Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Oh my God. Oh my God. I’m so stupid
SOPHIE
Constitutional law is my personal hell this semester. I’ve been trying to keep up, but my brain feels like it’s drowning.
Two papers, two B’s. It’s not terrible, but it certainly isn’t great either.
And the material just keeps piling on. Eighteen credits was already too much, and working two—technically three—jobs isn’t helping.
Now I’ve somehow managed to add friends into the mix, thanks to Poppy dragging me out whenever she can.
And then there’s Micah. I’ve been spending way more time with him than I thought I could spare, and—if I’m honest—I like it. I want to see him again.
So I take out my phone before I can overthink it.
Me
Hi, Micah. What are you doing today after four?
His reply comes instantly.
Micah
Tell me you’re finally taking me out. My schedule’s clear if it’s for you.
No. I was hoping your counter would be free for a study session.
A study session? Lenny, if you want to see me, just say it.
Very funny. Do you think Wyatt might be around?
Why do you need Wyatt when you’ve got me?
Con Law. Thought he might’ve taken it. If not, maybe Holden can help.
There’s a pause.
Micah
Wyatt’s available. I’ll make sure of it. Pick you up at four. See you soon.
I bite back a smile. I shouldn’t use Holden’s name to tease him, but I can’t help it. His reaction is kind of fun. I might as well enjoy this while it lasts.
At exactly four, Micah’s waiting outside the bookstore, leaning casually against the passenger door like something out of a movie. He looks up the second I step out, flashing a smile like he’s been waiting for me all day.
My heart skips, traitor that it is.
He opens the door for me, like always. He’s too good at making me feel like this.
My notes are spread out across Micah's spacious kitchen island. I rifle through my pencil case, then my bag, then my pencil case again. Nothing. I must have left it in the lecture hall—and it was my good one, too.
“Hey, do you have an extra highlighter? I can't find mine.”
“I think I have some in the study,” he says easily. “Let me go grab one.”
“No, stay. I’ll get it.” I stand and head toward the room.
His study is exactly him—organized but casual, papers stacked neatly, a laptop half-closed on the desk. I spot a bright yellow highlighter near a pile of documents and reach for it. Then my eyes catch on the letterhead.
The Haven at Vale.
I blink, leaning closer. The document looks so official—financial reports, from the little I can make of it. But it’s the signature line that makes me freeze.
Required Signature: Micah Vale.
Micah. Vale.
My jaw drops. Micah Vale. As in The Haven at Vale?
Oh my God. Oh my God. I’m so stupid. How did I not realize this sooner?
I stand there, clutching the highlighter like it might anchor me, trying to process the fact that the guy who drives me around, teases me about dates, and lets me study in his apartment is Micah Vale of The Haven at Vale.
I walk back into the living room, probably wearing every ounce of shock on my face.
Micah glances up from his book and concern fills his face as soon as he sees me. “Sophie, what’s wrong?”
“Micah.” I point vaguely toward the study. “Does your family own this building?”
“No.” He leans back, smiling like he’s been waiting for this moment. “I own it.”
“You what?” My jaw drops again. “What—how—why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugs, maddeningly casual. “You never asked.”
“I never asked?” I stare at him, incredulous. “And how was I supposed to think to ask something like that?”
He’s grinning now, clearly enjoying himself. “To be fair, it’s not exactly a secret. You knew my last name. And you knew I lived here—in the penthouse, no less.”
I throw the highlighter at him, which he catches easily and sets beside my notes. “Unbelievable. I can’t believe I didn’t put it together. What else are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding anything. I was never hiding anything, Sophie.” His smirk deepens. “It’s all in my name.”
I slide back onto the seat at the island beside him and open my laptop, pulling up the search engine.
Micah glances over, and when he sees what I’m typing—Micah Vale—he chuckles under his breath.
I hit enter anyway, and the screen floods with results.
The Vale Group.
I scroll, my heart sinking with every headline. Feature after feature—Forbes profiles, glossy magazine covers, photos of black-tie galas. Articles with titles like:
“The Vale Group: A Multi-Billion Dollar Real Estate Empire Reshaping Skylines Across the Globe.”
“Micah Vale Spotted at Charity Gala in Monaco—The Heir to America’s Largest Real Estate Empire Steps Into the Spotlight.”
Images flash by—towering glass skyscrapers with the Vale logo, sprawling luxury resorts in places I can’t even pronounce, and rows of gleaming yachts docked at private marinas.
Oh my God.
This isn’t just wealth. This is the kind of wealth that buys buildings, cities, and entire islands.
