Sofia had just kicked off her heels when her phone buzzed. She had just arrived at Adam's penthouse, expecting a quiet dinner—until she saw his message:
Adam:
Dinner without me tonight. Meeting ran long. Don't wait up.
That was it. No explanation. No apology. Just another reminder of the terms they'd agreed on—distance behind closed doors, perfection in public. The scent of white lilies still lingered in her penthouse bedroom, but the man who gave them hadn't said a word since the boardroom.
So, she changed out of her blouse and pencil skirt and slipped into an old cotton dress—the one with a tiny hole near the hem she never got around to fixing. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, no makeup, no expectations.
She didn't want to eat alone in a cold penthouse that smelled like power and citrus.
So she took the bus home—quiet, unassuming, just like she wanted.
But even then, Adam's security detail followed at a discreet distance, their black SUV never far behind.
