Chapter 2

Sophia

The glass was cool in my hand, condensation slipping slowly down my fingers as I stood near one of the corner pillars, away from the crowd but with the perfect view of him.

Damian Wolfe.

He and my father were deep in conversation, laughing with a few business partners. Of course they were. Talking stocks, mergers, or whatever other empire-building topic was more important than acknowledging the daughter who'd flown home for this damn gala.

I took a sip of my champagne. Then another, longer one.

"My Dad," I muttered under my breath, "Brought me here and ditched me for business talk. What's the use, then?"

My phone buzzed in my clutch. I fished it out with one hand and tapped the screen.

Bree: How's the fancy gala?

Me: Aggressive boring. Dad's talking business with his best friend like I'm not even here.

It didn't take long.

Bree: Wait. Is it that same man you told me you had a crush on?

I scoffed, thumbs flying over the screen.

Me: I didn't say I had a crush on him. I just told you about the man.

As I hit send, my eyes flicked back to where he stood. And that was when it happened.

Our eyes met.

Straight across the room, through people, laughter, chatter—his gaze locked with mine. Like nothing else existed. Like he saw me.

My fingers tightened around the stem of my glass.

His eyes didn't waver. Cool. Sharp. Deep. Like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had. My mouth went dry, and for a second, everything else faded.

Something hot curled low in my stomach. Deep, slow and unwanted.

What the hell was that?

I broke eye contact, looked away quickly, trying to act unaffected—but it was already there. That little spark he lit just by looking at me. And the worst part?

I felt it. Right between my legs.

I barely had time to recover from that look before I saw them moving—my Dad and Damian, walking toward me.

Great.

I straightened, took one last sip of champagne for courage, and forced my face into something neutral.

"Sophia," Dad said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder like he hadn't just ignored me for the past hour. "You enjoying yourself?"

I didn't even bother hiding the irritation in my tone. "Do I look like I'm enjoying myself, Dad? You left me all alone here. I just want to go home."

He chuckled, completely unfazed. "Always dramatic. My daughter's too spoiled, Damian. And to think I was considering her to take over the business someday."

I rolled my eyes, already stepping away from his arm. "Then you really don't know me at all. I'm not interested in boring numbers and business meetings. I'm studying Communication and Media, remember? Not Corporate Takeover 101."

There was a low, quiet laugh. Smooth. Confident. I looked up. His voice.

"I don't know, Charles," he said to my Dad, his eyes fixed entirely on me. "I see potential in her."

His gaze dipped down, unapologetically slow, before climbing back to meet mine.

"Maybe I'll teach her one or two things myself," he added, voice lower now. "Behind closed doors."

My breath hitched.

Oh, God.

He didn't look like he was joking. I felt the weight of it. Felt the meaning coil in the air like smoke. Maybe he meant it innocently—mentor-like.

But my mind twisted it immediately. Dark. Dirty. Dangerous.

And judging by the look in those storm-grey eyes, I wasn't the only one who thought of it that way.

My heart was racing, and all I could do was look away, pretending to sip my drink as if the heat crawling under my skin wasn't real.

But it was. Oh, it was very real.

Dad laughed, clapping Damian on the back. "I trust you on that, Damian."

Did he even know what kind of trust he was referring to? Was he that clueless?

Because that didn't sound like something you say to a man who just offered to teach your daughter anything "behind closed doors."

Dad phone buzzed loudly in his pocket before any of us could speak. "Excuse me, please. I need to take this."

Of course. Business first. Always.

He turned and stepped away, already speaking into the phone, leaving me standing there—alone—with him.

The man who once looked at me like I was a little girl running around in pigtails... and now?

Now his gaze dipped to my lips like he was wondering how they'd taste. "So, Columbia, right?"

I snapped. "What?"

"Your father said you're wrapping up your Master's." His gaze lingered. "Communication and Media, if I remember correctly."

I cleared my throat and took a small sip of my champagne, mostly to buy time. "Yeah. One more semester."

"Impressive. Not many your age manage that."

There was something about the way he said your age—like it wasn't just about academics, like he was thinking of something else entirely.

