Chapter Four: The Man from the Newspaper
1067 Words
Sofia Pov
By the time I got home, my head was pounding.
The call I'd received earlier had turned out to be another issue with Daniel's treatment schedule. Nothing life-threatening, thankfully, but enough to remind me how fragile our situation really was.
One unexpected expense. One missed payment. One bad month. That was all it would take for everything to fall apart. I dropped my bag onto the kitchen counter and kicked off my shoes.
The apartment wasn't much. Two bedrooms. Outdated appliances. A landlord who ignored maintenance requests. But it was home. And right now, that was enough. The television was already on when I walked into the living room.
Daniel sat on the couch eating cereal straight from the box.
"That's disgusting." He looked up. "It's efficient." "It's lazy." "It's genius."
I rolled my eyes. Somehow, despite everything he'd been through, my brother remained annoyingly optimistic.
"You look stressed."
"I met an idiot."
Daniel grinned. "At work?"
"No."
"Subway?"
"No."
"Internet?"
I grabbed a pillow and threw it at him.
He laughed. "Okay, tell me."
I hesitated. The strange encounter from earlier replayed in my mind. The expensive suit. The confidence. The annoying smile. The coffee invitation.
"Just some guy."
Daniel immediately looked interested.
"A guy?"
"Don't start."
"A cute guy?"
I groaned. "You're impossible."
His grin widened. That was enough to answer.
"Wow."
"There is no wow."
"There is definitely a wow."
I ignored him and headed toward the kitchen. Unfortunately, Daniel followed. Like always.
"So what happened?"
"Nothing happened."
"Which means something happened."
I opened the refrigerator. "Why are you like this?"
"Because my life is boring and yours apparently isn't."
I pointed a finger at him. "You're lucky you're sick."
He laughed again.
A few minutes later, while scrolling through channels, Daniel suddenly froze. His expression changed.
"Wait."
I looked over. "What?"
He pointed at the television. "That's him."
My stomach tightened. "What are you talking about?"
"The guy."
I turned toward the screen. And nearly dropped my glass. A news segment filled the television. At the center of it stood the man I'd spoken to earlier.
The same man who had asked me for coffee. The same man I'd dismissed as another rich stranger. The same man from the courthouse.
My jaw tightened immediately. Caleb Whitmore. The newspaper photo. The engagement announcement. The future politician. The billionaire heir.
Of course. Of course he was Caleb Whitmore.
Daniel glanced between me and the screen. "No way."
I crossed my arms. "Way."
"You met Caleb Whitmore?"
"Apparently."
"And?"
"And what?"
"What was he like?"
I stared at the television. The reporter described him as one of the city's most promising future leaders. A man dedicated to service. A role model. A visionary. I almost laughed.
The version of Caleb Whitmore on television looked polished and perfect.
The man I'd met on the sidewalk looked tired. There was a difference. A noticeable one. Still. That didn't change who he was. Or what he represented.
"He asked me for coffee."
Daniel nearly choked. "What?"
I regretted telling him immediately.
"What happened to nothing?"
"Nothing happened."
"Sofia."
I sighed.
"He asked. I said no."
Daniel stared. Then stared harder. Then shook his head.
"You rejected Caleb Whitmore."
"Yes."
"Are you insane?"
"Probably."
He laughed so hard he nearly fell off the couch. I hated that he found this funny. For the next twenty minutes. The teasing continued. Relentlessly.
By the time I escaped to my bedroom, I was exhausted. Unfortunately. Sleep refused to come. My mind kept replaying the encounter. Not because I regretted rejecting him. Because I couldn't figure him out.
Most wealthy men I encountered were predictable. Entitled. Arrogant. Convinced the world belonged to them.
Caleb hadn't seemed like that. Which somehow made him more dangerous.
People were easier to avoid when they fit expectations. The complicated ones were harder.
The next morning arrived far too quickly. The office was already chaotic when I walked inside. Maria appeared seconds after my arrival.
"You look tired."
"I am tired."
"Good."
I blinked. "What?"
"If you're tired, it means you're working."
I laughed. "That's terrible advice."
"Yet here we are."
She handed me a file.
The moment I saw the name on the cover, my smile disappeared.
Baxter Development Group.
Again. Wonderful.
"What now?"
"They filed another motion."
I groaned. The company simply refused to back down. Which meant neither could we.
The next several hours disappeared beneath paperwork and legal strategy.
By lunchtime, my neck hurt. By three o'clock, my patience was gone. By five o'clock, I desperately needed coffee.
Which was exactly why I found myself standing inside a crowded café across the street.
The line stretched nearly to the door. People filled every table. The smell of fresh coffee drifted through the room. For the first time all day, things felt peaceful.
Then a familiar voice ruined everything. "I was beginning to think I'd imagined you."
I froze. Slowly turning around. Caleb Whitmore stood behind me. Looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Oh no."
His smile widened. "Oh no?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Buying coffee."
I narrowed my eyes. "This is stalking."
"It isn't."
"It feels like stalking."
"It isn't."
His amusement only made me more suspicious. Several people glanced toward us. Recognizing him immediately.
I noticed. He noticed. Neither of us acknowledged it.
"I already said no."
"I remember."
"Good."
"But you didn't say no because you disliked me."
I blinked.
The confidence in that statement was outrageous.
"And how exactly would you know that?"
"Because if you disliked me, you would've walked away by now."
I hated that logic. Mostly because it wasn't entirely wrong. I should have left. Instead, I remained standing there. Arguing. Again.
"You're very sure of yourself."
"Not usually."
Something about his answer caught me off guard. The honesty felt unexpected. Real. Dangerously real.
The barista called my name. Finally, an escape.
I grabbed my coffee and turned toward the door. Before leaving, I looked back. Just once.
Caleb was still standing there. Watching. Not with arrogance. Not with entitlement. With curiosity. The same curiosity I'd noticed outside the courthouse. The same curiosity that made me
nervous.
Because for the first time since learning exactly who Caleb Whitmore was… I wasn't thinking about the billionaire. Or the politician. Or the headlines. I was thinking about the man. And that was a problem. A very big problem.
- Writer
