Aunt Carol’s shrill voice cut through the air. “The girl’s still in there hiding like a mouse. Someone needs to tell her this whole thing is a bust.
Let Gerard get his money back and let everyone go home.”
“Carol,” someone murmured weakly, “don’t.”
“Well what do you want us to do?” Carol snapped. “Sit here all afternoon waiting for a miracle? The circus is over.”
Circus.
The word hit Sophia like a slap. Not a tragedy. Not a heartbreak.
A show. Chloe leaned close, her breath warm against Sophia’s cheek. “Your dad’s coming.
And he looks like he’s about to commit a felony.”
Sophia opened her eyes. Gerard Davis barreled through the ballroom like a wounded bull, shoving chairs aside. His face was red, veins raised in his neck, fists locked so tight his knuckles looked bleached.
She’d seen that face when her brother totaled the family car. When her father caught a partner stealing from him. The face of a man whose pride had just been trampled in public.
“Where is he?” Gerard roared as he reached them. “Where is that son of a—”
“Dad, please,” Sophia tried, but her voice disappeared under the noise. “Half a million dollars!” Gerard shouted, holding up his phone like evidence in court.
“I spent half a million dollars on this wedding, and that coward went to Vegas to get drunk with his buddies. He posted it. He’s bragging while my daughter stands here like—”
The room erupted.
Not whispers anymore. Shouts. Gasps.
People lifting phones higher, angling for better video. Patricia Davis ran in from the far end, mascara streaking down her cheeks. “My baby,” she sobbed, grabbing Sophia so tight Sophia’s ribs protested.
“My poor baby. How could he do this to you?”
“Let me go,” Sophia managed. She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t think. Gerard’s thumb stabbed at his screen. “I’m calling him.
I’m calling his mother. I’m calling my lawyer. I’m putting him in cuffs if I have to.
I’ll have the police waiting when he lands—”
“Gerard,” Uncle Paul tried, “calm down.”
“Calm down?” Gerard barked. “He made a fool of me, of my daughter, of my whole family— in front of my partners, my clients—”
“Excuse me.”
The voice cut through the chaos like a scalpel. Everyone turned.
Julian Croft walked down the central aisle with measured steps, as if he’d done this a hundred times and never once been nervous. His presence rearranged the energy in the room; people instinctively stepped aside. The orchestra faltered and then, uncertainly, drifted into softer notes.
Sophia’s throat went dry. In three years of working for him, she’d heard Julian speak in boardrooms and site meetings, calm and surgical. She’d never heard him speak in a room full of hungry witnesses.
He reached the makeshift altar, turned to the guests, and said, in that deep steady voice, “I sincerely apologize for the delay. Traffic on the FDR was… complicated. An accident blocked three lanes.”
Silence dropped like a curtain.
Sophia blinked, confused. Delay? What was he—
Julian turned to her and closed the distance in two long strides.
He leaned in just enough that only she could hear what he said next. “Play along,” he whispered. “Pretend I’m the groom.”
Sophia’s lungs forgot how to work.
“What?” she breathed. Julian’s hand closed around her left hand—firm, warm, anchoring. His dark eyes held hers with an intensity that felt like gravity.
“Trust me,” he said, low. “Or let me do this for you. Your call.”
Sophia’s mind spun.
This was insane. This was beyond insane. But behind Julian, she saw it: Aunt Carol’s smile, Uncle Frank’s smirk, a circle of phones already recording.
She saw her father’s face, one beat away from violence. She saw the story they were dying to carry home. Julian’s thumb brushed her knuckles, a small, steadying touch.
“If we do this,” he murmured, “you get to choose what they remember.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Dad,” Sophia tried again, but Gerard was already stepping forward, glare locked on Julian. “And who are you?” Gerard demanded.
“What the hell is going on?”
Julian released Sophia’s hand just long enough to extend his own. “Julian Croft,” he said calmly. “Architect.
Sophia’s boss.”
“Her boss?” Gerard repeated, like the words didn’t belong together. Julian’s expression didn’t change. “And the man who’s going to marry your daughter today.”
The collective gasp sounded like the room inhaled at once.
Patricia swayed, clutching her sister’s arm. Chloe’s mouth fell open. Gerard stared at Julian like he’d announced he was from Mars.
Sophia could feel eyes on her—two hundred sharp points. Julian turned back to Sophia. His palm opened between them, patient, waiting.
An invitation. A lifeline. A cliff.
“It’s your decision,” he said softly. “But decide now.”
Sophia looked at his hand. Then at her father, trembling with rage.
Then at her mother, crying. Then at the guests with their phones held high, hungry for spectacle. Uncle Frank’s voice floated up again.
“Who does this guy think he is? Superman?”
More laughter. Sophia felt something inside her snap—not in a broken way, but in a way that finally made room for steel.
She lifted her chin and put her hand in Julian’s. “Let’s do it,” she said. And the air changed.
Julian’s mouth tilted, barely. Not a smile for the room—something private, for her. “Good,” he murmured.
Then, louder, to the officiant who stood frozen beside the altar: “Sir, may we proceed?”
The officiant blinked hard. “I… I need to verify documents. Identification.
The marriage license. Witnesses.”
Julian’s hand dipped into his inner jacket pocket. He pulled out a leather wallet and a neat stack of folded papers like he’d been expecting exactly this question.
Sophia leaned close, hissing through clenched teeth, “Who brings paperwork to a wedding?”
“Someone who plans for contingencies,” Julian murmured back without turning his head. “You’d be surprised how often people fail to show up.”
Her stomach twisted. “Did you know?”
Julian’s eyes flicked to hers—too quick to read.
“Not everything is about you being betrayed,” he said softly. “Sometimes it’s about you being rescued.”
That should’ve comforted her. Instead, it made her feel like she’d stepped into a story with pages she hadn’t seen.
The officiant took the documents with trembling hands and flipped through them. “Sir, this is… your passport?”
“Yes.”
“And… a certified copy—”
“Long story,” Julian said smoothly. Sophia stared at the papers.
A certified copy. Who carried that around? Who was Julian Croft when he wasn’t her boss?
Behind them, Chloe shoved her phone into Sophia’s line of sight for one second. On the screen: Ryan Callahan’s Instagram story. Neon lights.
A casino ceiling. Ryan’s grin, too wide, too careless. The geotag read HARRY REID INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, then another clip—“VEGAS, BABY”—with his friends shouting.
Timestamp: 2:17 p.m. Their ceremony had been scheduled for 2:00. Sophia’s vision narrowed.
Evidence. Proof. Not rumor.
Julian’s voice dropped to her ear. “There. You see it now.”
Her hands started to shake.
Julian’s fingers tightened on hers, steady. “Look at me,” he whispered. “I need you to breathe.
I need you to stand.”
Sophia drew in air, painful, and nodded once. The officiant cleared his throat, still pale. “The documents are in order.
But I must advise you—this is legally binding under New York State law. Once you sign and witnesses sign, you will be married.”
Sophia heard herself speak as if from far away. “We’re sure.”
Julian looked at her.
Something in his gaze asked, for the last time, Are you choosing this? Sophia’s answer was a tiny squeeze of his hand. The officiant turned to the guests, voice uncertain but professional.
“Ladies and gentlemen… we will now proceed with the ceremony between Miss Sophia Davis and Mr. Julian Croft. I ask for your silence and respect.”
