Chapter 8 #2
Sophie’s been studying for over two hours now. She’s sitting across from me at the island counter, completely in her zone—brows furrowed, lips slightly parted, muttering softly under her breath as she taps her pen against her notes. She’s cute when she’s focused.
Meanwhile, I’m pretending to skim through my Managerial Economics textbook.
I should be going through the papers my dad sent over—something about portfolio restructuring across The Vale Group’s holdings—but I keep pushing it back.
Again. Because something’s wrong with me.
I find myself glancing at her more than the damn page in front of me.
I’m honestly shocked she hasn’t caught me staring yet.
She puts her book down and massages her temples with a sigh. I take that as my opening.
“You gonna tell me why you’re pushing yourself so hard while juggling three jobs?”
She pauses, glances at me like she’s debating whether or not to answer. “I’m on a scholarship. Westcliffe isn’t exactly easy to get into—especially not for someone like me. So I study hard. It’s the only reason I’ve made it this far.”
“If you’re on a scholarship, why do you need to work so much?” I ask. I’ve been fortunate enough to never have had any financial problems, so I’m genuinely curious how this all works.
“I’m saving up to support myself through law school. I know I’ll have to take out loans, but I’m hoping to cover the rest—rent, food, everything else. I probably won’t have time to work as much when I’m in law school full-time.”
I nod slowly, watching her closely. She’s overwhelmed—I can see it in the way her shoulders tense and her hands still nervously.
“Why law school?” I ask. “Don’t get me wrong—you’re smart as hell. I read your part of the group project. It was sharp and well-written.” I pause, watching her face. “But you don’t talk about law like it’s a passion or anything. It sounds more like a weight you're carrying, if you ask me.”
I regret it the second it leaves my mouth. Too blunt. Too much, too soon.
“Well, I didn't ask you,” she says.
“You're right. I'm sorry.” Yep. Crossed a line.
“No, I’m sorry. I’m just a bit overwhelmed.
” There’s a beat of silence. Her voice is quieter when she continues.
“It’s stable. It makes sense. People respect lawyers.
Lawyers know how to protect themselves.” She doesn’t meet my eyes.
“If I’m a lawyer, no one will be able to take advantage of me.
No one will look down on me. People will think twice before trying anything. ”
The way she says that last part—I feel it like a blow to the chest. I want to ask if there’s someone in her life making her feel like that right now.
I want to know everything—who’s hurt her, who’s made her feel small.
But I hold back. She’s finally opening up to me, and if I push too hard, I’ll lose that. Nico will get me the details anyway.
So instead, I say, “Okay, but let’s say you had all the money, stability, and safety. What would you want to do?”
She chews the inside of her cheek, then quietly says, “I’d write. I’d sit somewhere quiet, peaceful—like an emerald beach in Bora Bora—and just write.”
She reaches into the front pocket of her backpack again and pulls out that small, well-worn notebook she was writing in earlier. “I write in here whenever I can. It’s just for me—thoughts, feelings, things I don’t say out loud. It’s my non-judgy notebook.”
“You could tell me,” I offer, smiling at her very charmingly. “I wouldn’t judge.”
She gives me a look like I’ve just said the most out-of-touch thing imaginable. “Right. I’m sure you’re a nice guy, Micah, but no offense—you live in the penthouse of The Haven. I doubt we’re exactly dealing with the same set of problems—or even relatable ones, at that.”
That makes me laugh. “Hmm. Well look who’s judging now?”
She squints at me, amused but unconvinced. “Sorry, I just can’t wrap my head around it. Did you win the lottery or something? Seriously—what’s your story? You’re what, twenty? Twenty-one? And you live here? Alone?”
I shrug. “Twenty. And I guess I just got lucky.” Technically true. I was born into this family.
She studies me for a second, then sets the notebook down.
“So,” I say, casually leaning on the counter, “Do I make an appearance in your non-judgy notebook?”
