Page 25

SOPHIE

I lie awake next to Alessio, staring at the ceiling.

His arm is slung over my waist, our bodies still tangled from last night.

It should feel perfect. It almost does. But my mind won't shut off, work deadlines, investor pressure, the nagging voice reminding me I’m falling behind.

And then there's him. The way he holds me like I’m something precious, like I’m not just a woman with spreadsheets and deadlines, but a person worth loving just as I am. It sends a shiver down my spine, a terrifying sense of peace I’ve never known.

The panic tries to rise, but it’s met with something deeper, heavier. Longing, maybe. Or hope.

The way he makes me feel seen, wanted, loved, like I’m not alone in the chaos. But that’s the problem. He makes it too easy to forget everything else.

The careful walls I’ve built around my life are starting to crumble brick by brick.

I press my lips together, trying not to let the panic crawl up my throat. I can’t afford to lose focus now. Not with so much on the line.

I whisper to the dark, "Can I really have both?"

Sometime after sunrise, I slip out of bed and head to the office early.

My eyes are bloodshot, my hands trembling slightly as I sip my second coffee of the morning.

Merger reports blur together as I scroll, re-read, and re-analyze figures I should’ve nailed last week.

I tell myself it’s just a rough patch. Just a temporary dip.

But the truth gnaws at me. Something’s slipping. I’m slipping.

My assistant knocks gently and pokes her head in, her voice careful. “Don’t forget your investor briefing was moved to eleven.”

“I know,” I snap before I can stop myself.

She flinches, and instantly guilt settles into my bones.

“Sorry.” I soften my tone. “Thanks. It’s just… a lot this morning.”

She nods and disappears, the door clicking shut behind her.

I stare at the screen in front of me, not really seeing anything.

The buzz in my chest isn’t caffeine anymore, it’s pressure. And it’s rising.

The cracks are showing. And they’re not so easy to patch.

By the time I make it to the glass conference room, my brain is already a mess of half-written emails and looming deadlines.

I slip in just as Denver finishes updating a slide on projected returns. Dad's there too, because of course he is, typing aggressively on his tablet like the world depends on it.

My father barely glances at me when I take my seat, but that doesn’t stop the commentary. “You’ve been harder to reach lately. This merger can’t afford distractions.”

My spine straightens. “I’m not distracted.”

His gaze lifts, calm and cutting. “Good. Because this is your moment. Don’t let emotion derail it.”

Emotion. As if that’s a dirty word.

I bite the inside of my cheek and force a nod.

When my father adds something smug about scheduling conflicts and how “personal matters” are creeping into professional hours, I snap.

“I don’t remember you getting grilled when you dated that intern three years ago.”

The room goes quiet.

Denver coughs into his coffee. My father's face flushes, lips pressing into a thin line.

My father finally looks at me, really looks.

The weight of his gaze lands like a challenge, and for a beat, the room holds its breath.

I straighten my shoulders, refusing to flinch, letting the silence stretch until it snaps like a live wire between us.

“Sophie—”

“I’m just saying. Let’s not pretend this concern is purely professional.”

He doesn’t respond, and the meeting continues like nothing happened.

But my heart won’t stop pounding.

Because I meant every word.

My phone buzzes the second I step out of the meeting. I glance down and my stomach tightens.

E:

Word is you’ve been killing it with Alessio and the merger. Bosses are impressed. When this wraps up, there’s a senior partner seat with your name on it. Just say the word.

I stare at the message, pulse ticking in my neck.

Clive & Associates. The job. The recognition. Everything I thought I wanted before it all came crashing down.

It’s redemption, served cold, classy, and tied in a bow with a corner office and my name on the door. Six figures. My own clients. National campaigns.

It’s everything I used to believe would fix everything. Everything I thought would make me feel whole again after what happened with Cash Carson, after I lost my career and nearly lost myself.

And yet… all I can see is Alessio’s face. The way he looked at me this morning like I was his entire world. How he made pancakes like it was second nature, humming off-key and shirtless in the kitchen.

My fingers hover over the screen, but I don’t type anything back.

Because for the first time, I’m not sure what I want anymore. Or maybe I do… and that’s what scares me.

Later, I grab lunch with Halie, desperate for air and someone who won’t talk to me in projected quarterly returns.

She’s already seated when I arrive, her red lipstick perfect, her sunglasses oversized.

As I sit, she peers over them and smirks. “You look like a woman who’s either wildly in love or dangerously constipated.”

“Jesus, Halie.”

“Both things can cause a similar expression.” She sips her iced tea.

