All Chapters of Entangled: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Steam clung to Sofia’s skin as she stepped out of the shower, water trailing down her body, her thin underwear clinging like silk. The room was still warm from the heat, soft tendrils of vapor curling into the air like whispered secrets. Her cheeks were flushed, her curls damp and wild, sticking to her shoulders as she moved.Tristan stood at the doorway, jaw tight, hands buried in his pockets like they were the only thing holding him together. He filled the entryway with that quiet, unsettling intensity he always carried, an anchor in the middle of her storm. His eyes flicked over her once before he forced them away, a muscle ticking sharply in his jaw.“Don’t look so tragic,” Sofia teased, a daring smile tugging at her lips. “It’s just water.”Her voice was softer than she intended, breathy from the leftover heat of the shower. She walked toward him barefoot, small against the vastness of the room, her chin tipped up stubbornly. At five foot two, she had to stretch, almost rise onto

The silence that followed was total, broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing. Tristan’s weight, which had just been crushing, was now a dead comfort, pressing Sofia into the sheets. She was utterly spent, aching with a deep exhaustion. The heat where they were joined was the only thing that felt real.The intense conclusion of their first time had occurred just before the deep night settled.She tried to speak, but the sheer intensity of the experience had drugged her mind. The city lights were sharp and bright through the windows, uncaring of the intimacy unfolding within. She felt Tristan shift, pressing a brief kiss to her head before carefully moving off her. The space where he had been went cold quickly, though the internal warmth of his climax lingered.Sofia fell asleep instantly and profoundly.She did not wake suddenly. Instead, she was pulled from slumber by a delicious, growing sensation in the quiet hours before the clock’s turn. It was a soft, steady heat, an in

Sofia lingered at the kitchen counter, the remains of Fina’s perfectly plated breakfast cooling before her. Every detail of the morning replayed in her mind like a secret she didn’t want to let go of, the folded note in his precise hand, the medicine waiting by her bedside, the soft clothes he had chosen for her comfort. They were small things, functional things, yet to her they were radiant.It felt like care. Real care.Her reckless thought was to stay. To sink into the silence of his apartment, to wait for him like she belonged here, to greet him when he returned. To let herself imagine a version of her life where she fit in these high, glass-walled rooms.And for a few stolen seconds, she let herself believe it.But the world outside pulled at her. She thought of Lani, Pia, Marco, their worried eyes, their endless questions. She thought of the cameras, the gossip feeds, the people who still wanted to twist her life into a headline. She couldn’t risk it.Yet even her exit was touch

Sofia stood in the middle of the room. She didn’t cry. The pain was too sharp, too total, for tears. It was an absence, a hollowing out.Her roommates hovered, stunned into stillness. Lani was the first to move, her hand tentative on Sofia’s arm. Pia and Marco traded helpless looks, as if they were watching someone fall from a height and had no way to catch her.But Sofia didn’t register them. Her world had narrowed to one brutal truth: she needed to erase him.She crossed the room deliberately, picked up her still-buzzing phone, and opened his contact. The screen lit with his name, the name that had ruined her and remade her in the span of weeks. Her thumb hovered only for a second. Then she pressed Block. She muted all her notifications and archived all news that comes to her phone.The action was small, almost absurdly so, yet it felt like cutting through an artery. The silence that followed was cold, final.She turned, ripped the shirt off, and walked straight to her bedroom.“Sof

By December, the rhythm of Echelon Singapore had become second nature to Sofia. Mornings in the Raffles Bay office meant the constant buzz of deadlines, photographers moving in and out with portfolios under their arms, stylists dropping off racks of clothes, and staff writers tapping frantically at keyboards. The Christmas issue was their crown jewel, glossy and high-stakes, meant to sit on coffee tables across the region.Carrie drove with her team with her usual precision, her clipped instructions cutting through the chaos like a conductor’s baton. Sofia, now few months into her new role, had stopped feeling like an intruder and started feeling like a spine, one of the people who kept the pages upright. She had learned the new staff’s rhythms, their shortcuts, their flaws, their brilliance. She was tired, but it was the clean kind of tired. The kind that came from work well done.Her apartment, however, remained bare. Tomson Road was neat, practical, furnished in the style of new be