Her cheeks flush, and she quickly shakes her head. “No.”
But she’s definitely lying. And I’m definitely smiling.
She leans back slightly and smiles at me. “Okay, speaking of this place—Do I get a tour, or is that a secret VIP-only privilege?”
I raise a brow. “You’re VIP.”
“As I should be.”
“As you should,” I say, standing and stretching slightly. “Come on.”
I guide her toward the guest room first, nudging the door open with my shoulder. “This is the extra bedroom. Mostly for Wyatt or Grant when they’re too lazy—or too drunk—to make it down to their own place.”
“Wow.” Her eyes sweep the space, landing on the bed. “That bed looks insanely comfortable. I should’ve napped in here.”
I lean against the doorframe. “It better be. That mattress costs as much as my first car. Fair warning though—Grant denies it, but I’m almost positive he brought someone or someones in here while I was out of town this summer.”
She scrunches her nose in the cutest way. “Gross. Never mind, then.”
I show her the study, then the guest bathroom off the living room, and finally stop outside my bedroom. I pause for a second before pushing open the door.
“And this—is mine,” I say. “Not much to see. I like having zero distractions in here.”
She steps inside without hesitation, and I’m surprised by how okay I am with it. I don’t usually let people in here. But there’s something easy about Sophie’s presence—like she’s not invading the space, but simply filling it.
“Oh my God, you have your own bathroom in here?” she says like she’s discovered treasure.
“Yeah. Grant’s never allowed in this one. That guy could ruin a spa with a ten-minute shower.”
She’s already wandered deeper into the room, her hands now brushing over the soft throw at the end of the bed, and eyes wide. I should be tense, but I’m not. I like seeing her here. Maybe more than I should.
“Go ahead,” I say, sounding more eager than I should. “Try the bed. It’s better than the couch. Careful though—it might ruin you for every mattress after.”
She doesn’t hesitate. She flops onto it, arms outstretched with a happy sigh. Her sweatshirt rides up slightly, revealing a strip of pale skin along her waist. I catch a glimpse of her stomach—soft, smooth, her hipbones peeking just above the waistband of her jeans. My throat tightens for a second.
“Oh my god,” she murmurs. “This is heaven.” Then she lets out a soft, drawn-out moan. And I swear—my body reacts before I can shut it down.
“Sleep is very important to me.” I shift, adjusting my stance against the doorframe, trying not to stare as she wiggles deeper into the blankets. Her hair fans out over the pillow, her lashes fluttering as she blinks up at the ceiling.
She looks peaceful. Comfortable. Like she belongs here.
And for a moment, I don’t just feel protective of her.
I feel something else. Something more dangerous.
I want to kiss her. I want to crawl onto that bed and touch every inch of her.
Not that I ever would—Jesus. I’d never risk making her uncomfortable.
But that doesn’t stop the thoughts. Or the ache low in my gut from just seeing her like this.
“I bet no girl tries to sneak out after a night in this bed,” she says casually, still lounging.
I raise an eyebrow. “Bold assumption.”
She props herself up on her elbows and grins. “I mean, I wouldn’t. I’d probably fight to stay. For the bed, of course.”
I smirk. “Trust me. It’s not the bed that's going to make you stay.”
I wink at her before I can stop myself.
She rolls her eyes, still smiling, but there’s something unreadable in her expression now.
“You’re right,” she says lightly. “It’s the pillow. Definitely the pillow.” She lets out that sexy moan again, lying her head on it.
“Then let’s test that theory. See what it is exactly that’d make you stay.”
Her gaze locks on mine, and I don’t break contact.
“I'm kidding,” I say, but it’s not true.
“I know,” she says. A beat too long passes before either of us looks away.
I’ve never had a girl in this room. Not even for a second. It’s always been mine—private, quiet, untouched. My sanctuary.
But right now, I can’t imagine anyone else fitting into it the way she does.