I sigh. “It’s everything. The job. The offer. Alessio. I don’t know how to juggle it all anymore.”

Halie squints at me over the rim of her glass. “Wait. What offer?”

I exhale. “Clive & Associates. E texted me this morning. Said the partners are impressed with how I’ve handled the merger. They’re offering me a senior position. Big title. Big paycheck.”

Halie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Holy shit.”

“I know.” I trace the edge of the napkin with my nail. “It’s the job I used to dream about. A seat at the table. My name on the damn door.”

“And?” She leans forward.

“And I’m frozen. Because I’m not sure it’s what I want anymore. Not entirely.”

Halie narrows her eyes at me. “Let me get this straight. You’ve got the hottest man in New York in your bed and a six-figure job offer with your name on it, and you’re miserable?”

“I’m not miserable. I’m… confused.”

She twirls a straw in her drink. “So, don’t choose yet. Or choose both. Or neither. Just don’t sabotage the one good thing that’s making you feel alive right now.”

I glance down at the untouched menu, fingers curling tight in my lap.

It’s not that simple.

I want to believe I can have both.

But I’ve never known how.

***

That night, I come home to the smell of something charred and distinctly edible.

Alessio is in the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, humming along to some nineties pop music playing on his phone.

He’s in a black button-up that hugs his shoulders and arms in a way that should be illegal, and somehow he’s managed to make pasta with a marinara meat sauce, though the garlic bread is scorched beyond redemption.

He's also plated some Italian pastries that look delicious.

I’m floored. Absolutely floored.

Because this man, this reckless, infuriating, once-chaotic man, is here, trying. And not for show. For me.

He turns just in time to see my expression and grins, dimples flashing. “I might’ve burned the bread, but this pasta sauce slaps hard.”

I laugh despite myself. “You’re using my campaign briefs as coasters.”

He shrugs and pours me a glass of wine like he’s hosting a five-star dinner. “Gotta keep things balanced.”

He hands me the wineglass but doesn’t let go right away. His thumb grazes mine.

“Hey, Sophie,” he says, voice low.

I blink. “Yeah?”

He looks straight at me, all playfulness stripped away. “It’s okay to be tired. You don’t have to hold it all together for me.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

He sets the glass down gently, like he's afraid the weight of the words might break it.

“ Dolcezza , you move like someone who thinks if she stops, everything will fall apart. But you don’t have to earn anyone's approval.

Not from your dad, those investors. Not from me.

I'm proud of you and If no one else sees how hard you've been working, fuck them.

I'm here for you, and I'm not going anywhere.”

My heart scrambles up into my throat, hot and aching.

I want to cry, from relief, from love, from the weight of finally being seen. I want to kiss him until the fear dissolves. I want to scream because I don’t know how to hold something this precious without breaking.

My heart scrambles up into my throat.

I want to cry. I want to kiss him. I want to scream because I’m so overwhelmed with how deeply I feel for him.

And it terrifies me.

Because this, him, us, this weird little domestic slice of a night, feels like everything I didn’t know I was waiting for.

And I don’t know how to hold it all without breaking.

Later that night, Alessio falls asleep quickly, one arm draped over my waist like it belongs there. His breathing evens out in minutes, soft and steady, his body warm against mine.

But I lie wide-eyed in the dark, staring at the ceiling, my pulse jittering like a live wire under my skin.

Alessio’s arm is heavy, anchoring me in a way that should feel comforting, but all it does is highlight the storm raging in my chest.

The contrast is too sharp, his steady breathing, my frantic thoughts.

He’s so sure, so still. And I feel like I’m quietly coming undone.

He’s asleep, completely content, completely unguarded.

And I’m unraveling.

The job. The offer. The man sleeping beside me. The version of myself I thought I had to be to get everything I ever wanted… and this new version that just wants to be held.

I haven’t told him about the offer. Not because I’m trying to lie. Just… because saying it out loud might make it real. Might mean choosing. And I’m not ready to choose. Not between the life I’ve fought tooth and nail for, and the man who’s made me question if I even want it anymore.

I reach up and touch his hand where it rests on my stomach.

His fingers twitch, then settle again.

It should feel perfect.

It almost does.

But there’s still a part of me, buried, jagged, unresolved, that keeps whispering fears in the quiet.

I turn toward him, my voice barely audible.

“What if I’m not built for both?”

I’m not even sure what I mean. Love and career… or Alessio and a future without him?

All I know is, the closer I get to having everything, the more I’m afraid of losing it all.