Groomed For The Billionaire

Breakfast And Confrontation

The soft hum of the car's engine filled the silence as Scott pulled up in front of Sofia’s house. The night air was cool, brushing against her skin when he shifted the gear into park. The streetlamps cast long, warm glows across the road, and for a moment everything felt quiet, easy, suspended. It was already past midnight.

He turned to her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you so much for coming out with me tonight.”

Sofia smiled back, soft and genuine. “No… thank you for bringing me with you. I had fun.”

And she meant it.

Scott rested his elbow on the steering wheel, studying her like he was memorizing her face.

“You fit in better than you think.”

She laughed lightly, he had no idea she grew up in wealth. She's lived around rich people all her life, until now. Her mum would have gotten one of the most expensive paintings in the gallery just to prove a point. “Your friends aren’t that bad, actually.”

He tilted his head. “You sound surprised.”

“I am,” she confessed. “I thought rich people were all complicated and dramatic.”

“You’re not entirely wrong.”

“Right? I mean…” She shook her head in disbelief. “I still think spending thousands of dollars on a painting that looks like someone sneezed colors onto a canvas is wild.”

Scott laughed, really laughed, head tipping back slightly. “It’s not as big a deal as you think. These people have so much money, they honestly don’t mind spending some of it.”

“I know, but still…” Sofia sighed. “You have kids out there starving, people without a place to sleep, and someone is dropping, what…six hundred thousand dollars on a blue square? A square, Scott.”

He held up a hand. “To be fair, that square meant something to the artist.”

Sofia stared at him. “What exactly did it mean? Depression? Midlife crisis? Someone dropped their brush and gave up?”

Scott choked on a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Thank you. I try.”

He shook his head, amused. “Most artworks have meaning. Symbolism. Stories behind them. It takes someone artistically inclined to really understand them.”

“And that’s not me.”

Scott shrugged, smile deepening. “That’s what makes you refreshing.”

For a second, their eyes held, warm, lingering. Sofia felt something flutter in her chest something new, something dangerous, something she shouldn’t feel yet.

She cleared her throat. “Okay, I should… head inside.”

“Yeah.” His voice softened. “Goodnight, Sofia.”

“Goodnight, Scott.”

She stepped out, closing the door gently. She waved as he drove off, the taillights glowing red as they disappeared down the street. Only when he was fully gone did she release a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

He’s too easy to like, she thought.

And that was bad.

The house was unusually quiet when she slipped inside. The living room looked neat. Too neat. No TV light flickering. No faint hum of music. No sound at all.

Weird.

Sofia toed off her heels and walked down the hall softly. Jasmine’s door was closed, lights off underneath. Maybe she slept early.

Sofia wasn’t in the mood to overthink. She pushed open her bedroom door, stepped inside, and sighed. Her bed looked like heaven right now.

Who knew walking around an art gallery could be so exhausting? The minute her body hit the mattress, she was out.

……….

She woke up smiling. Not just smiling but grinning like an i***t. She rolled onto her back and covered her face with both hands.

“Oh God, get yourself together,” she whispered.

But she couldn’t help it. The dream she had… God. It was Scott. Soft voice, warm eyes, his hand brushing her cheek, the way he looked at her last night she replayed everything, but in her dream they took it a step further.

Then reality nudged her like a slap. Slow down, Sofia. She sat up abruptly, shaking her head.

“You need to calm down. Calm… down,” she whispered to herself.

She stretched, letting her feet hit the cold floor. Just as she reached for her robe, she froze.

A voice.

A male voice, and it was coming from the direction of the kitchen.

She blinked twice.

“…what?”

She held still, listening.

There it was again a low hum, then the faint clatter of a pan. Sofia’s heart dropped to her knees.

“No. Nope. I’m dreaming.” She pinched her arm, did someone break into their house?. “Ow! Okay, not dreaming.”

She tied her robe tightly, shoved her feet into her slippers, and crept toward the kitchen. A smell hit her first bacon, and eggs.