Silence didn’t fully arrive—phones were still up, breaths still loud—but the room quieted in that uneasy way people do when they realize the story just got better.
Julian guided Sophia to the altar, his hand at the small of her back, protective without being possessive. Her skin reacted like it knew his touch. “You okay?” he murmured.
“No,” Sophia whispered. “This is insane.”
“I know,” Julian said. “But we’re going to make it look like sanity.”
The officiant began reading the standard words.
Sophia barely heard them. Her pulse roared in her ears. Her world had shrunk to the warmth of Julian’s hand and the sudden knowledge that Ryan’s absence had created a vacuum—one Julian had filled without hesitation.
“Do you, Julian Croft, take Sophia Davis to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” Julian said, clear and immediate, eyes locked on hers. Sophia’s throat closed. “Do you, Sophia Davis, take Julian Croft to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Sophia’s mouth opened.
The words stuck. She saw her father’s fury. Her mother’s grief.
Chloe’s anxious hope. Uncle Frank’s smile. Aunt Carol’s judgment.
She saw Ryan’s grin on that Instagram story. And then she saw Julian—no pity, no mockery. Just presence.
“I do,” she said. The two syllables landed like a gavel. “By the power vested in me,” the officiant declared, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.
You may kiss the bride.”
Sophia froze. They hadn’t planned for kissing. Julian must have read the panic in her eyes because he leaned in slowly, giving her a full second to pull away.
Then his lips brushed hers—quick, careful, just enough. The room exploded into applause. “It’s done,” Julian murmured against her ear.
“Now smile. Let them choke on their own opinions.”
Sophia turned toward the guests with a forced smile that felt like it belonged to someone else. But inside, one thought repeated like a drumbeat:
I just married my boss.
Patricia reached them first, sobbing. “Congratulations, sweetheart,” she choked out, touching Sophia’s cheek with shaking fingers. “Welcome to the family, Julian.
We… we didn’t know.”
Julian inclined his head, releasing Sophia’s hand just long enough to offer Patricia a brief, respectful hug. “I’m sorry for the confusion, ma’am. We wanted to keep things private.”
“Private?” Chloe muttered under her breath.
“We are beyond private.”
Gerard stepped forward, still red-faced. “Young man,” he said to Julian, “you owe me an explanation.”
Julian’s tone stayed calm. “You’ll get one, Mr.
Davis. But right now—your guests. Your partners.
Your clients. They showed up. Let’s give them a reception worth the price.”
Sophia’s father opened his mouth to argue.
Julian’s gaze met his—steady, unflinching. Something in Gerard’s expression shifted. Not approval.
Not yet. But recognition: this man wasn’t bluffing. Gerard nodded once, curt.
“Fine,” he snapped. “But later. We talk later.”
Later felt like a threat.
The event coordinator appeared, clipboard clutched like a life raft. “Mr. and Mrs.
Croft,” he said, voice too bright, “shall we proceed with the reception?”
Mrs. Croft. Sophia’s stomach flipped.
Julian checked his watch—an understated Patek Philippe that probably cost more than Sophia’s car—and nodded. “Proceed.”
The next hour blurred into handshakes, forced congratulations, and eyes that kept flicking to Sophia like she was the plot twist of the year. “Your husband is handsome,” a distant cousin whispered as she hugged Sophia.
“And rich. You can tell. Those shoes alone—”
Sophia managed a polite laugh.
“And how did you meet?” another woman asked, smile sharp. “Because yesterday you were marrying Ryan.”
“It’s… complicated,” Sophia said, then escaped toward a flower-wrapped column before the questions could turn into knives. Her chest ached.
Her feet screamed in her heels. The veil weighed like a curtain. Julian appeared beside her as if he’d been summoned by her panic.
He held out a champagne flute. “Drink,” he murmured. “Small sips.
You need your hands steady.”
Sophia took it with trembling fingers. “I’m going to be sick.”
“You won’t,” Julian said quietly. “Not here.
Not in front of them. You can fall apart later. I’ll guard the door.”
She stared at him.
“Why are you so… good at this?”
Julian’s mouth quirked. “Architecture teaches you two things: how to hold a structure up, and how to keep people from noticing what’s about to collapse.”
Sophia let out a laugh that sounded more like disbelief. “I don’t even know your favorite color.”
“Navy,” he said without missing a beat.
She blinked. “I have a sister in Barcelona,” Julian continued, deadpan, “and I live in SoHo. And decaf coffee is an insult to nature.”
Sophia stared at him, then laughed—real, brief, surprised.
Julian’s eyes softened, and something warm moved through Sophia’s chest before she could stop it. The coordinator’s voice boomed. “May I have the bride and groom for the toast?”
Sophia’s relief vanished.
Julian’s hand found the small of her back again. “Smile,” he murmured. “We give them romance.
We give them a reason to shut up.”
They were guided to the center of the ballroom where two crystal glasses waited on a decorated table. The orchestra struck up a romantic melody. Guests formed a circle, phones rising again.
Julian lifted his glass. “I want to thank everyone for being here,” he said, voice carrying without strain. “Today didn’t go the way anyone expected.
But life rarely follows the blueprint we draw. Sometimes it surprises us. Sometimes it forces us to choose.”
Sophia’s grip tightened on her glass.
Julian’s gaze found hers—steady, intimate, dangerous. “Sophia,” he said, and the room quieted in a way that made her skin prickle, “from the first day you walked into my firm, I knew you were different.”
Sophia’s breath hitched. “Not because you were loud,” Julian continued, “but because you were consistent.
Because you solved problems other people didn’t even notice. Because you treated everyone with respect—clients, interns, janitors, the guy delivering blueprints at midnight. That’s not training.
That’s character.”
Sophia’s eyes burned. Julian’s voice lowered slightly. “I don’t know what the future holds for us.
No one does. But I do know I want to face it with her.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Julian lifted his glass higher.
“To the unexpected. To courage. To choosing each other when the plan falls apart.”
Applause erupted.
Someone shouted, “Kiss!”
Then more voices joined. “Kiss! Kiss!”
Sophia’s stomach clenched.
Julian angled his head, eyebrow lifting in a silent question. Are you okay with this? Sophia gave the smallest nod she could manage.
Julian leaned in. This kiss wasn’t the careful brush at the altar. It was slow enough to sell the lie.
Gentle enough not to trap her. His hand rested at her waist—support, not possession. For a few seconds, Sophia forgot the phones.
Forgot Ryan. Forgot the circus. When they pulled apart, the room went wild.
Sophia blinked, dazed. Julian’s mouth hovered near her ear. “That,” he murmured, voice rougher than before, “was necessary.”
Sophia swallowed.
“Was it?”
Julian didn’t answer. He simply guided her toward the dance floor as the orchestra slid into the first dance. “I don’t know how to dance,” Sophia whispered, panic returning.
“I do,” Julian said. “Mandatory classes in college. Weird tradition.”
“Of course you did,” Sophia muttered.
Julian’s hand settled at her back. His other hand took hers. He led her smoothly, like this was another room he knew how to control.
“Don’t think,” he murmured. “Just follow.”
Sophia exhaled. Follow.
She had followed Ryan for two years—followed his moods, his career, his expectations. She had made herself smaller without even noticing. With Julian, she didn’t feel smaller.
She felt held. The song wrapped around them. The ballroom blurred.
