But the whole thing haunts me.
I have too much to lose. Too many people waiting for me to screw it all up.
I grab a towel and pat my face dry, stepping back into the bedroom to pull on a blazer and heels.
My laptop bag waits by the door, and the scent of fresh coffee drifts from the kitchen.
Alessio’s probably humming to himself while he pours a cup, blissfully unaware that the real world is closing back in.
The moment I step into the office, my father is already pacing near the window, tie loose, jaw tight. Denver sits at the conference table, flipping through investor updates like he hasn’t already memorized them twice. The air crackles with expectation.
“You’re late,” Dad says without looking up.
“New York traffic can be a bitch.” I cross the room and toss my laptop bag onto a chair.
He rounds on me. “Listen, Sophie. You’re not just a participant in this merger, you’re leading it. And leadership doesn’t clock in whenever it wants.”
There it is, his simmering condescension. Always masked as concern but always meant to remind me who’s really in charge.
“Funny. I didn’t realize leadership meant babysitting egos and putting out everyone else's fires.”
Denver raises a brow, giving me a look. It's that"don't poke the bear"look.
Dad doesn’t flinch. “We have three major investor calls this week. They know about the headlines. They’re watching you and Alessio. This is your moment. Don’t blow it.”
A flush rises in my chest. “So, you think I’m blowing it now? That I can’t balance my career and my personal life?”
“I think distractions are dangerous when you’re playing at this level. Especially ones with potential ties to the Bratva.”
I stiffen. “Don’t pretend you care. You’ve never respected my choices.”
Silence thickens the room.
Denver shifts uncomfortably.
My father sighs, turning away. “Just don’t forget what’s at stake.”
His words hit like a whip crack, but I’m too angry to let them sink in.
Denver waits until the door clicks shut behind our father, then levels a look at me from across the table.
He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me.
“You alright?” he asks, voice low.
“Peachy.”
He leans against the edge of the table, arms folded. “Look… I don’t know what’s going on with you and Alessio, but you need to be careful. That guy lives in a different world, Soph.”
I glance up, irritation flaring. “You sound just like Dad.”
“Maybe because, for once, he’s not wrong.”
I laugh under my breath, sharp and humorless. “I’ve always taken care of myself.”
Denver’s quiet for a beat, then he says, “You sure about that?”
I blink.
