Groomed For The Billionaire

You Need To Forgive Yourself

The church was quiet, almost painfully so, the muted scent of lilies and polished wood filling the air. Sofia’s heels clicked softly against the floor as she walked in, each step measured, careful not to draw attention. She kept her head slightly bowed, in her black dress. Her presence was almost ghostlike as she moved toward the back row.

Even from where she sat, her heart twisted at the sight before her. A woman, shoulders shaking and head bowed, knelt beside the casket at the front. Sofia didn’t need to be told that this was the deceased’s family. Her mother.

Her gaze drifted past the family to the first row. Henry sat alone, his hands clenched together, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the church walls. He looked alone and broken in a way that cut through Sofia’s chest. No one was beside him, no one consoled him. She almost wanted to cross the aisle, to reach him, hold him, whisper that she was here and that he would be okay. But she stopped herself. That would be reckless.

The wrong perception, the gossip, the judgment, it would be too much. Instead, she settled into her seat at the back, hands folded in her lap, forcing her gaze downward.

The preacher’s voice was steady, soft, filled with the practiced comfort of someone used to this ritual. Sofia tried to focus, tried to let the words wash over her, but her mind kept returning to Henry. She imagined the nights he must have spent alone, carrying the weight of this loss. Her fingers tightened on her knees. She wanted to carry some of that burden for him, to share the pain, if only she could. He seemed like a good man, who loved his girlfriend.

The ceremony moved slowly, each hymn, each prayer, each eulogy a reminder of the permanence of grief. They all talked about how good and kind the deceased was, then what went wrong?

Sofia remained silent, careful not to draw attention. Her chest ached as she watched the pallbearers lift the casket, draping it with solemn grace. She stayed seated, letting the crowd thin, waiting until the last mourners trickled away.

And there he was. Kneeling beside the grave, his back stiff, his head bowed, shoulders trembling with the force of grief. Sofia’s breath caught in her throat. She stood slowly, quietly walking down the aisle, the soft rustle of her dress the only sound. She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.

She was happy she came, at least to console him.

Henry’s head lifted, his gaze locking with hers. Recognition, relief, and a raw, unspoken gratitude passed between them. He straightened, and then he wrapped her in a hug, his body trembling as he pressed his face into her shoulder.

Sofia held him, patting his back softly, murmuring, “It’s okay, it’s going to be fine. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

He stepped back slightly, wiping at his eyes, his hands brushing hers. “Do you… do you want to go somewhere? Somewhere we can talk?” His voice was hoarse, broken from holding in weeks of grief.

“Of course,” she said gently. “Anywhere you need.”

His lips trembled as he managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, it means so much to me that you're here. I… I don’t even know how to express it. I owe you.”

Sofia laughed softly, shaking her head. “Don’t ever say that. You don’t owe me anything. You’re a good man, and I’m your friend. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Henry’s lips curved into a faint, shaky smile, and they walked together to the car parked a short distance away. The drive to a small, quiet bar downtown was comfortable, a shared silence filled the car as they drove. Sofia let him drive the conversation, letting him choose the topics, giving him space to open up.

Once inside, they found a secluded corner booth. Henry’s hands trembled slightly as he ordered drink after drink, each disappearing faster than the last. Sofia couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“Slow down,” she warned gently, tilting her head. “You’re going to drown yourself in grief if you allow yourself to keep drinking like this.”

“I need it,” he muttered, staring into his glass. “I… I can’t stop thinking about her, about everything I couldn’t say, couldn’t do.”

“You can talk to me,” Sofia said, reaching over to touch his arm. “Let it out. I’m listening.”

He exhaled shakily, closing his eyes for a moment, then began to speak. Slowly at first, words spilling with difficulty, then faster, his voice trembling as memories, regrets, and guilt poured out.

He spoke of the nights he spent awake, replaying every moment, every word, wondering if he could have done something differently. Sofia listened, giving him space, nodding softly, murmuring small reassurances. She let him speak without interruption, offering her presence as a quiet anchor in his storm.

As he sipped another drink, he leaned back, exhaustion heavy in his movements. “I can’t… I can’t imagine life without her. I can’t stop seeing her face, hearing her laugh. And… the guilt… it never leaves.”

Sofia reached across the table, her hand brushing his. “You’re human, Henry. She knew you loved her. She wouldn’t want you to drown in blame. You have to forgive yourself.”

He looked at her, eyes glassy, a faint vulnerability shining through. “You… you don’t even know me. And yet, you care.”

“I care because you’re hurting,” she said simply. “And because everyone deserves someone to be there for them when it feels like the world has left them alone.”

They spoke for hours, the conversation weaving through grief, memories, and small, lighter moments that made him laugh a soft, broken laughter, but laughter nonetheless. He leaned on her, both physically and emotionally, and she remained steady, a presence that didn’t demand, didn’t question, only offered understanding.

Halfway through, Sofia’s phone buzzed against her hip. She glanced at the screen, seeing Marcus’s name flash. “Excuse me,” she said softly, standing and stepping into the ladies’ room.

“Hey, Marcus,” she answered, keeping her voice calm.

“Sofia, do you care to explain what’s going on at the club?” Marcus’s tone was sharp, frustrated.

“I… what do you mean?” she asked, genuinely confused.

“My boss called me. He said to give you the week off. I need an explanation. First, there was your friend, her boyfriend causing chaos at the club. Then Scott calls me, tells me to take her back. And now you’re being given a week off. Is there something going on between you, Jasmine, and the boss?”

Sofia shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The boss never mentioned giving me a week off. I truly don’t know.”

Marcus sighed. “Fine. Just know, you have the week off. But because of whatever you think is happening, we’re short-staffed. Other girls have to cover. Be careful. Don’t let this reflect poorly on you or the others.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sofia said quickly. “I truly don’t know how this happened. I’ll… I’ll figure it out.”

“Enjoy your time off at the expense of other poor staff” Marcus replied firmly. “I’ve got a week full of work ahead.”

The call ended, leaving Sofia staring at her reflection, a swirl of confusion and irritation in her chest. She splashed cold water on her face, took a deep breath, and stepped back into the bar, ready to rejoin Henry.

He looked up as she returned, concern flickering across his face. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she said softly, sliding back into her seat. “Let’s focus on you.”