For three minutes and forty seconds, Sophia let herself pretend—just for the length of a song—that she hadn’t been abandoned, that she wasn’t a headline, that this wasn’t a disaster held together with pure nerve. And that was when she realized the most terrifying part:
Pretending felt good. Night settled over New York City by the time the last guest finally left.
Sophia watched taillights disappear from the hotel driveway through the ballroom window, her shoes in her hand, her feet aching on the cool marble. No more forced smiles. No more toasts.
No more cameras. Just her, Julian, and the reality they’d been outrunning for six hours. Julian’s voice came from behind her.
“Do you want me to call your family?”
Sophia didn’t turn. “Not tonight.”
Julian’s footsteps approached until his reflection appeared beside hers in the glass. He’d loosened his tie.
Rolled his sleeves up. Without the suit jacket, he looked younger—still controlled, but human. “I booked the bridal suite,” he said.
“The coordinator insisted. It’s included in the package.”
Sophia’s laugh came out thin. “Of course it is.”
Julian hesitated.
“I can get another room. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
Sophia finally turned to face him. The wedding dress felt ridiculous now—an expensive costume for a life that had split open.
“If staff sees us separate,” she said, “it’ll be hotel gossip by sunrise.”
Julian nodded. “Then I’ll take the couch.”
“You’re six-two,” Sophia said, almost hysterical. “You won’t fit.”
“I’ve slept in worse places on construction sites,” Julian replied.
Sophia stared at him, searching for the punchline. There wasn’t one. Inside the suite, the air smelled like roses and expensive candles.
The bed was covered in petals. Champagne chilled in an ice bucket next to heart-shaped chocolates meant for a groom who’d fled. Sophia stood in the doorway like she’d walked into someone else’s life.
Julian set his keys on the dresser. The small American flag lapel pin caught the lamplight as he removed his jacket and placed it carefully over a chair. Sophia noticed he didn’t toss anything.
He placed things. Precisely. “Why did you do it?” she asked, the question finally breaking free.
“And don’t say pity. Nobody marries someone out of pity.”
Julian leaned back against the wall by the window, shoulders tense for the first time all day. He studied her like she was a problem he couldn’t solve with math.
“Because I heard them,” he said quietly. “The whispers. The laughter.
The way they were enjoying your pain like it was entertainment.”
Sophia’s throat tightened. “And I saw your father,” Julian continued. “He was about to do something that would ruin the rest of his life.
I saw your mother breaking. I saw you standing there holding your world together with… nothing.” He exhaled. “I couldn’t watch it.”
Sophia crossed her arms over her chest.
“You could’ve canceled. You could’ve gotten me out. You could’ve called a driver.
You could’ve done a hundred things.”
Julian’s gaze held hers. “None of those things change the story they would tell about you.”
Sophia’s lips parted. Julian pushed off the wall and stepped closer—slow, careful.
“You want the honest answer?”
Sophia’s heart thudded. “Yes.”
Julian’s voice dropped. “I made you a bet.”
Sophia blinked.
“What?”
Julian’s mouth twisted like he didn’t want to admit it. “When I walked in there, I told myself: If I can get you out of that room with your head up… if I can stop them from tearing you apart… then whatever consequences come after, I’ll take them.” He paused. “And if you hate me tomorrow, I’ll sign whatever you need, pay whatever it costs, and you’ll never have to explain this again.”
Sophia stared.
Julian’s eyes didn’t flinch. “But if we pull this off,” he added, softer, “you owe me one thing.”
Sophia swallowed. “What?”
“One honest dinner,” Julian said.
“No work talk. No hiding. Just… you and me.
So I can tell you what I couldn’t say in the office.”
Sophia’s pulse jumped. The room went quiet around the words. “I—” Sophia started.
A vibration rattled the nightstand. Her phone. Then again.
And again. Chloe’s name lit up the screen. Then her mother’s.
Then her father’s. Sophia looked down at the call log. Twenty-nine missed calls.
The number stared back at her like a countdown. Julian watched her face change. “They’re going to come looking,” he said.
Sophia swallowed hard. “I know.”
Julian’s voice softened. “Do you want space?”
Sophia shook her head, but the motion felt unsteady.
“I don’t know what I want.”
Julian nodded like that answer made perfect sense. “Then tonight, we do the simplest thing.”
“What’s that?”
“We breathe,” Julian said. “We sleep.
We survive. Tomorrow we face the fallout with daylight and coffee.”
Sophia’s laugh trembled. “And if I wake up tomorrow and realize I just made the worst decision of my life?”
Julian’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Then I’ll handle it,” he said. “I started this. I’ll carry it.”
Sophia’s chest tightened.
The craziest part was she believed him. She turned away, staring at the rose petals like they could give her answers. “Julian,” she whispered, “I don’t even know you.”
Julian’s voice came behind her, close but not touching.
“Then let’s start with something small.”
Sophia didn’t move. “Like what?”
Julian’s tone held a faint, almost-smile. “Like the fact that I hate decaf.
Like the fact that I keep that ridiculous flag pin because my dad gave it to me the day I opened my first studio and told me, ‘Don’t forget where you started.’”
Sophia looked over her shoulder. Julian’s hand lifted to his lapel—then stopped, as if he realized his jacket wasn’t on him anymore. His expression tightened for one beat.
Sophia’s gaze flicked to the chair where his jacket rested. That little flag pin. A gift.
A history. A thing that meant something. It suddenly felt like more than decoration.
Sophia’s phone buzzed again. This time, her mother. Sophia stared at the screen, then looked at Julian.
His voice was steady. “Answer it,” he said. “The longer you wait, the worse it gets.”
Sophia swallowed and hit accept.
“Mom,” she said, trying to keep her voice from breaking. “Sophia,” Patricia’s voice came through, tight with worry and disbelief. “Where are you?
Are you okay? Your father has been pacing like he’s about to call 911.”
Sophia closed her eyes. “I’m okay.
I’m still at the hotel.”
A beat. “With… Julian?”
Sophia’s cheeks burned. “Yes.
We’re… here.”
Silence on the line—heavy, loaded. Then Patricia exhaled sharply. “Your father wants to see you tomorrow.
Noon. At the house. Westchester.
And Sophia—” Her voice softened, just slightly. “I need you to tell me this isn’t some kind of… prank. Or pressure.
Or… charity.”
Sophia glanced at Julian. He didn’t gesture. Didn’t interfere.
He simply waited, giving her the choice. “It’s not charity,” Sophia said, surprising herself with how firm her voice sounded. “It’s… my decision.”
Patricia’s breath hitched.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. Noon.
Don’t be late.”
The call ended. Sophia stared at her phone like it had weight. Julian spoke gently.
“Noon,” he repeated. “We’ll go.”
“We?” Sophia asked. Julian’s eyes held hers.
“Unless you want to walk into that house alone,” he said. Outside the window, the city lights glittered like nothing had changed. Inside, Sophia felt like she’d stepped onto a bridge with no visible end.
Julian reached up and, for the first time, took the small American flag lapel pin from his jacket where it lay on the chair. He held it out in his palm. “I’m not asking you to trust me forever,” Julian said quietly.
“Just until noon.”
The pin gleamed in the lamplight—simple metal, bright colors, a tiny promise. Sophia’s fingers closed around it before she could overthink. And in that moment, she understood the real danger wasn’t the scandal.
It was the fact that she wanted to believe him. Because tomorrow wasn’t going to be about a wedding. Tomorrow was going to be about the truth.