And Micah? He’s in the photos. Tuxedo. Handshake with some CEO I vaguely recognize, smiling next to politicians and celebrities like it’s normal for him.
His dad, Leonard Vale. Mother, Elena Harrington Vale. Older brother, Lucas Vale.
“Whoa,” I blurt before my brain can stop me.
Micah laughs, leaning back in his chair. “You could just ask, Soph.”
“Well, I don’t exactly know what to ask,” I shoot back. “So you’re like…really something, huh?”
He smiles. “I’m just Micah, Sophie.”
“It all makes so much sense now,” I say, ticking things off with my fingers. “The penthouse. The expensive car.”
“So,” I continue, “are you, like, training to take over or something?”
“Or something, yeah.” He shrugs, casual as always. “My dad wanted Luke—my brother—to take over, but he made it clear a long time ago he wasn’t interested. So I’m the only choice, really.”
“Well, good thing the only choice happens to be the best choice,” I say, confident that it’s true.
His gaze softens, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You’ve got faith in me, Lenny?”
“Of course I do.” My own smile slips out before I can stop it.
The elevator dings, and Wyatt steps out, glancing between us. “What’s going on? What’d I miss?”
“Sophie just had a revelation,” Micah says, clearly amused.
I point at Micah. “Did you know he owns this building?”
Wyatt blinks at me, then snorts. “Uh, yeah. His name’s literally on the building, Soph.” He gives me a look like I just admitted I didn’t know the sky was blue.
MICAH
My phone rings and I see that it’s Nico.
“I gotta take this,” I say, standing. Wyatt still teasing Sophie about how oblivious she’d been. “Maybe now you can learn something about Wyatt’s background.”
Her jaw opens again. “You’re hiding something too?” she says to Wyatt.
I don’t stick around to hear his answer. I step into the study and shut the door before answering.
“Hi, Nico. I’ve been waiting for this call.”
He exhales slowly on the other end. Not a good sign.
“Micah, uh, this girl’s been through a lot,” he says, his voice heavier than usual.
I knew it. Nico’s seen more bad shit than most people could stomach, and if he’s saying this, it’s serious.
“Tell me everything.”
There’s a pause, then another sigh. “Micah, you know I care about you, right? You and Luke are like sons to me. But officially, I work for your father. I shouldn’t even be telling you this, and you need to keep it between us, but—” His voice drops lower.
“Your father also asked me to look into her.”
My jaw tightens. Of course he did.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Of course he’s keeping tabs on me. Whatever. What’s done is done. Just tell me, Nico. What did you find?”
“You’re not gonna like this,” he says, the faint sound of typing in the background.
“Just say it.”
There’s a pause before he begins, his tone turning grim.
“It looks like her biological father’s never been in the picture.
She was likely an unplanned pregnancy. Her mother, Janine Lennox, married her stepfather, Mark Keller, when Sophie was about fifteen.
They’re both alcoholics. Mark was arrested for his second DUI when she was seventeen.
Hit a pedestrian that time. There were multiple reports filed with Child Protective Services before that, but nothing stuck.
Neighbors called the cops several times for domestic disturbances—yelling, glass breaking.
One incident had Sophie’s mom taken to the ER with a fractured wrist. There’s a police report mentioning visible bruising on Sophie, but she denied any accusations against him.
I guess there was nothing concerning during the investigations. Sophie was just sixteen.”
My grip on the phone tightens until my knuckles ache.
Nico keeps going, his voice steady and clinical, but every word hits like a punch.
“He’s still got a couple of years left on his sentence, but he’s eligible for early release in a couple weeks for good behavior. He’s already filed the paperwork.”
I stare at my desk, but I’m not seeing it. My chest feels heavier with every word.
“Her mom’s been unemployed since he went to jail.
Sophie’s been working nonstop since high school—cafes, tutoring, retail, anything that paid.
Records show over a dozen jobs in four years.
And she’s kept high grades the entire time—impressive, considering she’s been clocking thirty to forty hours a week while taking full course loads. ”
I shut my eyes briefly, forcing down the anger burning through me.
“She emancipated herself at seventeen back in Illinois. Pays every rent check on time. Full scholarship to Westcliffe. She still sends her mom money in large amounts—a few thousand at a time—usually after long messages about being behind on bills. Safe to assume she’s guilted into it.
” He sighs. “She’s got a soft heart for everything she's been through. Shame her mother knows it too.”
I let out a slow breath through my nose, trying to keep my temper in check, but it’s useless. Her mother takes the money Sophie earns—money she’s saving for law school—after working three damn jobs. What the fuck kind of mother does that?
