Morning light spilled through the thin curtains of the service apartment, pale and quiet, stretching across the wooden floor in long rectangles. The place still carried the faint warmth of the night before—rumpled couch cushions, the soft scent of coffee beginning to rise from the kitchen.Matthew leaned back against the arm of the sofa, one ankle resting over his knee. His shirt hung loosely over yesterday’s jeans, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. From where he sat, he could see Sophie moving around the small kitchen.She stood by the stove, her hair tied loosely at the back of her neck, a few strands falling against her cheek each time she leaned forward to check the pan. The rhythm of her movements felt strangely domestic—plates being set down, the soft clink of cutlery, the quiet scrape of a chair pulled toward the table.Matthew watched for a moment.“You planning to open a restaurant in here?” he asked casually.Sophie glanced over her shoulder, a small smile tugging at h
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