Sophia stared at the pin in her palm as if it might start talking. It was absurd—metal and enamel, a tiny rectangle of color—but it felt heavier than her bouquet had. Julian watched her without rushing her, his hands loose at his sides, his posture saying I’m here, not I’m taking over.
“Julian,” she whispered, “I can’t—”
“I know,” he cut in gently. “So don’t. Don’t decide anything tonight.”
Sophia swallowed.
“Then why are you handing me… that?”
Julian’s gaze flicked to the flag. “Because when things start spinning, you need something solid. A point on the map.” His voice softened.
“Keep it until morning. If you wake up and you want to throw it at my head, I’ll deserve it.”
Sophia almost laughed. Almost.
Instead, she closed her fingers around the pin and felt the small edges press into her skin like proof she was still awake. “That’s the bet?” she asked, searching his face. “You handle the consequences and I… keep your pin?”
Julian’s mouth twitched.
“No.” He hesitated. “The bet is you survive this night without letting them rewrite who you are.”
Sophia’s throat tightened. “And the dinner?”
Julian’s eyes held hers—too steady to be casual.
“That’s what you’ll owe me if you win.”
It was ridiculous. It was also the first offer that didn’t feel like pity. Sophia nodded once, small.
“Okay,” she said. “Until morning.”
Julian exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath since the altar. “Until morning.”
That was when Sophia realized the wedding hadn’t ended—it had simply moved behind closed doors.
She walked into the bathroom and shut the door before her emotions could renegotiate the deal. The shower roared to life, hot water beating against her shoulders with a pressure that bordered on punishment. Steam fogged the glass.
The marble tiles looked too clean, too perfect, like a movie set built for a love story she hadn’t auditioned for. Sophia braced her palms against the wall and let the day crash over her in fragments: Ryan’s empty spot at the altar, Aunt Carol’s “circus,” her father’s rage, Julian’s hand closing around hers, the officiant’s words, the applause that felt like thunder. Her fingers tightened around the lapel pin.
She’d brought it into the shower like a lifeline, cradling it in her fist the way kids held lucky quarters. A hysterical thought bubbled up: If I drop this down the drain, does the universe reset? She laughed once—short, sharp—and it turned into a sob she swallowed under the water.
Outside, Julian moved through the suite with the quiet efficiency of a man who’d managed disasters before. First, he called the front desk. “I need discretion,” he said evenly.
“No calls transferred unless it’s an emergency. No guests sent up. If anyone asks, tell them Mr.
and Mrs. Croft are unavailable.”
The woman on the line stumbled over “Yes, sir,” like she wasn’t sure whether to congratulate him or apologize. Then he texted one person.
Miles Redding, his business partner. You’re going to see the internet on fire. Don’t feed it.
Don’t comment. I’ll be at the office early. Miles replied three seconds later.
What the hell did you do, Croft? Julian stared at the message, then typed back. I kept someone from being eaten alive.
I’ll explain in person. He set his phone down, then picked it up again when it vibrated—again and again—like it was trying to break out of its own casing. Sister (Elena): 12 missed calls.
Unknown number: 4 missed calls. His mother: 3. Sophia’s mother: 1.
And then a flood of notifications—screenshots, reposts, hashtags, the internet turning a human being’s worst day into content. Julian’s jaw tightened. He didn’t click.
He didn’t scroll. He ordered room service instead. Two pastas.
Salad. Bread. A bottle of red wine.
Fuel before war. When Sophia stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy hotel towel and wearing cotton pajamas that looked like they belonged in a normal life, Julian was standing by the window. He’d changed into a gray T-shirt and sweatpants.
Without the suit, without the polished armor, he looked younger—and more dangerous in a quieter way. Sophia’s hair dripped onto her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat.
She still felt like she was wearing the wedding dress under her skin. Julian turned at the sound of the door. His gaze flicked to her face, not her body, and Sophia felt an odd relief at the restraint.
“You okay?” he asked. Sophia’s laugh came out breathy. “No.”
Julian nodded like that answer made sense.
“Good. Honesty.”
Sophia’s eyes dropped to his hands. The flag pin was there, cradled in his palm now, dry and gleaming—meaning he’d taken it back while she showered.
She should’ve felt annoyed. Instead, she felt… steadier. “You didn’t trust me with it,” she said.
Julian’s mouth tilted. “I didn’t trust the hotel drain.” He held it up between thumb and forefinger. “I told you.
I plan for contingencies.”
Sophia rolled her eyes, but the gesture loosened something in her chest. A knock sounded at the door. Room service.
Julian signed the check without looking at the total. Sophia caught the number anyway. $287.46.
For pasta. She would’ve choked on it if her life hadn’t already done worse. They ate at the small table by the window, the city lights painting their faces in shifting gold and glass.
For the first few minutes, neither of them spoke. They simply ate like two people who’d survived a storm and needed proof they were still in their bodies. Sophia finally set her fork down.
“So,” she said, voice thin, “what’s the plan?”
Julian swirled his wine once. “Tonight? Sleep.”
“And tomorrow?”
Julian’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Tomorrow we meet your parents.”
Sophia’s stomach clenched. “They’re going to interrogate you like you’re applying for a security clearance.”
Julian’s expression warmed by a fraction. “Good.
I’ve been through worse.”
Sophia stared. “Worse than my father?”
“Barely,” Julian admitted. A laugh slipped out of Sophia before she could stop it.
Julian’s eyes softened. “There it is,” he murmured. “What?”
“That laugh,” he said.
“The one you try to hide.”
Heat crawled up her neck. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Julian leaned back in his chair. “Sophia, I’ve watched you for three years.
Not in a creepy way,” he added quickly, as if he could hear her brain throwing red flags. “In a… leadership way. In a noticing way.”
Sophia’s chest tightened.
“That’s not better.”
“It’s honest,” Julian said. “And I promised you honesty tonight.”
Sophia’s voice came out smaller than she intended. “Why did you have the documents?”
Julian’s fingers paused around the stem of his glass.
She watched his face shift—just a flicker of something guarded. “I knew you were going to ask,” he said quietly. “Because it’s weird,” Sophia snapped.
“Normal people don’t carry a certified copy of anything. That’s… that’s premeditated.”
Julian exhaled through his nose. “I carry them because I got stuck in Montreal once,” he said.
“Long story. Wrong passport stamp. Lost a day.
Missed a meeting. Learned a lesson. Now I keep what I need.”
Sophia narrowed her eyes.
“That’s it?”
Julian met her gaze. “That’s it.”
Sophia wanted to believe him. A smaller, more paranoid part of her whispered: Ask again.
Ask different. But exhaustion was a thick blanket on her shoulders. She stared down at her wine.
“Ryan posted from Vegas,” she said, as if saying it out loud might make it less true. Julian’s jaw tightened. “I saw.”
Sophia’s fingers curled against the tablecloth.
“I kept thinking there had to be an explanation. A car accident. A medical emergency.
Something. But no. He chose this.”
Julian’s voice went low.
“He chose to leave you in that room while he chased a good time.”
Sophia flinched. “Don’t. Don’t make me feel dumber than I already do.”
Julian leaned forward slightly.
“Sophia,” he said, and the way he said her name was a steady hand on a trembling bridge, “you’re not dumb. You’re not the reason a man runs. Ryan ran because Ryan is the kind of man who runs.”
Sophia’s throat tightened again, but these tears were different—hot with recognition.
Julian continued, softer. “I saw him with you at the office. Twice.”
Sophia blinked.
