Stay Away from Sophia… Got It?

Isabella Monroe 

Sunrise painted the sky by the time I left Sophia’s house, leaving her passed out in bed.

But his touch stayed with me.

Mr. Sebastian.

The memory kept forcing its way back into my head, pulling apart every calm thought I tried to hold onto.

How could one innocent touch… one simple kiss… affect me this much?

Deep down, the answer already existed.

Something inside me was empty.

Maybe that’s why I reacted the way I did. Why I wanted something that was never meant for me.

Right before reaching the front door, Cassandra stepped out of her luxury car while talking to the same guard we argued with last night.

Great.

So he told her everything.

About us coming home late. About Sophia being drunk. About me.

Perfect as always, Cassandra looked like power wrapped in elegance. Expensive clothes. Sharp eyes. The kind of woman who walked into a room and owned it instantly.

My head lowered automatically, hoping to slip past unnoticed.

Didn’t work.

“Isabella. I need a minute.”

A quiet breath left me. Yeah. I already knew where this was going.

“Yes, Mrs. Cassandra.”

Her hand moved lightly in front of her face, brushing away the smell of alcohol still clinging to me.

“What exactly are you trying to do? And is what the guard told me true?”

Calmly, I met her gaze.

“What he said isn’t true.”

A firm hand landed on my shoulder.

“Listen to me, Isabella. You’re a good girl. But being around my daughter isn’t healthy. I want you to stay away from her before she gets hurt.”

For a second, everything inside me froze.

Dangerous.

That’s what she thought I was.

Her hand slipped off my shoulder after I pushed it away.

“You may think I’m a bad influence on your daughter, but I don’t force her into anything. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

A small pause followed.

“And if you mean smoking, I quit months ago.”

Her lips tightened immediately.

“Stay away from Sophia. Understood?”

My feet almost carried me away quietly.

Almost.

But staying silent has never really been my thing.

“You should talk to your daughter before attacking me like this, Mrs. Cassandra. Save your anger for her. You’re not my mother.”

The guard looked anywhere except at me while I walked past him.

Behind me, Cassandra’s cold voice cut through the air.

“Ungrateful girl.”

God.

That word hit harder than it should’ve.

Still, I kept walking.

Thirty minutes later, my apartment finally came into view.

Warm water helped clear my head a little. Breakfast came next, though exhaustion dragged me into bed right after.

Then my phone rang.

Sophia.

Apparently, her father agreed to help with my research project, and the appointment was already set for four in the afternoon at his clinic.

Guess I didn’t really have a choice anymore.

Outside the building, my motorcycle waited where I left it. Months of restaurant shifts paid for that thing, and honestly, I loved it more than half the people in my life.

By the time I reached Dr. Sebastian’s clinic, the sun had already started fading.

The assistant behind the desk greeted me with a bright smile that disappeared the second her eyes scanned my outfit.

Nice.

“Is Dr. Sebastian here?”

She straightened awkwardly.

“He’ll be here shortly… Miss?”

“Miss Isabella.”

Without another word, the office door closed behind me.

The room smelled expensive. Leather. Wood. Cigarettes. Everything about it screamed control.

A statue near the bookshelf caught my attention first. A woman carrying a child on her back, chest exposed without shame.

My nose scrunched automatically.

“Doesn’t he get embarrassed looking at this every day?”

Slow steps carried me around the office while my eyes wandered over framed certificates, shelves, and scattered files.

Then the painting behind his chair pulled me closer.

Elegant handwriting stretched across the corner.

His signature.

“He paints too…?”

Weirdly, that surprised me.

The painting stayed in my hands while I studied the details carefully.

Then the office door opened.

Every muscle in my body locked instantly.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

Dark eyes.

His presence filled the room so completely it almost stole the air from my lungs.

“Hello?”

That voice again.

Deep. Calm. Dangerous.

My attention dropped to the painting in my hands.

“Hello… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch your things.”

His jacket came off slowly, leaving only the fitted black shirt underneath.

Big mistake looking.

The fabric hugged his chest perfectly. His waist. His arms.

God.

“It’s fine, my daughter.”

My daughter.

That word did something awful to me.

Something I didn’t wanna think about too hard.

Closing the distance between us, he gently took the painting from my hands. Fingers brushed mine for barely a second.

Still enough to mess up my breathing.

“Back where it belongs.”

The painting returned to its place before his attention shifted toward me again.

“You can sit.”

Looking at him properly only made things worse.

Way worse.

My eyes caught the movement of his throat before I finally forced myself into the chair across from him.

A pair of glasses settled on his nose while he opened a file calmly.

“Sophia told me about your research. How can I help you, Isabella?”

My bag slipped off my shoulder while I searched for my notebook and papers.

Then I turned back! 

And found his eyes on me.

Not my face.

Lower.

Heat rushed into my cheeks so fast it almost hurt.

“It’s a practical research project about psychiatrists.”

One hand extended toward the notebook.

“Professor Albert teaches your class?”

“Yes.”

A cigarette appeared between his fingers a second later.

The lighter clicked softly.

Then he moved behind me.

Smoke wrapped around me instantly, mixing with that calm masculine scent clinging to his clothes.

Something twisted low in my stomach.

“As I said, a successful psychiatrist needs several traits. Calmness. Discipline. The ability to handle emotional reactions from patients.”

My fingers moved quickly across the paper, though the handwriting barely looked steady anymore.

Back in front of me again, his legs spread slightly beneath the desk.

One glance.

That was all it took before my eyes snapped upward again.

Straight into his.

“Second… attention. Even the smallest behavior matters. That’s how accurate diagnoses happen.”

Smoke drifted toward me after another slow drag from his cigarette.

Warm. Heavy. Distracting.

“Third… patience.”

A slight frown pulled at my face.

Something about the way he said that felt wrong.

Too personal.

Like this stopped being about research a while ago.

Was he testing me?

Playing with me?

“What’s wrong, Isabella?”

Smoke left his lips slowly.

Before whatever hid behind his eyes ruined my ability to think completely, my gaze dropped away from him.

“Should we continue? You don’t look well.”

My chest tightened painfully.

“Yes, Mr. Sebastian. Let’s continue.”

One cigarette was already finished.

Too fast.

Another appeared right after.

“I’m going to lose my mind,” I muttered quietly.

“Patience, Isabella.”

His voice stayed calm. Steady.

“Patience is the key to success. Psychological treatment isn’t like physical treatment. It takes time. Sometimes… it never truly ends.”

Those words settled heavily inside my chest.

“Are we done?”

For a second, something unreadable crossed his face.

Maybe amusement.

Maybe something worse.

“You’re impatient,” he said softly. “You’ll need to work on that.”

My mind twisted his words into something dirty before I could stop it.

Heat flooded my face again.

And suddenly, breathing felt almost impossible.