Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Sophie
One week later
My assistant, Elena, left an hour ago, and I planned to follow her out the door.
But instead of heading to my dad’s award ceremony, I answered an emergency call from one of my clients.
As we wrap up, a third alarm sounds on my phone. It’s six forty-five, and the gala begins at eight.
Exhaling to steady my racing pulse, I dump my phone into my bag, grab my keys, and lock the office door as I hustle to my car.
Houston traffic will be its usual nightmare, but I refuse to let panic take root. My apartment is only ten minutes away if I drive fast enough, and I picked out my dress this morning.
I can still be on time.
Theoretically.
At my small, downtown apartment, I strip out of my work clothes, take a quick shower, then wrap a towel around me.
I’ve worked twelve days straight, and I’d happily stay home, but tonight matters to my dad. And so does my presence, since my mother is still undergoing experimental treatments in Riyadh.
Once my skin is only a little damp, I pull on my simple emerald-green dress.
I swipe on the barest trace of mascara and a neutral lipstick in front of the bathroom mirror.
I twist my hair back into a quick chignon, securing it with pins that will no doubt work their way out before the night ends. Then again, being perfectly made up has never been a priority for me.
I call for a car while I slip on low heels.
Thankfully the driver pulls up just as I step outside. The warm, humid Houston evening wraps around me, all but plastering the dress to my thighs.
Of course, traffic crawls along the freeway, brake lights stretching ahead in a long red ribbon.
In frustration, I tip my head back and force in a breath.
My phone vibrates in my lap before I can sink too far into the quiet. Since I already know it’s my dad, I answer without looking.
He chuckles when I admit I am running late, the sound rich and familiar, carrying the same easy affection he has shown me since I was small enough to ride on his shoulders through the warehouse he used to run.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes. I promise.” Disappointing him has never been an option. And tonight of all nights, I refuse to let him stand alone.
The fancy Sterling Uptown Hotel comes into view, its grand facade lit up against the darkening sky.
A valet in uniform hurries over to open my door.
I make my way through the lobby and past the patisserie with its dozens of temptations, all of which remind me that I skipped lunch.
When I reach the ballroom, I pause for a second and straighten my shoulders. I want to be seen as calm and composed, rather than a mess of unfinished obligations.
Once I’m more in control, I walk through the double doors.
The low hum of conversation and soft string music wrap around me, and the crystal chandeliers cast a warm light across tables that are dressed with white linens. The centerpieces are bright yellow roses.
My father is off to one side, speaking with a small cluster of people that I assume are also winning awards tonight. His posture is straight and confident in the tailored suit that makes him look every inch the successful businessman he has fought to become.
I cross the floor toward him, and when he sees me, his face lights with that genuine smile that still makes me feel like the most important person in any room.
I rise onto my toes and press a kiss to his cheek, the familiar scent of his aftershave surrounding me, grounding me in the same way it has since I was a girl. He squeezes my hand once, brief and reassuring, before we are swept into the evening’s rhythm.
A server passes with a tray of champagne flutes, and I accept one, the crystal cool and delicate against my fingers.
I take a sip, then hand off my glass. Since I haven’t had anything other than a bagel and three mochas, that’s all I can afford to drink.
Besides, I want to be clearheaded when my dad is honored for his part in community revitalization.
Only a handful of people know the truth behind tonight’s celebration. He’s always helped people no one else would touch—small landlords facing foreclosure, families scraping together down payments on properties the banks ignored, tenants who needed one more chance before the system crushed them.
The gray edges of his lending business never felt that way to me when I watched him sit at the kitchen table at midnight, rewriting terms so a single mother could keep her home.
I believe in him the same way I believe in the work I do every day, the way my mother believed in him when she sat beside him at the bookkeeping desk before the cancer stole her strength.
A couple of acquaintances approach, and I field questions about my mother with the same steady calm I use in my practice.
The evening unfolds around us. Dinner is served, then around nine, the mayor arrives.
The ceremony begins, and I video every moment to send to my mother.
When my father’s name is called, pride flares through me, and I can’t help but cheer.
Finally he’s getting the recognition he deserves for being such an amazing person.
I can hardly contain my excitement, and I rush toward him as soon as I can.
“Congrats, Dad!” I give him the biggest hug.
He grins in a way I haven’t seen in years.
I dig my phone from my tiny purse and take a picture of him with the plaque. Then I snap a terrible selfie of the two of us together. I know my mom will love it, no matter how goofy we look.
The event organizer asks him to join the other honorees for a group photo with the mayor. “Go.” Grinning, I shoo him away. “Enjoy every moment.”
From a corner of the room, a string quartet begins to play, and several couples move onto the dance floor.
I am deep into a conversation with the executive director of a small nonprofit when the atmosphere shifts.
Everything inside me goes still as a subtle change in the air raises the fine hairs along my arms.
I turn toward the entrance without thinking, and there they are, stepping into the ballroom as though they own the very light that falls across the polished floor.
The two men who ruined my life eight years ago.
