Page 12 of Muse (The Forbidden Hearts #1)

SOPHIE

S unlight splashes across my face, its warmth wrapping around me like a hug.

The rich scent of coffee curls through the air, slipping beneath the haze of sleep and tugging me toward consciousness.

I shift, the unfamiliar texture beneath me stirring a sliver of unease.

My bed isn’t this firm. My sheets don’t smell like this.

Clean, crisp, and edged with something undeniably… masculine.

My eyes snap open. Beige walls. A flat-screen TV. A white couch.

Not my room. Not my house.

A jolt of awareness shoots through me, and suddenly, last night isn’t so hazy anymore.

Images flicker behind my eyes, fragmented and vivid.

Stumbling down the road. His headlights cutting through the dark.

The way his hands felt, strong and steady, as he lifted me off my feet.

The shift of muscle beneath my cheek as I curled into him.

Oh. My. God.

I slept here. He brought me here.

I bolt upright, my heart hammering against my ribs.

My dress is wrinkled but still in place, my body cocooned in a red blanket I don’t remember grabbing.

He must’ve put it over me. The thought makes my heart stutter in my chest, an inconvenient little pang at the idea of him, my bar guy turned teacher, taking care of me.

Panic surges next, sending my hands scrambling for my phone. Parents. Missed calls. Shit. If they…

My gaze snags on my phone across the room, plugged in neatly under the TV. Another little kindness. Another thing that makes my stomach twist. I lurch for it, unlocking the screen. No missed calls from my parents. Thank god. But…

Ten missed calls.

A flood of texts from Sal.

Sal: Where are you?

Sal: What the fuck, girl? Did you leave?

Sal: Okay, I’m worried. PICK UP YOUR PHONE.

Sal: I’m really freaking out now. Jeff said someone saw you stumble off down the road.

Sal: Don’t make me call your parents.

A fresh wave of dread washes over me. I fire off a quick reply before she follows through on that last threat.

Sophie: I’m okay! I’ll explain later, promise.

My phone vibrates instantly.

Sal: OMG, I was about to start a search party. Did you go home?!

My fingers hover over the screen. The truth sits heavy on my chest, but I know how this will go if I tell her. She’ll press and dig, wanting details. And I… I don’t even know what to make of this myself.

Sophie: Yes.

The lie makes my stomach turn, but I let it lie. I need space to process.

Pocketing my phone, I scan the room, searching for an exit. No front door in sight. If I move quietly, maybe I can slip out before I have to …

Too late.

Movement catches my eye, and I freeze. He’s standing in the doorway, watching me.

And fuck. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a white T-shirt, his hair a tousled mess, his jaw shadowed with the remnants of sleep.

The kind of look that shouldn’t be this attractive but absolutely is.

There’s an edge of exhaustion to him, shadows under his eyes that weren’t there before. Because of me.

Great.

I lift my hands, running my fingers through my hair and wincing.

God, I probably look like hell. Movies always make waking up seem effortless, but in reality, morning-after hair is more rat’s nest than romantic.

Meanwhile, he… well, he’s the exception to the rule.

Annoyingly perfect even after a rough night.

“You’re up,” he says, his voice unreadable.

“Unfortunately.” My throat is raw, the sound of my own voice making me wince.

He gestures toward the coffee pot. “Coffee? There’s creamer in the fridge.”

I nod, drawn in by the scent alone. He moves aside, and as I reach for a mug, my eyes catch on the collection stacked inside the cabinet.

I bite back a laugh. “Wow.”

His brows lift. “What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just admiring your taste in aggressively corny mugs.”

I grab one that reads Jolly AF and pour myself a cup. No creamer. Just black, the way I like it.

The counter in front of me is cluttered with unopened mail. My gaze flickers over the top envelope, catching the printed name.

Theo Hayes.

Theo .

It suits him. And I do a little dance inside, now knowing his name.

I settle onto a stool at the counter, leaving one between us. A buffer. The coffee is strong and smooth, warming my insides as I take a sip. I close my eyes, humming in appreciation before I can stop myself.

Beside me, he stiffens.

I blink at him. “What?”

His jaw ticks as he looks away and changes the subject. “So… how much do you remember?”

I trace the rim of my mug with a finger, eyes flicking toward him, then back to my coffee.

I remember enough.

The solid warmth of his chest as he carried me inside, the gentle way he tucked the blanket over me, the way he looked at me… like he was torn between wanting to protect me and forcing himself not to touch.

