SOPHIE'S POV
I sat cross-legged on my bed, flipping through the pages of my diary. The words from months ago stared back at me, bold and messy: "Crack his sour. Tame him."
I blinked, letting the memory hit me. Damien Steele, the man who was colder than ice and harder to read than any book. Back then, I thought I could break through his walls, maybe even understand the human beneath all that arrogance.
Now? I wasn't so sure.
I ran my fingers over the words, the pen marks pressing into the page. Why did I even write this? Was I that delusional?
But then something sparked in me. Maybe I wasn't completely wrong. Damien was ruthless, yes. He was dangerous, absolutely. But there was something else—something buried deep.
I sat up straighter, my heart racing.
I need to apologize.
The thought hit me like a truck.
I didn't leak his information to the press. I wasn't the villain he thought I was. But maybe I should act like I thought I was helping him. If I played my cards right, maybe I could crack his armor just enough to find the human beneath.
The idea rushed through my head like wildfire.
I grabbed a pen and flipped to a blank page in my diary.
"One weakness."
I stared at the words, my mind spinning. Damien was all about control. If I could find the one thing that made him lose it—just for a moment—I could finally see the real him.
I wrote down everything I remembered: the way he tensed when things didn't go his way, how his voice softened—just barely—when he talked about his sister.
And then there was that look in his eyes.
The one that said he wasn't as invincible as he pretended to be.
I sat back, biting my lip. This was risky. Hell, it was probably stupid. But I couldn't stop now.
If I wanted to save Hannah, if I wanted to fix this mess, I had to do it. I had to face Damien, even if it meant walking straight into the lion's den.
I closed my diary and exhaled.
"Crack his armor," I whispered to myself.
I stood up, the adrenaline rushing through me as I grabbed the document from my desk—the one the stranger gave me. My fingers tightened around it, my mind racing. If Damien wasn't willing to accept my apology, then I'd use this.
Because let's be honest, I'm no pushover either.
I slipped the document into my bag, zipping it up securely. My reflection caught my eye in the mirror. My face was calm, but my eyes? They burned with determination.
Apologizing wasn't exactly my thing, and Damien Steele didn't make it any easier. But this wasn't just about me. This was about Hannah, about getting back some control in this chaos.
I picked out a sleek outfit—a black pencil skirt and a crisp white blouse. Professional but sharp enough to remind Damien I wasn't there to beg. I slipped on my heels, grabbed my bag, and walked out the door.
The ride to Steele Enterprises felt longer than it was. My thoughts kept circling back to what I'd say, how I'd handle him. Damien wasn't the type to make anything easy.
But I wasn't walking into this unarmed.
When the car stopped, I stepped out, standing tall as I stared up at the massive Steele Enterprises building. The glass reflected the sky, but all I could see was my own determination.
I took a deep breath and walked in.
AT THE STEELE'S ENTERPRISE
Damien's POV
I was leaning back in my chair when my phone buzzed. The receptionist's voice came through, steady but with a hint of hesitation.
"Sir, one Miss Sophie Reed is here to see you."
I froze for a second. Sophie? What the hell was she doing here? Hadn't I made myself clear that I didn't want her anywhere near me or my business?
I leaned forward, my voice cold and clipped. "Send her up."
If she had the nerve to come here after everything, I'd at least hear what she had to say. But I wasn't about to make it easy for her.
The door opened a few moments later, and there she was.
Damn.
She looked... stunning. Her sleek black skirt hugged her curves, and the crisp white blouse added an edge of sharpness to her look. But it was her lips—painted in that deep red shade—that caught my attention. They were the kind of lips that could drive a man insane.
I stared at her longer than I should have, completely caught off guard.
"Can I sit?" she muttered softly, breaking me out of whatever spell she'd just cast.
I snapped back to reality, my face hardening instantly. "A betrayal dares to walk into my office?"
Her lips pressed together for a moment, and then she cleared her throat. "I came to apologize," she started, her voice steady. "I know you think I betrayed you, but I didn't. I would never do that, Damien. I've been a PR strategist for years—I understand the importance of confidentiality better than anyone."
I just stared at her, letting her words hang in the air. My eyes drifted to her lips again, but I forced myself to focus.
"How can I trust you?" I finally asked, my voice sharp.
Her expression didn't falter. Instead, she opened her bag and pulled out a piece of paper, then reached for her phone.
