Chapter 19 #2
“I…I already have things,” she admits quietly.
I pull back just enough to look at her. “Things?”
“Evidence,” she says, like forcing the word out costs her something. “Texts, messages—I saved everything. And I wrote things down too—things he said to me in person, the things he did.” Her fingers curl slightly into my shirt. “The gifts and the—the offers.”
I go completely still.
A sharp, controlled kind of anger settles low in my chest.
“I’m going to report him,” she continues, her voice steadier now, even though I can feel the tension still running through her. “I just—I wanted to make sure I had everything first. So he couldn’t twist it.”
My jaw tightens.
“Sophie,” I say, my voice low, measured, “I wish you would have told me.”
“I know,” she says quickly. “But he said he had money, connections—that he could ruin me.” She swallows. “And I didn’t want you getting dragged into it. I didn’t want it affecting you.”
The words hang between us.
I don’t respond right away. I just look at her, taking in every piece of what she’s saying, every piece of what she’s been carrying alone.
“I’m going to file a complaint,” she says, firmer this time. “I’m reporting him.”
I study her for a second, measuring—not her resolve, but how far she’s already gone by herself. “Good.”
I see the shift in her immediately, like something in her chest finally loosens.
“Send me everything,” I say.
She blinks. “What?”
“All of it. The texts, the notes, anything you have.”
“Why?” she asks, quieter now.
I hold her gaze, steady, unwavering. “So I can handle it.”
Her brows knit slightly. “I told you I’m going to report him. I can handle it.”
“I know,” I say, softer now. “I just want to be prepared—so I can have your back.”
She hesitates, then nods. “Okay.”
I pause for a second, keeping my tone gentle. “Can I ask you something?” I add. “And Sophie—I’m not blaming you. I just want to understand.”
She nods again.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. Then softer, “Would you tell me if—before anything like that happens again?”
Her breath catches, and she looks down, her voice strained. “I don’t—Micah, my life has so many flaws. Every time I think things are finally looking brighter, another storm hits. It’s been like that my whole life.”
It breaks my heart.
“I don’t want you to see me as someone who’s constantly in trouble. I’m scared that one day you’ll realize it’s too much—that I’m too much—and you won’t want to—to even be friends with someone like me.”
I stare at her for a long moment, my jaw even more tight now, because fuck, I hate that she even thinks that way.
“First,” I say, leaning closer, my voice low but firm, “nothing—nothing—is ever going to make me feel that way about you. I want to protect you, baby. I want you safe. Seeing you smile? That’s everything to me. I’d do anything—everything—for that.”
Her cheeks turn pink, her eyes darting away like she’s embarrassed, and it's so cute how shy she still is with me sometimes.
“And second,” I can’t help the small grin that tugs at my mouth. “Did you just say friends?”
She blinks at me, confused. “Yes?”
I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “Sophie, you are not my friend. I wouldn’t go around doing all this for a friend.”
She hesitates, looking at me cautiously. “Then what am I?”
“What do you think?” I don’t hesitate. “You’re my problem.”
“What?” she asks, her voice a bit louder than usual—but she’s smiling.
“I’m kidding,” I say quickly, grinning. Then I pause. “You’re obviously my girlfriend, Sophie.”
Her brown eyes widen, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she looks away. “I am?”
God, she’s so damn cute when she’s shy like this, and it makes me want to kiss her.
“Yeah, you are,” I say, softer now, leaning just close enough that she has to look at me. “So it’d be a lot easier to protect my girlfriend if she stopped hiding things from me.”
Her blush deepens, and I can’t stop myself from smirking a little.
I tilt my head toward my bedroom door. “You see that?”
She follows my gaze, still looking adorably flustered.
“That room’s ours. No one besides us has ever been in there.” I let the words hang. “That’s our sacred place.”
Her lips part slightly, and her cheeks get even redder, and I swear my self-control is hanging by a thread.
Because if I keep staring at her like this—sitting here in my sweater, looking like she’s mine—I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my hands to myself.
SOPHIE
It takes me three tries to write the email.
The first draft is too formal, like I'm filing a tax return. The second falls apart halfway through—my hands start shaking and I have to close the laptop and just breathe for a minute. The third is somewhere in the middle, and I send it before I can read it back.
I don't feel relieved when it's done. I feel scraped-out and hollow, like I just handed something private to a stranger and I can't take it back. I sit there for a moment, staring at the sent confirmation on the screen.
Then I close the laptop and text Micah.
Me
Done. I filed it.
The phone rings almost immediately.
“How do you feel?” he asks, no preamble.
“I don't know yet.” I pull my knees to my chest, Micah's sweater still wrapped around me. “Scared, I think. What if they don't believe me?”
“They will,” he says. “You have everything documented. And if they don't move fast enough, I'll make sure they do.”
“Micah—“
“I know. You can handle it.” A beat. “I'm just saying you don't have to do it alone.”
I look at the closed laptop for a long moment. The truth is, three months ago I would've deleted those screenshots. I would've convinced myself it wasn't worth the trouble, swallowed it whole, and let it become another thing I carried quietly.
I don't know when that changed. I think maybe it's been changing for a while, in ways I didn't notice until just now.
Maybe I’m not as afraid of everything blowing up in my face anymore—because I know there’s someone I can fall back on.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “Thank you.”
“Get some sleep,” he says. His voice is softer now. “I'll check on you in the morning.”
I hang up and set the phone on the nightstand and I let myself lie back and just be still.