Sophie watched the clock again, the tick-tick-tick of the second hand echoing in her mind. It was the third time that hour. Each time the glass doors of her office opened, her eyes instinctively darted toward them, hoping—no, expecting—Damien to walk through. But it wasn't him. Every time, it was someone else. The occasional coworker or client, but never Damien. He had been quiet today. Almost too quiet.
Her heart sank with each failed hope, but her irritation with herself only grew. Why was she waiting for him to do something? she thought, her fingers drumming impatiently on the edge of her desk. Why was she hoping that he'd show up with one crazy attempt at an apology?
The silence between them from earlier that morning hung over her like a thick fog. His words had been there, hanging in the air, but Sophie had refused to acknowledge them, to accept the apology. She couldn't. But yet, a part of her wished he'd try again. Ugh, stop it, Sophie, she scolded herself. Stick to the plan. Get the intel, take them down. Nothing more. Nothing less.
But the hours dragged on, and as the clock ticked closer to the end of the workday, Sophie couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that weighed her chest down. There would be no apology today, no dramatic attempt at winning her over. And a small part of her—one she immediately tried to shove into the back of her mind—was relieved. That same part of her, the one that was already bracing for the next bombastic gesture, hated herself for feeling this way.
The office emptied slowly, the buzz of chatter and keyboards eventually fading into the distance. As the last of her coworkers trickled out, Sophie quickly packed her things and made her way out. It had been a long, frustrating day. The last thing she needed was to think about Damien any longer.
When she arrived home, her gut clenched at the sight of the door slightly ajar. She froze. Her breath caught in her throat. No, she thought. No way.
Her mind raced. Was it him? Had Damien finally lost his mind and decided to show up unannounced? Or was it someone else? Could it be those people who were more interested in taking down the Carringtons than helping her?
Heart pounding, Sophie stepped inside, her eyes darting across the darkened hallway. She reached for the nearest thing she could find, her hand closing around the cold handle of a frying pan. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. Every step she took was cautious, calculated, her senses heightened. There was something off, something wrong about the door being open. Her fingers curled tighter around the handle as she crept down the hall, her bare feet making no sound against the hardwood floor.
A shadow moved in the living room. She froze, breath held, eyes narrowing. Whoever it was, they weren't being cautious. They were too bold. Too comfortable.
Sophie stepped forward, raising the pan, ready to strike. She was almost there—just a few more feet—and then, suddenly, the shadow turned, and a voice called out.
"Sophie stop! It's me. You gotta take a chill pill."
Her body stiffened, the frying pan lowering slightly as she let out a long breath.
Sophie turned the corner into the living room, finding her younger brother standing in the middle of the room, holding up his hands defensively. His face was a picture of mock innocence.
"Miles?" Sophie asked, her heart rate still too fast. "What the hell are you doing here? And why did you just barge in without even waiting for me to get back?"
"I wanted to see you," Miles said, shrugging nonchalantly. "You know, check in on how your little spy mission is going." He paused, glancing around the room as if expecting her to throw him a parade for his sudden appearance. "And when I came here and saw the door locked, I checked to see if you still kept a spare key under the rug. And guess what? You did. So I let myself in."
Sophie stood there, staring at him. Of course. She should've known. Miles had always had a knack for sneaking in places he shouldn't be. Under the rug—it was almost too perfect.
"Seriously, Miles," she muttered, shaking her head. "I'm going to have to take that key from there. No more sneaking in." She paused, narrowing her eyes. "Hope you didn't touch anything."
He looked guilty for a split second, his eyes darting around. "Ummm…"
"Miles?" Sophie asked, already dreading his answer.
"I'm sorry, okay? I saw the package, and I couldn't help myself," he said, his tone apologetic but sheepish. "There were all sorts of incredible gadgets in there, so I thought I'd take some of them out to analyze with my friends. Those things are top-tier, expensive stuff. I just wanted to check them out. How'd you even get your hands on them?"
Sophie couldn't help the roll of her eyes. She knew Miles, and she knew exactly what he was like when it came to things that piqued his interest. "I hope everything's still in the box," she muttered.
"Sure, sure," Miles said, still looking guilty, as he started pulling out various pieces from the box, counting them one by one, his fingers moving quickly over the sleek, shiny gadgets. He didn't seem to realize how much of a pain he was being. But then again, this was Miles. What else was new?
As he handed her each piece, Sophie checked them over. One by one. "Did I hear you say five?" Sophie's voice dropped, an edge creeping in. She stepped closer to the box, her fingers brushing over the remaining contents. There should've been six items. She knew there had been six. One of them was crucial—the tiny recorder.
She peered closer, her chest tightening as the reality sank in.
"Miles," Sophie said slowly, her tone sharp as her eyes flicked from the box back to him. "There were six things in here. Where's the tiny recorder?"
Miles froze.
"Shit."