"Let me prove it to you," she said, her tone firm.
She played a recording, and I leaned forward, listening intently. It was a conversation—hers and some stranger's.
In the recording, the man's voice was smooth but filled with malice. "Reveal every detail in those documents," he said, "and make sure Steele Enterprises crumbles."
My jaw clenched as the recording continued. Sophie's voice was cautious, probing, not at all complicit. She was trying to gather information, not conspire.
When the recording ended, she looked up at me, her eyes unwavering. "That's the man who gave me these documents," she said, holding up the paper. "I didn't leak anything, Damien. I've been trying to figure out who's behind this."
I leaned back in my chair, my mind racing. The evidence was damning, but not against her. Against whoever was trying to tear me down.
Still, I couldn't let her off the hook that easily.
"And why should I believe you now?" I asked, my tone still cold.
Her eyes softened, but there was a fire behind them. "Because I'm here, Damien. I'm standing in front of you, risking everything to tell you the truth."
I hated how much her words stirred something in me. Something I wasn't ready to confront
Sophie cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders, and put on that defiant look that both infuriated and intrigued me.
"Release my sister," she said, her voice sharp and commanding. "Or I'll do exactly what the stranger suggested."
I scoffed, leaning back in my chair. "Threats don't work on me, Sophie. You should know that by now."
Her lips curled into a smirk, and without a word, she dropped the document on my desk.
Curiosity piqued, I reached for it. As I scanned the contents, my breath hitched. My hands tightened around the paper.
No. This wasn't possible.
I stared at the damning details, things I had buried so deep that not even my closest allies knew about them. My voice dropped to a whisper. "How did you get this?"
Sophie didn't answer. She just watched me, her confidence unshaken.
I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor, and strode toward the door. I shut it firmly, ensuring no one outside could hear what was about to unfold.
When I turned back, I found myself walking toward her, my steps slower this time. As I approached, I leaned on the edge of the desk, close enough that my arm brushed against hers. Her scent—something floral and warm—wrapped around me, and for a moment, I felt something I hadn't felt in years. Cozy. Safe.
My eyes locked on hers, and I couldn't help but let them drift to her lips. She was intoxicating in a way I couldn't explain.
"Excuse me," she said sharply, snapping me out of my daze.
I straightened immediately, retreating to my seat, trying to regain control of myself. I couldn't afford distractions—not from her, not from anyone.
"You're looking be—" The word nearly slipped out, but I caught myself just in time. "You're looking too suspicious," I corrected, my tone hard again.
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't respond.
I grabbed my phone, dialing a number quickly. "Release Hannah," I ordered, my voice firm. "Now."
I hung up without waiting for a reply, my eyes flicking back to Sophie. She stood, smoothing her skirt, and started walking toward the door.
"Sophie," I called after her.
She paused for a moment but didn't turn around. "My work here is done," she said coldly
As Sophie walked toward the exit, her heels clicking against the polished floor, I couldn't stop myself. The words tumbled out before I could think them through.
"I'm getting married to Cassandra," I said, my voice louder than intended, hoping to see a flicker of hesitation in her step, a sign that she cared.
But she stopped, turned slightly, and looked at me with an icy calmness that cut deeper than any argument. "Congratulations," she said flatly, her tone void of any emotion. Then, without another glance, she stepped out of my office, leaving the door to swing shut behind her.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the door as if willing her to come back. She didn't.
The silence in the room felt suffocating. I'd thought those words would make her pause, maybe reconsider, maybe give me the upper hand again. But instead, it felt like I'd just shoved her further away.
My chest tightened as I thought about the coldness in her voice. This wasn't the Sophie Reed I was used to—the fiery, stubborn woman who always had a comeback. This was someone who didn't care anymore, and for some reason, that thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I slammed my hand against the desk, frustration bubbling over. Why did she have this effect on me? Why did I even care if she walked away?
My phone buzzed, pulling me out of my thoughts. A text from Cassandra lit up the screen: "Dinner tonight to finalize wedding plans?"
I stared at it, my jaw tightening. I should feel relief. Sophie was out of my office, out of my life, and Cassandra was the perfect pawn for what I needed. But instead, all I felt was this gnawing emptiness, this restless ache that wouldn't go away.
I picked up the document Sophie had left on my desk, the weight of its secrets pressing down on me. She'd played her hand well, but she didn't know me as well as she thought.