“He came, like… three times.”
“Twice was enough,” Julian said. “He talked to you like you were there to support him. Not like you were the person he was supposed to protect.”
Sophia’s stomach twisted because it was true.
She’d just never let herself say it. Julian’s voice stayed even. “He made you smaller.
I watched you shrink around him. And I watched you come back to work Monday morning like nothing happened.”
Sophia swallowed. “You noticed that?”
Julian’s gaze held hers.
“I notice everything that matters to my firm.” He paused, then added more quietly, “And you matter.”
The words landed in Sophia’s chest with a dangerous warmth. She looked away first. “That’s your line?” she said, trying to force sarcasm into her voice.
“I’m an asset?”
Julian’s mouth twisted. “No.”
He set his wine down as if he didn’t trust his hands with it. “That’s not what I meant.”
Sophia’s pulse beat loud in her ears.
Julian’s voice dropped. “I didn’t do this today because you’re an asset. I did it because I couldn’t stand watching them hurt you.” He hesitated.
“And because it made me sick that he could walk away from you so easily.”
Sophia’s breath caught. “Is that what you want to hear?” Julian asked. “The messy truth?”
Sophia nodded once, unable to find words.
Julian’s eyes didn’t flinch. “I’m not Ryan,” he said. “I don’t disappear because things get hard.”
Sophia’s voice cracked.
“You don’t get to promise me that when you barely know me.”
Julian leaned back, the tension in his shoulders visible now. “You’re right,” he said. “So here’s what I can promise: I won’t pressure you.
Not physically. Not professionally. Not emotionally.”
Sophia swallowed.
“And if this whole thing was a mistake?”
Julian’s answer came without hesitation. “Then I’ll fix it. Quietly.
Cleanly. You’ll come out of this with your dignity intact.”
Sophia stared at him. The words should’ve sounded calculated.
Instead, they sounded like a vow. That was when Sophia understood the most dangerous thing about Julian Croft wasn’t his money or his power—it was how safe he could make a lie feel. Her phone buzzed again.
Chloe: Are you alive? Please tell me you didn’t murder anyone. Also: you’re trending.
Julian’s gaze flicked to the screen without asking, and Sophia hated how quickly his eyes sharpened. “Trending,” Sophia echoed. Julian nodded once.
“It was inevitable.”
Sophia typed back with shaking fingers. I’m alive. I didn’t murder anyone.
Yet. Chloe replied immediately. Page Six already posted.
Someone has video of Julian saying he’s going to marry you. Your aunt Carol is in the comments acting like she’s the victim. I’m going to throw my phone into the Hudson.
Sophia’s heart pounded. Julian’s voice stayed calm. “Don’t read it,” he said.
Sophia blinked. “How do you know what I’m doing?”
Julian’s mouth tilted. “Because you’re trying to punish yourself.”
Sophia’s throat tightened.
“I just want to know what they’re saying.”
Julian’s gaze held hers. “They’re saying whatever gets them attention. None of it is about you.”
Sophia’s laugh was brittle.
“My whole life just became content.”
Julian nodded once, like he accepted the ugly truth. “Then tomorrow we take the narrative back.”
Sophia stared at him. “How?”
Julian’s voice went low.
“By being boring.”
Julian leaned forward, elbows on the table. “We show your parents we’re calm. We show the office we’re professional.
We don’t feed the story with drama. We become the most irritating thing on earth to the internet—two adults acting like adults.”
Sophia let out a surprised laugh. “You think the internet wants adults?”
“No,” Julian said, deadpan.
“That’s why it works.”
Sophia covered her mouth, laughter slipping out before she could stop it. Julian’s eyes softened again. “There,” he murmured.
“Breathe.”
Sophia exhaled shakily. Julian pushed his chair back. “I’ll take the couch,” he said.
Sophia stared at the massive hotel couch and then at him. “You’re going to fold in half.”
Julian shrugged. “It’s not the worst place I’ve slept.”
Sophia’s voice came out small.
“Julian… what if I can’t sleep? What if the second I close my eyes, I hear them laughing again?”
Julian’s gaze held hers. “Then don’t close your eyes alone,” he said.
Sophia’s pulse spiked. He lifted a hand, quick to clarify. “I mean—” He exhaled.
“I’ll sit in the chair by the bed. I’ll be here. That’s all.”
For a second, she saw not the billionaire architect, not the boss, not the man who’d hijacked her wedding.
Just a person offering presence. Sophia swallowed hard. “Okay,” she whispered.
Julian nodded once. The suite went quiet. The candles burned down.
The city kept glittering. And somewhere in the middle of the silence, Sophia’s breathing finally slowed. When she woke, it wasn’t sunlight that pulled her out of sleep.
It was vibration. Her phone was buzzing like a trapped insect. Sophia blinked, disoriented, and then memory slammed into her like cold water.
Wedding. Ryan. Julian.
Married. She sat up too fast and the room tilted. Julian was in the chair by the window, head leaned back, eyes closed, one long leg stretched out.
He’d fallen asleep in that same position, as if he’d refused to lie down and risk crossing a line. Her phone screen lit up again. Mom.
Sophia stared at the name like it was a bomb. Julian’s eyes opened immediately, like he’d been awake the whole time. “Answer,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
Sophia’s throat went dry. She hit accept. “Mom,” she said.
Patricia’s voice came through tight and exhausted. “Sophia Davis, where are you? Your father has been up all night pacing like he’s about to kick in the hotel doors.”
Sophia closed her eyes.
“I’m here. I’m okay.”
“With… Julian?” Patricia asked, and Sophia could hear the effort it took to say the name without turning it into an accusation. He didn’t move, didn’t lean in, didn’t try to take over.
He just watched her like this decision belonged to her. “Yes,” Sophia said softly. “He’s here.”
Silence on the line.
Then Patricia exhaled sharply. “Noon. Westchester.
Our house.”
Sophia’s stomach clenched. “Okay.”
“And Sophia,” Patricia added, voice suddenly smaller, “I need to know you’re not doing this because you’re scared.”
Sophia swallowed. “I am scared,” she admitted.
“But not of him.”
Another beat. Patricia’s voice softened by a fraction. “All right,” she whispered.
“Noon.”
Sophia stared at her phone. Julian stood slowly, rolling his shoulders like he’d slept in a chair a hundred times. “Noon,” he said.
Sophia nodded, her throat tight. “Noon.”
Julian’s gaze slid to the bedside table. The flag pin sat there like a tiny sentinel.
Sophia followed his eyes. Julian picked it up and held it out to her. “You dropped it on the nightstand,” he said.
Sophia stared at it. It wasn’t hers. But she reached for it anyway.
She didn’t pin it to her clothes. She slipped it into her purse like a secret. That was the moment Sophia understood she wasn’t just carrying a piece of metal—she was carrying a decision.
By the time they left the hotel, New York felt like it was watching. The lobby was too bright. The marble floors reflected everything.
A man in a bellhop uniform smiled a little too hard. A woman near the elevators pretended not to stare. Sophia kept her sunglasses on, even indoors, because it was easier than letting strangers read her face.
Julian walked beside her, calm, steady, his hand hovering near her elbow without touching. In the revolving door, Sophia’s phone buzzed again. Chloe: I’m outside your parents’ house already because I refuse to let you do this alone.
Also: your aunt Carol is posting Bible verses about “pride.” I’m going to commit a crime. Sophia snorted despite herself. Julian glanced at her.
