Midnight Confessions

**Chapter 10: Midnight Confessions**

The Harrison mansion was silent except for the soft ticking of an antique clock somewhere down the hall. Sora lay in the luxurious guest bed, staring at the canopy above her, unable to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw hospital monitors, unsigned divorce papers, or Jack’s intense gaze in his office.

She finally gave up, slipping on a silky robe over her nightgown. The fabric whispered against her full thighs as she padded barefoot down the dimly lit corridors toward the library.

Soft golden light spilled from beneath the heavy oak doors. She pushed one open gently.

George was there, seated in his wheelchair near the large bay window, a book open on his lap. He looked up, surprise flickering across his face before it melted into a warm smile.

“Sora,” he said softly. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

She shook her head and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Too many thoughts. I didn’t want to wake Miranda.”

“Come sit,” he offered, gesturing to the deep armchair beside him. “Or here, if you want.” He patted the wide ottoman near his chair.

Sora chose the ottoman, curling her legs beneath her. The robe slipped slightly, revealing the soft curve of her cleavage. George’s eyes flicked down for a brief moment before returning respectfully to her face.

They talked for what felt like hours.

He told her about the accident that put him in the wheelchair — the bitterness he had carried afterward, the way people looked at him with either pity or discomfort. She listened, really listened, her hand resting on his arm.

Then it was her turn.

“I’ve never told anyone this,” Sora began, voice barely above a whisper. “Not even Miranda. Melvin… he didn’t just shame me in private. He did it publicly. Restaurants. Parties. He’d make jokes about my weight in front of his friends. Call me his ‘big girl’ like it was funny. Then at night he’d still want me, but it always felt like I was just a body to him. Something to use and then criticize.”

Tears welled in her eyes. George set his book aside and reached for her hands, holding them firmly.

“You are not a joke,” he said fiercely. “You are not too much. You are soft, warm, and incredibly beautiful. Every curve, every inch of you. The man who made you feel otherwise was a fool who never deserved you.”

Sora’s breath trembled. She leaned forward, and George met her halfway.

Their first real kiss was slow, achingly tender. His lips were warm and patient, coaxing hers open with gentle care. One of his strong hands cupped the back of her neck while the other rested on her waist, fingers sinking reverently into the plush softness there.

Sora sighed into his mouth as his hand explored — gliding up her side, tracing the generous swell of her breast through the thin robe and nightgown, then down to the wide curve of her hip. There was no rush. No mockery. Only worship.

“You feel like heaven,” George murmured against her lips. “So soft… so perfect.”

He pulled her closer until she was nearly in his lap, her full breasts pressing against his broad chest. His touch remained gentle but hungry, mapping her body with quiet reverence. Sora felt desired in a way she had never experienced — not as an object, but as a woman worthy of devotion.

When they finally parted, both breathing heavily, foreheads resting together, Sora felt something deep inside her begin to heal.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” George confessed, voice rough with emotion. “Even when I watched Justin torment you, even when you belonged to someone else. I saw you, Sora. The real you.”

A floorboard creaked sharply near the library door.

Sora startled. George’s expression hardened as he looked past her.

The door was slightly ajar. A shadow moved away quickly down the hallway.

“Justin,” George muttered, jaw tight.

Sora’s heart raced. “Do you think he heard?”

“Probably.” George’s hand stayed protectively on her thigh. “He’ll have to get used to it. You’re not his to bully anymore.”

She stayed with George a while longer, curled against him in comfortable silence until her eyelids grew heavy. He wheeled her back to her room, pressing one last soft kiss to her forehead at the door.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “You’re safe here.”

As Sora slipped back into bed, the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin, she felt a quiet strength blooming inside her chest.

But in another wing of the mansion, Justin Harrison slammed his bedroom door, fists clenched, jealousy and something far darker burning in his eyes.