I tilted my head, trying to play it cool. "Well, not everyone wants to rot away in boardrooms staring at spreadsheets."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Touché."

His eyes dropped for a brief second to my hand as I held the glass, then back to my face. "Looks like your father has high hopes about handing the company to you,"

I chuckled, more out of reflex than amusement. "Too bad I'm not interested. I want to start my own firm. Maybe something that doesn't require playing dress-up in a suit and tie every day."

He adjusted his position slightly, his body language relaxed, but his eyes never left me. "An entertainment industry?"

I froze for a split second. That wasn't even part of what I'd planned to say. I'd meant to mention something vague about consulting or marketing, but his question threw me off balance. "Uh, no," I replied, forcing a casual laugh. "Not exactly. I just... want something that's more me. Not business suits and office politics."

"That's an interesting contradiction."

I gulped down the remaining of my champagne, refusing to acknowledge the tension that had already crept into my chest. "Not everyone fits into a mold. Some of us need a little freedom to carve out our own path."

Before he could respond, my father approached, a briskness in his steps.

"I think I have to run from here," he said his eyes darting to the two of us, his tone clipped, clearly focused on something else.

"Why? What happened?"

He glanced at me, a faint crease appearing between his brows. "Emergency meeting. I'm taking a flight out of the country." He reached over, brushing a kiss to my cheek. "My driver will take you home," he added. "Actually, he's taking me to the airport."

I waved it off, not wanting to make a scene. "Dad, don't bother. I'll just grab a taxi."

Damian, though, cut in before I could protest further. "Don't worry, Charles. I'll drop her home." His eyes flicked back to me, and there was something in his gaze—something that made my pulse skip. I had no idea why I felt my breath catch at the mere weight of his attention, but I couldn't help it.

"Alright. Call me when you settle in, Soph," he said with a knowing smile before kissing my cheek one more time and leaving.

**

"Thanks for the ride and walking me inside," I said, stepping out of the car and glancing at him over my shoulder.

Damian didn't move at first, his eyes lingering on me for a second too long. Finally, he shook his head slightly, his voice low and steady. "Don't bother. I'm just making sure Charles's daughter is settled back in."

I forced a smile, trying to brush off the tension that had been building ever since the gala. "Yeah, right," I muttered, pushing open the front door to my father's house. "Do you want coffee or something?"

As soon as the words left my mouth, I immediately regretted them. What the hell had I just said? I could already feel the awkwardness creeping up my spine. I was hoping he'd decline—hoping he'd just say no and leave—but instead, Damian's lips curled into a smile that made my stomach flip.

"Sure," he said, that damn smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Coffee sounds good."

I blinked, taken aback for a second, before I silently pushed the door wide and stepped inside, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. I wasn't sure what had come over me. Offering him coffee was such a simple, ridiculous thing to do, yet now he was standing there, ready to follow me in.

I walked back into the living room, the coffee mug in my hand, my mind still racing with thoughts I didn't want to entertain. "Here you go," I said, holding the steaming mug out toward him.

He turned just as I reached the coffee table, and in my haste to hand it over, I didn't notice my foot brushing against the edge of the table. Everything happened so fast. The coffee sloshed out of the cup, and before I could even react, I stumbled forward—straight into him.

My body collided with his chest, and in that split second, everything seemed to freeze. The coffee splattered across his shirt, and I fell into him, my hands landing on his chest.

Damian's strong arms immediately shot out, catching me effortlessly. His eyes were locked on mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

We both held each other's gaze, the moment stretching on forever. My heart raced, and I felt the heat of his body beneath mine, his scent overwhelming me.

I should've moved, should've apologized, but I couldn't. Not with the way his hands were gripping me, the way his breath hitched in the space between us.

Then, slowly, his gaze dropped to my lips. His grip tightened around me, and I could feel the tension between us snap.

Before I could even think, Damian leaned in. His lips brushed against mine, a kiss that was soft at first, testing, as if he was waiting for me to pull away. But I didn't. Instead, I kissed him back.

I think I am screwed!