“Chloe?”
Sophia nodded. “She’s already there.”
Julian’s mouth tilted. “Good.
I like her.”
“You’ve met her for… twelve minutes,” Sophia said. “Plenty of time to respect a loyal person,” Julian replied. They drove north with the skyline shrinking behind them, the city giving way to winter trees and quiet roads.
Julian’s Mercedes smelled faintly of leather and peppermint—something clean and controlled, like him. Sophia watched the highway lines flicker under the car and tried not to imagine what awaited at Westchester. “Do we have a script?” she asked finally.
Julian’s eyes stayed on the road. “No.”
Sophia’s laugh came out sharp. “Great.”
Julian glanced at her.
“If we rehearse, it’ll sound rehearsed.”
Sophia’s fingers twisted in her lap. “My father hates rehearsed.”
Julian nodded once. “Then we tell the truth.”
Sophia stared out the window.
“The truth is I married my boss because my fiancé ran to Vegas.”
Julian’s jaw tightened. “That’s the headline. Not the truth.”
Sophia turned.
“Then what’s the truth?”
Julian’s voice went low, careful. “The truth is you were cornered and humiliated, and you deserved an exit that didn’t destroy you. The truth is you chose it.”
Sophia’s throat tightened.
“I chose it because I was furious.”
Julian nodded. “Fury is honest.”
Sophia exhaled. “This is going to be a disaster.”
Julian’s tone stayed steady.
“No. The disaster already happened. Now we handle the aftermath.”
Sophia’s eyes stung.
Julian reached over and, without looking, adjusted the heat in her seat. A small gesture. A quiet kindness.
Sophia hated how much it affected her. Because it made her wonder what it would feel like to be taken care of without having to earn it. The Davis house looked exactly as it always had—warm brick, neat landscaping, a wreath on the door even though the holidays had passed.
Chloe’s car was already in the driveway. Of course it was. Julian parked, turned off the engine, and looked at Sophia.
“Ready?”
Sophia let out a humorless laugh. “No.”
Julian nodded like he expected that. “Then we go anyway.”
He got out first, walking around to open her door like a man who understood optics and respect.
Sophia stepped out, her breath fogging in the cold. Julian offered his hand. Sophia hesitated.
The last time she’d walked up to this house, she’d been engaged to Ryan and convinced her future was safe. Now she was walking up married to Julian Croft with the internet on fire. Sophia slid her hand into Julian’s.
The door opened before they could knock. Patricia stood there, eyes rimmed red, wearing an apron like she’d tried to calm herself by baking something. Her gaze dropped immediately to Sophia’s hand in Julian’s.
Something tightened in her expression. Then it softened. “Come in,” she said.
The living room was tense with quiet. Gerard sat in his armchair like a judge, arms crossed, jaw clenched. His coffee sat untouched on the table.
Chloe perched on the edge of the sofa, like she was ready to spring. Sophia’s chest tightened with gratitude. Gerard didn’t stand.
“Sit,” he ordered. Sophia sat. Julian sat beside her—close enough to be supportive, not so close it looked possessive.
Gerard’s gaze pinned him. “So,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “is someone going to explain to me what the hell happened yesterday?”
Sophia swallowed. Julian leaned forward slightly.
“I will,” he said. Gerard’s eyes narrowed. “Good.”
Julian didn’t flinch.
“Sophia’s fiancé did not show up,” he said evenly. “Instead of handling the situation with dignity, the room turned into a feeding frenzy. People were recording.
Mocking. Pushing.”
Sophia’s hands clenched in her lap. Julian continued, calm and precise.
“Your anger was escalating. I was concerned you were going to do something that would have consequences far beyond one wedding day.”
Gerard’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t deny it. Julian’s gaze shifted to Sophia for a moment—permission.
Sophia nodded once. Julian looked back at Gerard. “I made a decision in the moment,” he said.
“I offered Sophia an alternative story.”
Gerard’s eyes hardened. “Alternative story,” he repeated. “You mean you married her.”
Julian nodded once.
“Yes.”
Patricia’s voice trembled. “But why you? Why not just… cancel?”
Julian’s answer came steady.
“Canceling still leaves her as the woman who got left. That story sticks. It becomes the only thing people remember.” He paused.
“I wanted to give her something else to remember.”
Chloe exhaled softly, like she’d been holding her breath since yesterday. Gerard’s gaze cut to Sophia. “And you,” he said.
“You agreed.”
Sophia swallowed hard. “I did.”
Gerard’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Sophia’s voice shook, but she forced it steady.
“Because I was done being the punchline.”
The words landed hard. Patricia’s hand flew to her mouth. Chloe’s eyes shone with fierce pride.
Gerard stared at Sophia like he didn’t recognize her. Sophia lifted her chin. “I didn’t do it because I was confused,” she said.
“I did it because I knew, if I didn’t change the story, they’d carry it forever.”
Gerard’s jaw worked. “And you,” he said to Julian again, “are her boss.”
Julian nodded. “Yes.”
Gerard’s voice sharpened.
“So tell me how I’m supposed to believe my daughter wasn’t pressured.”
Julian didn’t hesitate. “You’re right to ask,” he said. “And here’s what I’m going to do.”
Sophia blinked.
Julian’s gaze stayed on Gerard. “Starting immediately, Sophia will no longer report to me.”
Sophia turned toward him, startled. “Julian—”
Julian lifted a hand, gentle but firm.
“Let me finish.”
He looked back at Gerard. “She’ll be reassigned under another lead. Or better—promoted to project manager with her own team.
There will be no professional leverage. No conflict.”
The room went still. Sophia’s heart pounded.
“That’s not necessary,” she whispered. Julian looked at her then—direct, intense. “It is,” he said quietly.
“I don’t want you to ever wonder if your choices are yours.”
Something hot and sharp pressed behind Sophia’s eyes. Gerard watched Julian for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he exhaled.
“All right,” Gerard said, voice still hard but less explosive. “At least you’re not stupid.”
Chloe made a tiny choking sound behind her hand. Patricia’s voice trembled.
“But what are you two now?” she asked. “Is this… temporary? Are you going to annul it as soon as the internet calms down?”
Julian’s gaze slid to Sophia again.
He didn’t answer for her. Sophia swallowed, feeling the weight of the room. “I don’t know what the future looks like,” she admitted.
“I don’t know if this started as an impulse and ends as a mistake. But I do know…”
She glanced at Julian. His expression was quiet, steady, letting her take the lead.
“I do know I don’t want to run back to the safe thing just because it’s familiar,” Sophia said. “I want to try.”
The sentence hung in the air. Julian’s throat bobbed once.
Patricia pressed a hand to her chest. “Try,” she echoed, as if tasting the word. Gerard’s gaze stayed on Sophia.
“Ryan called me this morning,” he said. Chloe stiffened. Patricia’s eyes flashed.
“Gerard—”
Gerard lifted a hand. “He called from Vegas. Drunk.
Crying. Saying he got scared. Saying he wants to ‘fix it.’” Gerard’s mouth twisted with disgust.
“He wanted me to talk you into taking him back.”
Sophia’s throat tightened. “What did you say?”
Gerard’s gaze sharpened. Then a slow, almost ferocious smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I told him it was too late,” Gerard said. “I told him my daughter married a man who showed up when he ran away. I told him if he ever comes near you again, he’ll have a problem bigger than social media.”
Sophia’s breath broke into a laugh that turned into a sob.