Like he was holding back.

A shiver trails down my spine, barely noticeable, but his eyes catch it.

I force a small, wry smile. “Enough to be embarrassed.”

He exhales through his nose, slow and measured. “You don’t need to be.”

I huff a humourless laugh. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one who passed out in their teacher’s car after getting shit-faced at a stupid party.”

His jaw tightens at the word. Teacher.

I don’t miss it.

Emotion flickers behind his eyes, but it's quickly buried. Like he needed the reminder. Like I needed the reminder.

I take another sip of coffee, letting the bitter heat roll over my tongue.

“You carried me in, didn’t you? ”

His fingers curl around his mug, knuckles white. He doesn’t answer right away, and I know that means yes .

“What else was I supposed to do?” His voice is rougher now. “Leave you in the driveway?”

I tilt my head, watching him. “Mmm. How chivalrous of you.”

His nostrils flare. His hands drag over his face, rubbing at his eyes. “Just finish your coffee, Sophie.”

The way he says my name sends another ripple down my spine.

“I’ll drive you home once you’re done.”

I lean back, pretending to consider. “No breakfast first?”

He shoots me a look, clearly exasperated and unimpressed. But there’s something else there, too.

A hesitation.

Like he almost, almost wants to say yes.

But then he shakes his head. I pretend not to be disappointed.

I go quiet for a moment, staring into my mug, letting the silence settle between us.

Then I ask, softly, “Can I ask you something?”

His eyes lift to mine, wary but open. “Yeah.”

“Why’d you become a teacher?”

He blinks, caught off guard. Not by the question, maybe, but by me asking it– like he hadn’t expected me to care.

He leans against the counter, arms folded across his chest. It takes him a few beats to answer.

“I didn’t want to, at first,” he says slowly. “I wanted to be an author. Still do, I guess. But I needed work. A friend offered me a long-term sub position, and I said yes. Figured it was temporary.”

I wait. I can feel there’s more.

“But it wasn’t just a paycheck,” he admits after a beat.

“I started seeing how many kids came through those doors with no one looking out for them. No one telling them they mattered. And I remembered what that felt like. Being seventeen. Angry and alone. I thought... maybe I could be the person I needed back then.”

I can’t look away from him, his words resonating with me in a way I couldn’t have anticipated.

“You’re kind of hard to read,” I say softly, eyes on my mug.

Theo glances at me, brows lifting slightly. “That a bad thing?”

“No, just…” I shrug. “Most people I meet talk about themselves constantly. You don’t. It’s… different.”

He leans back a little, lips quirking. “Not much to say.”

“I doubt that,” I murmur.

His eyes flick toward mine again. “People don’t usually ask.”

That lands heavy, the emotion behind his words like a punch to the gut. I pause, fingers tightening around my mug.

“Well,” I say, leaning towards him just the smallest bit, “they should. You deserve people who ask.”

He studies me for a long second. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“What made you start drawing?”

I look down. “I think I needed a place to put all the things I couldn’t say out loud.”

The words fall from my mouth before I can think through them, but once they’re in the air, I feel how true they are.

His brow furrows, like he's seeing more depth to me now.

“Did someone hurt you?” he asks quietly.

My mouth goes dry. I nod, even though I’ve never talked to anyone about this besides Sal.

He waits.

“My ex,” I say. “He was older, too. Not by much, just enough. I thought he loved me. He told me I was everything. And then he… changed.”

The next words tumble from my mouth, desperate to be set free. “He didn’t hit me or anything. Not like that. But he broke me in other ways. Controlled me. Made me feel small—crazy. Like I was lucky he even noticed me.”

I swallow hard.

“He cheated. Repeatedly. Lied about it until he didn’t even bother lying anymore. And by then, I didn’t even recognize myself.”

A long silence stretches between us.

Then Theo says, “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

His voice is quiet, but laced with fury. Like if he ever met the guy, he wouldn’t be responsible for what happened next.

I glance at him. “Have you ever been through something like that?”

He hesitates. Then nods. “Different shape, maybe. But… yeah. I know what it’s like. To trust someone who makes you feel like you’re too much and not enough all at once. Makes you question your own instincts.”

Our eyes meet and hold.

He doesn’t reach for me, doesn’t try to fix it. Just sits with it. With me.

And that… god, that’s what makes me want to cry.

“You see me,” I whisper, almost without meaning to.

“I have since the first night we met.”