Her jaw clenched. She turned the corner and there he was.

Denzel. Standing in her kitchen. In her kitchen. His chest was bare, shoulders hunched slightly as he flipped bacon in her frying pan like this was his house.

He looked up. And had the audacity the Olympic-level audacity to smile at her.

“Hey,” he said casually, like this was normal.

Sofia’s brain short-circuited. She stood frozen for two full seconds before her voice shot out, sharp, furious.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Denzel blinked, confused, as if the answer was obvious. “You should grab a plate. Breakfast is almost ready.”

Sofia stepped forward, pointing at the stove. “Turn off that pan. Now. And get your ass out of this house immediately before I call the police.”

He didn’t flinch,he didn’t even turn. Instead, he smirked.

“This isn’t just your house, remember? You have a roommate.” His tone dripped with arrogance. “She let me in. So why are you shouting?”

Sofia stared at him in disbelief. “You’re telling me Jasmine let you inside this house?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “You can go ask her yourself. You still want a plate?” He smirked deeper. “I don’t want you coming back later begging for some.”

Sofia inhaled sharply. This man was actually insane.

She stormed down the hallway, practically slamming into Jasmine’s door. She didn’t bother knocking, she pushed it open.

“Really, Jasmine?”

Jasmine peeked out from under her duvet, hair messy, face flushed the unmistakable look of someone who wasn’t wearing anything underneath the blanket.

“Oh… Sofia…” Jasmine muttered. “I was going to talk to you about it.”

Sofia scoffed. “About what exactly? The part where you let your toxic ex-boyfriend into our house? The part where he’s cooking in the kitchen like he lives here? Or the part where both of you clearly….”

“Okay, calm down,” Jasmine cut in, flustered. “He came here last night to help me with something and I just… got carried away. I’m sorry.”

Sofia stepped closer, voice sharp. “You got carried away? Jasmine, this guy made you lose your job.”

Jasmine frowned slightly. “I didn’t lose my job.”

“Oh really?”

“Marcus called me last night,” Jasmine said quickly. “He told me he was supposed to call me in the morning, but he figured he should just call me tonight so I prepare for work before tomorrow. So yeah… I’m going back to work.”

Sofia blinked. “And because Marcus said that you suddenly decided Denzel deserves another chance?”

“He apologized, Sofia,” Jasmine insisted, voice rising. “What do you want me to do? Hate him forever? We’re humans. We make mistakes.”

“Mistakes?” Sofia threw her hands up. “Jasmine, he came to your job and embarrassed you in front of everyone. He blamed you for everything wrong in his life. He manipulated you, controlled you, insulted you, and you want to talk about mistakes?”

Jasmine scoffed, lifting the blanket defensively. “You’re overreacting.”

Sofia stared at her, stunned.

“Oh wow. I’m overreacting? Really?”

“Yes,” Jasmine snapped. “You’re acting like he killed someone. He said he’s sorry. And I still love him, okay? People break up and get back together all the time. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Sofia repeated, voice trembling. “Jasmine, he made you cry your eyes out two nights ago.”

“You cry about men sometimes too!” Jasmine shot back. “You’re not perfect!”

Sofia froze, jaw tightening.

“Oh, so now you’re attacking me? Because I told you the truth?”

“No,” Jasmine muttered, crossing her arms. “I’m just tired of everyone treating me like I can’t make my own decisions.”

Sofia shook her head, stepping back.

“You know what? Fine. Do whatever you want with your life. But don’t expect me to clap for you while you walk into the same fire twice.”

“Then don’t,” Jasmine snapped. “I didn’t ask you to.”

Sofia’s chest tightened, she wanted to say more. But she was done.

She turned around silently, walked out, and shut Jasmine’s door, not gently. She went straight into her own room and locked the door behind her.

Her hands were trembling as she stripped and stepped into the shower.

The hot water hit her skin and everything inside her cracked open. Jasmine's hurtful words hit her hard.