Chloe let out a triumphant, watery “Yes.”
Patricia wiped at her eyes with the edge of her apron. Julian’s shoulders eased by a fraction, like he hadn’t realized he’d been bracing for impact. Gerard’s gaze shifted to Julian again.
“Don’t think this means I trust you,” he warned. Julian nodded once. “Understood.”
Gerard leaned forward, pointing a finger.
“If you hurt my daughter, Mr. Croft… there is nowhere in this country you’ll be able to hide from me.”
Julian didn’t flinch. “I have no intention of hurting her,” he said.
“I intend to earn her trust one day at a time.”
Gerard studied him. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned back. “All right,” Gerard said, voice rough.
“You have my blessing.”
Sophia blinked, stunned. Patricia inhaled sharply. “Gerard—”
Gerard held up a hand.
“Don’t,” he said. “Not today.”
Chloe sprang up and hugged Sophia so tight Sophia almost lost her breath. “You deserve this,” Chloe whispered fiercely.
“You deserve someone who shows up.”
Sophia clung to her friend for one second, feeling the ground under her feet again. When Sophia finally pulled back, her gaze found Julian. He was watching her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.
That should’ve terrified her. Instead, it made her feel… chosen. The next hour passed in a strange, fragile calm.
Patricia fussed, insisting they eat something. Gerard asked Julian blunt questions about his family, his intentions, his background, as if conducting a hostile interview. Julian answered without defensiveness.
Barcelona sister. SoHo penthouse. Architect.
Built his firm from a one-room studio with a folding desk. Sophia watched her father’s suspicion shift incrementally into reluctant respect. At the door, when it was time to leave, Patricia hugged Sophia again.
“You call me if you feel pressured,” she whispered. “You hear me? If anything feels wrong—”
“I will,” Sophia promised.
Gerard clasped Julian’s shoulder once, firm. “No games,” he muttered. “No games,” Julian agreed.
Outside, in the cold, Sophia exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for days. Julian opened the car door for her. When she slid inside, she realized her hands weren’t shaking anymore.
Julian started the engine, then paused. “You okay?” he asked. Sophia looked out at her childhood home.
“Better than I thought I’d be,” she admitted. Julian’s gaze softened. “Good.”
Sophia swallowed.
“You meant what you said? About changing my reporting line?”
Sophia’s chest tightened. “Julian, you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he cut in.
“It’s not a sacrifice. It’s respect.”
The words should’ve sounded like a strategy. They sounded like a boundary.
As they drove back toward the city, Sophia’s phone buzzed again. A flood. Group texts.
Notifications. DMs from people she hadn’t spoken to since college. And then the one that made her stomach drop.
A message from Ryan. Sophia, please. I messed up.
I wasn’t thinking. I was scared. I love you.
Call me. Her fingers went numb. Julian noticed her face change.
“What is it?”
Sophia swallowed. “Ryan,” she said. Julian’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t answer.”
Sophia stared at the screen. The message felt like a hand reaching through glass. Part of her wanted to hurl the phone out the window.
Another part—the part that had spent two years bending herself into a shape that fit his life—wanted to respond automatically. Sophia forced her thumb to hover. Then she did the only thing that felt like hers.
She blocked the number. The click was silent. But inside her, it sounded like a door slamming.
Julian exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. “Good,” he murmured. Sophia’s laugh came out shaky.
“I can’t believe I just did that.”
Julian glanced at her. “Yes, you can.”
Sophia stared at him. “How do you know?”
Julian’s voice went quiet.
“Because you’ve been stronger than you think for a long time.”
That was the moment Sophia realized the consequences weren’t coming—they had already arrived. Monday morning hit like a siren. Sophia hadn’t even finished her first cup of coffee when her phone lit up with a notification from the firm’s internal chat.
Miles had sent a company-wide message. No speculation. No posts.
No comments to media. Direct all inquiries to Communications. Sophia stared at the screen.
It was real. The office knew. Julian had already told them.
Her stomach churned. Julian appeared in her kitchen doorway in a crisp button-down, tie half-knotted, calm like he hadn’t just detonated the social order of his own company. “You don’t have to come in today,” he said.
Sophia blinked. “Yes, I do.”
Julian’s brows lifted. “Sophia—”
“If I hide,” she cut in, voice tight, “they win.
I’m not doing that again.”
Julian’s gaze held hers, something proud flickering there. “All right,” he said. “Then we do it together.”
Together.
The word settled in her chest. They walked into Croft & Redding at 8:11 a.m. The lobby was glass and stone and quiet—too quiet.
The receptionist looked up, eyes widening for half a second before she snapped into professional composure. “Good morning, Mr. Croft,” she said brightly.
Then, to Sophia, a beat too late: “Ms. Davis.”
Ms. Not Mrs.
Julian touched the small of her back, guiding her forward. “Morning,” he said evenly. “Any media outside?”
The receptionist swallowed.
“Not yet, sir. But… we’ve had calls.”
“How many?” Julian asked. The receptionist glanced at her notes.
“Seventeen. Since 7:30.”
Julian nodded like he’d expected it. “All routed to Communications?”
“Yes, sir.”
Julian’s gaze shifted to Sophia.
“Elevator,” he murmured. As the doors slid shut, Sophia felt the building’s silence press in. Julian exhaled slowly.
“First thing,” he said, “HR meeting. You say nothing unless you want to.”
Sophia swallowed. “HR?”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
“The world loves to pretend it cares about ethics right after it devours someone. We make it clean. We make it clear.”
Sophia stared.
“You planned this.”
Julian’s gaze flicked to hers. “I planned to protect you,” he said simply. The elevator chimed.
The doors opened to the main floor. Every head turned. Sophia felt it like heat.
A cluster of interns near the printer froze. A project manager mid-laugh went silent. Someone’s phone disappeared into a pocket too quickly.
Sophia lifted her chin and walked. Julian’s presence beside her was a steady wall. In the conference room, HR sat with a legal pad and a carefully neutral face.
“Thank you for coming,” the HR director began. “We understand there was… an unexpected personal development.”
Sophia’s mouth tightened. Julian’s voice stayed calm.
“Sophia will no longer report to me,” he said immediately. “Effective today.”
The HR director blinked. “Understood.
We’ll need to document the change and ensure there is no conflict—”
“Already arranged,” Julian cut in. “She’ll report to Marisol Chen as interim lead until we finalize her promotion to project manager.”
Sophia’s head snapped toward him. “Promotion?”
Julian didn’t look away from HR.
“Yes.”
HR’s pen paused mid-scratch. “Mr. Croft—”
“It’s overdue,” Julian said evenly.
“This is not a favor. It’s correction.”
Sophia’s pulse thundered. The HR director cleared her throat.
“We also need to address external inquiries—”
“I’ll handle media,” Julian said. “And internal?” HR asked carefully. Julian’s gaze turned to Sophia.
“What do you want?” he asked. Her instinct screamed: Make it small. Make it quiet.
Don’t draw attention. Then she remembered Aunt Carol’s voice. Sophia sat up straighter.
“I want to keep doing my job,” she said. “I want it clear that no one has permission to treat me like gossip.”
HR nodded. “We can reinforce conduct policy.”
Julian’s tone sharpened just a hair.
“Do.”
The meeting ended with paperwork and polite smiles that felt like armor. As they stepped into the hallway, Julian leaned toward Sophia. “You did great,” he murmured.
