Chapter Eight.
1810 Words
Sophie stirred at the faint sound of his voice, low and raspy. She blinked against the morning light spilling through the curtains, her eyes landing on Drake as he shifted restlessly on the bed.
"Althea…" he muttered, his voice cracking like it carried the weight of something unspeakable.
Sophie frowned, inching closer. “Drake?”
He didn’t respond, his brow furrowing deeply as he whispered the name again. Althea.
Her chest tightened. Who was Althea? The name meant nothing to her, yet the way he said it—it was almost desperate.
She reached out, her hand hovering just above his shoulder before gently pressing against it. “Drake, it’s me. Sophie.”
His eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. For a moment, it was as though he didn’t recognize her. Then his gaze softened, and the corners of his mouth twitched in something like relief.
“Sophie,” he rasped, his voice barely audible.
“Yeah,” she murmured, trying to ignore the knot forming in her stomach. “It’s me. You’re burning up.”
Her hand brushed against his forehead, confirming what she already suspected. He was feverish, his skin unnaturally warm beneath her touch.
“I’ll get something for the fever,” she said, starting to stand, but his hand shot out, gripping her wrist weakly.
“Don’t… don’t leave,” he mumbled, his words slurring.
She hesitated, her heart doing a strange little flip at the way his fingers curled around hers. He looked so vulnerable, so unlike the Drake, she knew—the man who always seemed untouchable, even in his worst moments.
“I’m not going far,” she said softly, her voice gentler than she intended. “Just to get a wet cloth, okay?”
His grip loosened, though his expression remained tense. She returned quickly, sitting by his side as she pressed the cool cloth against his forehead.
He let out a low sigh, his eyes closing as though the simple gesture was a lifeline.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy but not suffocating. Sophie found herself watching him—really watching him—for the first time in what felt like forever. His usually sharp features were softened by exhaustion, his guarded walls momentarily down.
“Who’s Althea?” she asked quietly, not expecting an answer.
He didn’t give one, his lips barely parting as he whispered something incoherent. Her chest tightened again, a mix of frustration and an inexplicable ache.
She didn’t know what was happening to her, or why she suddenly felt so tethered to this moment. She should be angry, confused—but instead, she was… here. Holding his hand, tending to his fever, letting her heart betray her logic.
When his breathing steadied and his grip on her hand loosened, she allowed herself a small smile. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
And maybe—just maybe—she didn’t mind this sudden shift as much as she thought she would.
♡♡♡
Drake stirred awake, his eyes squinting against the dim light. Sophie had drawn the curtains partway, letting in just enough sunlight to keep the room warm but not overwhelming. He groaned softly, his hand instinctively going to his forehead, where the damp cloth she’d left rested.
“You’re awake,” Sophie said, her voice calm yet laced with concern. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap.
He blinked a few times, disoriented, before his gaze settled on her. “What… happened?”
“You were burning with fever,” she replied, keeping her voice even. “I stayed to make sure you didn’t get worse.”
Drake’s brows knitted together as he tried to sit up, but Sophie placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Don’t push yourself. You need to rest.”
He hesitated, his eyes flickering to her hand before he reluctantly sank back against the pillows. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” she said simply. “But I did.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft sound of Drake’s breathing. Sophie studied him, noting how much weaker he looked than the man who had loomed over her with authority just days ago.
“Who’s Althea?” she asked suddenly, the question slipping out before she could stop herself.
Drake’s jaw tightened, and his gaze turned guarded in an instant. “No one,” he said flatly, his voice low but firm.
Sophie raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You were calling her name in your sleep, Drake. She doesn’t sound like no one.”
“She’s no one,” he repeated, his tone sharper this time. He turned his head away, as if that could end the conversation.
Sophie exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to press him further. If there was one thing she’d learned about Drake, it was that pushing him too hard only made him retreat deeper into his shell. Still, the name lingered in her mind, gnawing at her.
“Fine,” she said softly, leaning back in her chair. “If you say so.”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. “Why do you care?”
Sophie blinked at the question. “Why do I care?” she echoed, as if the question itself was absurd. “You’re my husband, Drake. Newlywed or not, I think I have the right to care when you collapse out of nowhere and start muttering another woman’s name.”
Drake’s lips twitched, not in amusement but in something closer to frustration. “It’s not what you think.”
“And what do I think?” Sophie asked, tilting her head.
“You think there’s something between me and… her,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost cautious. “But there’s not. There never was.”
Sophie studied him for a long moment, trying to decipher the truth in his words. He was a master at hiding his emotions, but there was something raw in his tone this time. Something that made her pause.
“Then why does her name sound like it weighs on you?” she asked, her voice softer now, less confrontational.
Drake let out a low sigh, his hand dragging down his face. “Because it does,” he admitted, his words barely above a whisper. “But not in the way you think.”
Sophie leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued despite herself. “Then how?”
He didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. For a moment, she thought he might shut down completely. But then he spoke, his voice low and measured.
“She was someone I couldn’t save,” he said finally. “A mistake I couldn’t undo.”
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and Sophie felt her breath catch. She hadn’t expected honesty, not from Drake.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, unsure of what else to say.
Drake’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t be. It’s in the past.”
But the way his eyes darkened told her it wasn’t. Not really.
“You’re not invincible, you know,” she said after a moment.
His gaze snapped to hers, his expression unreadable. “I don’t need you to remind me of that, Sophie.”
“I’m not trying to,” she replied, holding his gaze. “I’m just saying… it’s okay to let someone in. To not carry everything on your own.”
Drake’s eyes softened, just for a fraction of a second, before his walls slammed back into place. “I’ve gotten by just fine without that.”
“Have you?” she challenged gently.
He didn’t respond, his silence saying more than words ever could.
Sophie stood, smoothing down her dress as she turned toward the door. “I’ll get you some soup. You need to eat something.”
She didn’t wait for his reply, her footsteps soft as she left the room.
Drake watched her go, his chest tight with something he couldn’t name. Sophie was an enigma, a puzzle he hadn’t expected. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to solve it or leave it untouched.
When she returned with the soup, the air between them was lighter, though neither of them mentioned Althea again. Sophie helped him sit up, her hands steady as she adjusted the pillows behind him.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, watching her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.
“I know,” she said, handing him the bowl. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
He took the soup without argument, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. The contact sent a jolt through her, but she pretended not to notice.
They sat in silence as he ate, the tension from earlier slowly fading into something… different.
“You’re stubborn,” he said suddenly, his lips twitching in what could almost be called a smile.
Sophie glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re just figuring that out now?”
A low chuckle escaped him, surprising them both. “I suppose I should’ve seen it coming.”
“Maybe you’re just slow,” she teased lightly, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Drake shook his head, setting the empty bowl on the bedside table. “Or maybe you’re impossible.”
“Only to you,” she shot back, her tone playful.
Their gazes locked, the air between them charged with something neither of them could name.
“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice sincere in a way that caught her off guard.
“For what?”
“For staying,” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. “For not walking away.”
Sophie felt her cheeks warm, but she refused to look away. “I’m your wife, Drake. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”
His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “You don’t owe me anything, Sophie. Not after everything I’ve put you through.”
“Maybe not,” she admitted. “But I’m here anyway.”
The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that said more than words ever could.
As the evening wore on, Drake’s fever began to break, and Sophie stayed by his side, her presence a steady anchor in the storm.
Neither of them said it out loud, but something had shifted between them. Something neither of them was ready to name but both of them felt.
And for the first time in a long time, Sophie didn’t feel quite so alone.
- Writer
