Sophia stormed into their suite with the dramatic force of someone who had survived a legal briefing, a moral crisis, and an accidental spiritual awakening.
She threw her folder onto the bed like it was a cursed artifact and planted herself in front of her laptop. “I am going to redraft this marketing plan,” she announced. “I am a professional. I am brilliant. I will rise.”
Dominic was already sprawled stomach-down on the bed eating stale chips like a depressed mermaid. He did not look up. “Good luck. Your brain is still scrambled from the tall German demigod.”
“Stop calling him that,” she said, typing with aggressive purpose.
Dominic rolled onto his back, eyes glazing with unholy admiration. “I cannot. His face is stamped onto my soul like a government seal. Who looks like that for fr
