Chapter 4 – The Morning After the Lie
1034 Words
Sofia woke to sunlight brushing her shoulder like a whisper.
The bedsheets—soft, white, impossibly luxurious—smelled faintly of sandalwood and heat. And him. She lay still for a moment, eyes closed, body humming in the aftermath. Her limbs felt heavy and deliciously sore, the memory of his hands, his mouth, his weight pressed against her, still alive on her skin.
What have you done?
She turned her head.
Dominic was gone.
Only a faint imprint of where he’d been remained on the sheets beside her.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
No note. No coffee. No goodbye.
A rational part of her—the part trained in handling high-powered clients and personal boundaries—expected this. They had an agreement. No strings. No complications. It was supposed to be fake.
So why did her chest feel so hollow?
Sofia sat up and ran a hand through her tangled hair. Her black dress was neatly folded on the chaise lounge. Her heels were set beside it, like a silent butler had come through and cleaned the crime scene.
Very Dominic, she thought dryly. Efficient. Precise. Impersonal.
Still…
Her eyes drifted to the pillow that held his scent. She pressed her face to it for a brief second, inhaled, then pushed herself out of bed and into the en suite bathroom. There was no point in lingering.
Last night happened. It was good. No—incredible. But it didn’t mean anything.
She wouldn’t let it.
***
Across town, the atmosphere inside Blackwell & Thorne LLP was as tense as the lines in Dominic’s jaw.
He stood at the tall windows of his corner office, the city sprawled beneath him, arms crossed, shirt sleeves rolled, jaw tight. He hadn’t touched his coffee. His assistant Jenna had asked twice if he wanted lunch—he waved her off both times.
His head was still in that hotel suite.
The scent of her skin. The sound of her breath when he slid inside her. The way she looked at him like he wasn’t the monster people assumed he was.
Idiot.
He should’ve never touched her. That wasn’t the plan. He had rules for a reason. Distance, boundaries, clarity—he lived by them.
But one look at Sofia in that black dress, and all his logic turned to ash.
And now? He was completely, utterly screwed.
He couldn’t focus. His junior associate was droning on about merger clauses and non-disclosure agreements, but Dominic wasn’t hearing a word. His mind was on the curve of Sofia’s hip. The way she’d whispered his name like a secret.
His phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen. A message from his sister: “How was the date? Should I order custom wedding invites or just save the date cards?”
He rolled his eyes and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
But he didn’t respond.
Because he didn’t know what they were anymore.
***
Meanwhile, Sofia was staring at a floral arrangement the size of a Vespa scooter.
It had been delivered to her office at exactly 9:02 a.m. The bouquet was a showstopper: white roses, deep red tulips, black calla lilies, and star-like orchids, arranged in a tall crystal vase. It drew attention the way a car crash did—everyone was staring, whispering.
Her assistant Raffy, eyes wide, leaned over her desk. “Girl. Who is he? And does he have a brother?”
Sofia opened the envelope tucked among the stems.
One card. One sentence.
You left a mark I can’t shake. I don’t want to. — D
Her throat tightened.
She wasn’t sure what she expected. A polite thank-you text? Nothing at all?
But this?
This was not Dominic Blackwell, Master of Restraint.
This was something else entirely.
She folded the card and slipped it into her purse. “Just… a client,” she muttered.
Raffy arched a suspicious brow. “A very appreciative client. Does your job involve lap dances now? Because I would like a raise.”
“Raffy.”
“Fine, fine,” he said, backing away. “Just don’t come crying to me when you fall in love with whatever hot sin sent that.”
Sofia turned back to her computer, willing herself to focus.
But her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving.
She could still feel Dominic’s mouth on her collarbone. Still remember the way he touched her like he already knew all the parts of her she kept hidden from the world.
And that damn card—
You left a mark I can’t shake.
No. No, no, no.
It was a one-time thing. A lapse. A moment of weakness wrapped in silk and wine and all the wrong kinds of hunger.
It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.
Then why did it feel like everything?
***
That night, she tried not to check her phone.
She failed.
No new texts. No calls.
Not that she’d expected any. The flowers had said more than enough.
Sofia poured herself a glass of red wine and curled onto her couch, still in her work blouse and pencil skirt. Manila glowed outside her apartment window, lights flickering like stars beneath the haze.
She should feel satisfied. She’d gotten what she wanted: proof to her family that the date had been a success, a powerful man off their matchmaking list, and a steamy night she’d never forget.
Instead, she felt unsettled.
Lonely, even.
Because underneath all the pretense, all the rules and the agreements, she hadn’t expected to like him.
Not just want him. Like him.
The way he listened. The way he looked at her like she mattered. The way he didn’t fill silences with arrogance but let them speak for themselves.
The man who kissed her forehead after they fell apart in each other’s arms—that wasn’t a mask.
That was him.
And she didn’t know what to do with that.
She took another sip of wine.
And decided to do the one thing that would keep her from unraveling.
She opened her phone.
And typed:
Thank you for the flowers. You didn’t have to.
Three dots appeared.
Then stopped.
Then again.
Then finally, his reply:
Maybe not. But I wanted to.
- Writer