My carefully buried fury flares hot and immediate beneath my skin.
“Sophie?”
“Sorry.” I shake my head and give a small smile as I try to focus on what the woman is saying.
But it’s hopeless.
I can’t help but track the location of the two men.
They look exactly as I remember them from that jasmine-scented courtyard night—tall, polished, devastatingly controlled.
The taller one’s midnight-blue eyes sweep the room with the same quiet certainty that once shattered my entire future. The other man’s broader frame radiates the coiled intensity that made me feel pinned in place even from across the stone tiles.
My stomach clenches tight.
I’ve spent years convincing myself they were nothing more than ghosts, monsters from a nightmare I outgrew the moment Adrian walked away and never looked back.
Yet here they are. My worst moment brought back to life.
The taller one moves first, cutting across the floor with deliberate calm, his broad shoulders parting the crowd without effort.
I go cold when his eyes lock on me.
And since he is headed in my direction, I excuse myself and make my way toward my father for safety.
But the man cuts me off before I can reach Dad’s side.
He stops directly in front of me, close enough that the faint scent of his cologne—something dark and expensive—reaches me on the next breath.
Without asking, he extends his hand, palm up. The gesture is arrogantly assertive.
I don’t want anything to do with him. “Thank you. But no.”
“I think you’ll want to.”
“Meeting you once was enough for me.”
My voice must have been sharper than I intended, and the people I was speaking to are staring.
He smiles easily, undoing me. For a moment, I almost believe he’s someone other than the man who destroyed my future.
“A dance takes less than three minutes. And we’re in public.”
“If I do, you’ll leave me alone?”
He doesn’t respond.
Heat rushes through me. What is it about him? All my instincts are screaming that he’s dangerous. So why am I still here? Like a moth captivated by a flame.
“Less than three minutes now.” His voice is easy, making me wonder if I imagined his earlier tone.
Since people are still watching us, I sigh. As he said, it’s less than three minutes. A waltz means there will be distance between us. And he’s right about us being in public.
I slide my hand into his before my mind can form the refusal.
He closes his fingers around mine with a firmness that sends an unwelcome spark racing up my arm.
On the dance floor, he settles his free hand at the small of my back, and the heat of his palm seems to burn through the thin fabric of my dress.
Because the dance demands it, and for no other reason, I rest my hand on his shoulder.
God, I hate the way that I notice the hard, unyielding muscle beneath the fine fabric of his tuxedo.
He guides me into the first turn with effortless control.
His cuff shifts as he turns me, and something flashes at his wrist. It appears to be an owl, its tiny green eyes catching the chandelier light.
Then his body moves against mine in a way that feels far too intimate for strangers, for enemies.
Who are you?
And why the hell are you back in my life?
My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat loud in my ears, the memory of that long-ago night crashing over me in vivid, merciless detail—the floating candles on the pool, Adrian on one knee, the velvet ring box glinting in the moonlight, and then the slow, deliberate clapping that tore everything apart.
His words still echo somewhere deep inside me, cold and possessive, the promise that I would thank them, that I would be theirs. I despise them for it, for the way they stepped into my life and destroyed the one safe future I had allowed myself to imagine.
“We meet again, Ms. Langford.”
I keep my chin lifted, eyes locked somewhere past his ear, refusing to give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze directly.
“You’re like a bad penny.” Yet I feel every point of contact between us—the steady press of his palm at my back, the way his fingers shift minutely against mine as he turns us again, the faint brush of his breath across my temple.
He laughs softly. “You can’t even begin to imagine.”
Across the room I catch sight of my father, and I frown.
His face is pale beneath the chandelier light.
He starts forward, but the other man is there, a solid wall of presence at his side, murmuring something that makes my father’s shoulders slump.
The sight sends fresh anger surging through me. “I don’t know what the hell game you and your thug of a friend are playing, Mr.—”
“Hawthorne. Lucian Hawthorne. At your service.”
I scoff and attempt to pull away.
Instantly he tightens his grip. “Don’t make a scene, Ms. Langford.”
Until now, his tone has been gentle with me. And now? There’s a threat that arrows fear down my spine.
“You won’t like the outcome.”
I tighten my jaw and glance back at my father. I’ve never seen him look so helpless.
Scowling, I misstep, but Lucian is there, stabilizing me in a flawless, unhurried way, guiding me as though we belong together, as if I don’t despise him.
The final notes of the waltz linger in the air as he draws me to a stop near the edge of the dance floor, his hand still at my back, holding me in place with that same quiet authority that sent Adrian fleeing from my life.
His associate joins us in two measured strides, his dark eyes locking onto mine with the same predatory focus I remember all too well.
My father appears beside them a moment later, his face drawn.
The three of them form a loose semicircle around me, and the rest of the ballroom fades into a distant hum of conversation and music.
“Dad?” I look at my father. “What’s going on here?”
His shoulders slump a little more.
Lucian intervenes, his voice flat. “Your father has something he wants to tell you.”