Sophia’s voice came out dry. “I feel like I’m walking through a cage of eyes.”
Julian’s gaze stayed forward. “Let them look,” he said.
“Looking doesn’t hurt you. Only believing them does.”
Sophia inhaled slowly. She followed him toward his office.
And that was when she saw Ryan. Not in person. On a screen.
Someone had left a browser open on a conference room monitor, and the headline was bold and merciless:
RUNAWAY GROOM SPEAKS OUT: “I WAS PRESSURED.”
Sophia’s vision tunneled. Julian’s hand snapped to the monitor, closing the laptop with a sharp click. Sophia’s chest heaved.
“Pressured?” she whispered. Julian’s jaw clenched. “He’s rewriting the story,” he said.
Sophia’s throat burned. “He abandoned me.”
Julian’s voice went low. “And now he’s trying to make you the villain for surviving.”
Sophia’s hands started to shake.
Julian stepped closer—not touching, but close enough his presence blocked the hallway. “Look at me,” he said quietly. Sophia forced her eyes to his.
Julian’s gaze was steady, lethal in its calm. “He can say whatever he wants,” Julian said. “But we have facts.”
Sophia swallowed.
“We have a video.”
Julian nodded. “We have the timestamp. The geotag.
Two hundred witnesses. Your father’s receipts. We have your choice.”
Sophia’s breath trembled.
“He’s going to make this worse.”
Julian’s voice didn’t soften. “Let him try.”
It hit her then that Julian Croft wasn’t afraid of a scandal. He was afraid of her believing she deserved it.
Sophia’s phone buzzed. A bank alert. Her stomach dropped.
Sophia opened it with shaking fingers. Attempted transfer: $7,000.00
Declined. Sophia’s mouth went dry.
Julian watched her face change. “What is it?”
Sophia’s voice came out thin. “Someone tried to transfer seven thousand dollars from my account.”
Julian’s eyes sharpened.
“From which account?”
Sophia’s fingers trembled. “The joint one Ryan insisted we open for ‘wedding expenses.’”
Julian’s jaw tightened. “Do you have two-factor authentication?”
Sophia nodded weakly.
“Yes.”
Julian’s voice went low, controlled. “Then he’s trying,” he said. “And he’s not done.”
Sophia felt nausea rise.
“He has my information.”
Julian’s gaze held hers. “Then we shut the door.”
Sophia swallowed. “How?”
Julian’s tone turned clinical.
“You call your bank. You freeze everything. You pull your credit report.
And you call my attorney.”
Sophia blinked. “Your attorney?”
Julian didn’t hesitate. “Not as my attorney,” he said.
“As someone who knows how to build a wall fast.”
Sophia’s throat tightened. “Julian, I don’t want—”
“This isn’t about pride,” Julian cut in quietly. “This is about protection.”
She nodded.
And that was when she realized Ryan hadn’t just abandoned her at the altar—he’d left hooks in her life, hoping she’d bleed herself trying to pull them out. Two hours later, Sophia sat in a private conference room with a banker on speakerphone, her hands wrapped around a paper cup of coffee she hadn’t tasted. “Yes,” Sophia said, voice tight, “freeze it.
All of it.”
The banker’s voice was sympathetic and rehearsed. “We can lock the account, Ms. Davis.
We recommend you also change passwords on all associated emails.”
Sophia swallowed. “Do it.”
Julian sat beside her, calm, taking notes like this was a project plan. When the call ended, Sophia stared at the table.
“He’s doing this on purpose,” she whispered. Julian’s voice stayed steady. “Yes.”
Sophia looked up.
“Why?”
Julian’s gaze didn’t flinch. “Because control is the only thing he has left.”
Sophia’s phone buzzed again. A message from an unknown number.
OPEN YOUR EMAIL. YOU’RE GOING TO WANT TO SEE THIS. Julian’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t,” he warned. Sophia’s fingers hovered. “What if it’s—”
“It’s bait,” Julian said.
Sophia’s throat tightened. “I hate that he still makes my heart race.”
Julian’s voice softened just enough. “That’s not love,” he said.
“That’s conditioning.”
Julian reached into his jacket pocket and placed the small flag pin on the table between them. Julian’s voice went low. “When your body wants to panic, you need an anchor,” he said.
“Touch it. Remember what you chose.”
Sophia swallowed and placed her fingertips on the cool enamel. The panic didn’t disappear.
But it stopped running the room. A knock sounded at the conference room door. Miles stepped in, his expression tight.
“Julian,” he said. “We have a problem.”
Julian didn’t move. “Define problem.”
Miles swallowed.
“City Clerk’s office called. They said the marriage license hasn’t been recorded yet, and the packet they received is… incomplete.”
Sophia’s breath caught. “Incomplete?”
Miles nodded.
“Missing a witness signature on one page. They’re saying you need to come in within seventy-two hours to correct it.”
Sophia’s world tilted. Julian’s jaw tightened.
“How is it missing?”
Miles hesitated. “They said the officiant mailed it, but one witness line is blank.”
Sophia’s hands went cold. “Chloe signed,” she whispered.
“I saw her.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed. “Then someone tampered with it,” he said. Sophia’s pulse thundered.
“Who would—”
Her mind snapped to one face. Aunt Carol. The way she’d hovered.
The way she’d smiled like she wanted Sophia punished. Sophia’s throat went dry. “My aunt,” she whispered.
Julian’s gaze sharpened. “Call Chloe,” he said. Sophia’s fingers shook as she dialed.
Chloe picked up on the first ring. “Sof?”
Sophia’s voice came out tight. “Did you sign the license yesterday?”
Chloe blinked audibly.
“Yes. I watched you sign. I signed.
Julian signed. The officiant had it in that envelope.”
Sophia swallowed. “Did anyone touch the envelope?”
A pause.
Then Chloe’s voice turned sharp. “Your aunt Carol did,” she said. “She snatched it after the ceremony and said she’d ‘keep it safe’ because ‘men are forgetful.’ I thought the officiant got it back.”
Julian’s voice cut in, controlled.
“Chloe,” he said, leaning toward the phone, “I need you to think. Did she take it out of your sight?”
Chloe’s breath hitched. “Yeah,” she admitted.
“She walked toward the back hall with it. I was… I was trying to keep your mom from fainting.”
Sophia’s chest tightened with rage. “She did this,” Sophia whispered.
Julian’s eyes were dark now. “We’ll fix it,” he said. Julian’s answer was immediate.
“We go to the City Clerk’s office. We bring witnesses. We sign again.”
Sophia’s heart pounded.
“That’s… public.”
Julian’s gaze held hers. “Yes.”
Sophia’s throat tightened. “And if Ryan shows up?”
Julian’s voice went low.
“Then he learns what it looks like when you don’t hide.”
She thought of Aunt Carol smiling in the comments. She thought of Ryan claiming he was pressured. She thought of the way the room had laughed.
And she realized something terrible and freeing. They wanted her to be ashamed. So she wouldn’t be.
Sophia lifted her chin. “When do we go?” she asked. Julian’s mouth tightened, almost-smile.
“Tomorrow morning,” he said. “Early. Before the cameras wake up.”
Miles let out a low whistle.
“Too late,” he murmured. “They’re already awake.”
Julian didn’t look at him. “Then we give them a better story,” he said.
Sophia’s fingers closed around the flag pin. Her anchor. Her decision.
And the smallest, fiercest thought sparked in her chest:
Let them watch. I’m done running.