“Micah?” Nico prompts carefully.
“Go on.” My voice comes out lower than I intend.
“That’s most of it. She has no contact with extended family. No real support system. Everything she has, she earned herself. No help, no safety net.”
He hesitates, then adds quietly, “Micah, she's tough. But she’s also been through a lot. Let’s hope that stepfather doesn’t come looking for her when he gets out. Which is very soon.”
My jaw locks so tight it aches.
I swallow hard, then ask the question I’m terrified to know the answer to. “Do you…know if he abused her in…other ways?”
There’s a beat of silence before Nico replies. “I looked into that too, but no reports. Nothing confirmed. He’s been married a few times before Janine, but never to anyone too young.”
Relief barely settles in before Nico continues, “That said, I found photos of him with girls who couldn’t have been older than eighteen when he was in his thirties. At strip clubs, he was known to request the youngest dancers. So it’s possible he was just waiting until Sophie wasn’t a minor.”
My heart drops, cold and heavy, and my grip on the phone tightens all over again.
“The stepfather,” I say. “Mark Keller. I need to know when he gets released. And I need someone watching his movements after—discreetly. If he so much as buys a bus ticket toward Massachusetts, I want to know before he boards.”
Nico is quiet for a second. “That's a significant ask, Micah.”
“I know.”
“I’ll be in touch,” he agrees. “And I know this isn’t ideal, but I have to give the same report to your father,” Nico says with a sigh. “I just wanted you to hear it first.”
“I understand. Thanks, Nico. I’ll be in touch,” I say before ending the call.
I press my palms against the desk and bow my head, trying to steady my breathing, but my chest feels like it’s caving in.
She’s been through hell.
Seventeen, emancipated. Working herself to the bone for years. No safety net, no family, just surviving. And her mom—Jesus Christ—bleeding her dry for money she didn’t have to spare.
But it’s not just that. It’s him.
That bastard stepfather. The thought I can't shake no matter how hard I try—that he wanted her. That he's been waiting. The CPS investigations alone are enough to tell me what her life looked like, and the image that forms makes my stomach turn.
My blood is boiling so hot I have to unclench my fists before I crack the damn desk.
Sophie’s face flashes in my mind—her soft smile, the way she laughs when I tease her, the way she said she trusts herself the most. She’s been carrying all of this alone, for years, and she’s still standing.
Now I understand why she’s pushing herself to go to law school, even though she clearly doesn’t actually want to do it. She feels like she has to—like it’s her responsibility to protect people who need protecting. She needs to protect herself. She’s scared.
But she shouldn’t have had to do this alone.
I wish she trusted me enough to tell me. I wish she’d let me in, let me take some of the weight off her shoulders. She has no idea how much I want to—how much I’d do anything.
I draw in a slow breath and force myself to stand straighter, trying to school my expression before I leave the study.
I can hear Wyatt teasing her again in the living room, his voice light and joking. Sophie laughs—a soft sound that tightens something in my chest.
She has no idea that I know. No idea how much I want to protect her from everything she’s been through and everything that’s coming.
I take one more breath, shove the weight of everything back down where it belongs, and reach for the door handle.
I have to act like I don’t know a damn thing. As much as it kills me, I need to wait—wait until she trusts me enough to tell me herself.
I walk back to the island where Sophie and Wyatt are still talking, forcing a smile onto my face. Nico said her stepfather would be out soon. I need to start thinking about that now—quietly, before she has any reason to know I'm thinking about it at all, or worse, he finds her.
“Micah!” Sophie beams at me, eyes bright, and damn if she doesn’t look absolutely beautiful. “Did you know his dad is the Judge Lawrence Wynn?”
That smile of hers—it breaks me even more knowing what she’s been through.
“Uh, yeah. I know,” I answer, keeping my tone light. “He’s a great man.”
“I don’t know why that’s so surprising,” Wyatt says, raising a brow at her. “How many Wynns do you know? We literally have the same last name, Sophie. Or is it because he’s white and I’m not?”
“What? No—no, of course not! It’s just—I’ve been following his cases for years. He’s brilliant; a real inspiration. I’ve studied most of his rulings,” she says quickly, almost tripping over her words to defend herself.
Wyatt smiles. “Relax, I’m messing with you. My dad’s white, my mom’s Black—that’s how I got this luscious caramel color.” He winks dramatically. “And you really should start paying attention to people’s last names, Sophie.”
Sophie laughs, and for a second, I almost forget the weight sitting in my chest.