeps employing these incompetent staff?”

What? Did he just...

Without a single care about the damage he'd caused me, he simply turned around and stormed away. I stood dazed as tears stung at the back of my eyes.

Is this the same man I'd fantasized about? Hell no, this version was colder, detached and emotionless.

••••••

The chandelier light shimmered off a thousand champagne flutes, scattering gold across the ballroom. I tugged lightly at the hem of my fitted red gown which felt a little too tight and stood under the arched dome of the Wilde-Blackwood gala. I wasn’t so sure whether I looked stunning or squished.  

The air smelled like old money. Waiters strolled past in neat formation, serving hors d’oeuvres I couldn’t pronounce. Martha and I stood near the balcony doors, pretending to enjoy the gala, sipping red wine that probably cost more than our monthly rent.

“Remind me again,” Martha muttered beside me, tilting her glass, “why do we peasants come to these things?”

“To show we exist,” I answered dryly, scanning the crowd. “And to pray our bosses notice us without actually making eye contact.”

She snorted and smiled faintly for a second as my eyes drifted across the hall, and then I saw him.  

Julian.  

Even in a crowd of powerful men, he stood apart. His height towered over everyone else’s, the sharp lines of his navy two-piece suit framing his broad shoulders 

He was speaking to a group of investors but somehow his presence reached across the entire room like gravitational pull.

God, he was magnetic. The confident smile, the cool aura, the absolute certainty that the universe tilted a few degrees toward him.

‘If only you weren’t such an asshole,’ I muttered and tore my gaze away before he caught me staring.

My pulse tripped as the memories of that night came flooding back.

It wasn’t like I’d expected him to gush over me back then at the office, but a simple nod would've been a sign to indicate that six months ago in Santorini hadn’t been a mistake. 

But no, Julian Wilde hadn’t even twitched. Instead, he stared through me at the office like I was furniture. That cold, calculating glare of his stripping me bare.

With an irritated huff, I turned to grab another glass of champagne from a passing tray but as I turned, my gaze snagged on a familiar face across the room.

Liam.

What is that conniving, cheating bastard doing here?

The glass almost slipped from my hand as my eyes fell on the lady beside him— Chloe.

Cheating on me with my roommate wasn’t enough for him? Now he was here, flaunting Chloe on his arm like some twisted trophy? 

Our eyes met and I tried to turn away, but it was too late.

"Hello, Soph, it's been ages." His voice oozed false charm as he approached me.

"Right, ages since you cheated on me?" I kept my voice steady, even as my fingers tightened around my glass. "Yeah, I remember."

He laughed and threw his hands up defensively. "Oh, come on, Soph, it's been six months already. Move on."

The sheer audacity made my vision blur. I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Exactly, that's what I'm trying to do. But why do you keep popping up around me like an unwanted weed?"

His eyebrows shot up. “Weed? Girl, chill,” he said with a chuckle, clearly amused by my anger. “I’m just here to support my brother’s company.”

I blinked, confused. “Who the hell is your brother?”

Liam grinned as he raised his champagne glass, pointing toward the stage. "Well, that's him."

My gaze followed his finger lazily until it landed on a familiar figure who stepped up to the microphone. Those green eyes swept across the crowd as he adjusted the mic.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” His voice boomed through the hall, rich and commanding.

Julian. 

He’s Liam’s brother?

My vision blurred for a second and I stumbled back. No, there was no way I had let myself be played by two Wilde brothers in one lifetime.