Page 7 of The One Who Changed Everything

But I wouldn’t trade the result for anything. Sophia was my life. And now, Evan's sudden presence threatened to unravel the secrets I'd held close for fourteen long years.

The Chicago trust fund frat boy might have stumbled back into my life, but there was no way I would let him disrupt the peace I'd found here—or the future I promised to protect for Sophia.

“Mom! The water!”

I jumped, grabbing the pot handle and turning down the burner, but not before a sizzling hiss of water met the stovetop. Steam curled into the air, and I winced.

“Ooops,” I muttered, reaching for a towel to wipe up the mess.

Sophia sighed dramatically from where she stood at the kitchen counter. “You okay?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at me.

I forced a smile, ignoring the knot in my stomach. “Just a long day.”

Sophia’s sharp brown eyes studied me, too wise for her fourteen years. “You’re lying to me.”

My fingers tightened around the wooden spoon as I stirred the pasta. “I don’t know what you mean. Fix the salad, would you?” Maybe giving her a job would distract her from this line of questioning.

Sophia snorted. “Fine, but I’m not dropping this.” She pulled veggies from the fridge and grabbed the salad bowl and wooden tongs. “Is it money?”

I inhaled deeply, stirring the noodles as if they held all the answers. “No, it’s not.”

Sophia hummed in a way that told me she didn’t buy it. “Uh-huh. You know, Lola said that you can sell plasma if we need to make money.”

Despite myself, I let out a soft laugh. “Well, Lola is technically right, though I won’t be doing that any time soon.”

“So what is it?”

I exhaled, my heart aching at how much she was growing up—and at the truth I was still keeping from her. “I promise I’ll tell you when it makes sense.”

Sophia rolled her eyes. “Whatever. That means you won’t.”

I smiled, ignoring the bit of attitude. I knew she was only pushing because she cared about me. I hated lying to her, but I couldn’t tell her the truth yet. I would, though. I just had to figure out how.

The sun was bright against the pale blue sky when I stepped out into the still, cool air of the parking lot the next morning. The familiar distant rattle of the train through town and the subtlerustle of leaves in the early-morning breeze promised a day like any other in Minden's quiet routine.

I dropped my bag in the passenger seat of my car and then turned the key. Instead of the engine’s confident roar, all I got were sputters and half-hearted coughs from my old sedan. A sense of frustration knotted in my stomach; today was not the day for this. I was already running late. Sophia had overslept and I barely got her on the bus on time.

"Great," I muttered, stepping out of the car to confront the stubborn machine head-on. My hands felt clumsy and uncertain as they fumbled to find the hood latch. It finally gave way with a metallic yawn, revealing the chaotic innards of my vehicle. I hated to admit I had no idea what I was looking for.

I peered into the mechanical abyss, trying to summon knowledge from a car maintenance video I'd watched years ago. But everything blurred into a conglomeration of pipes, wires, and reservoirs, none of which sparked recognition or understanding.

I felt the pressure mounting, the weight of the day's schedule pressing down on me. Being late was not an option—Mr. Henley already hated me. I was pushing for a raise, and he’d love nothing more than to blame my tardiness for my lack of career progression.

We needed that five percent bump, though. With each passing minute, I could feel the opportunity slipping through my fingers.

I stood back from the car, debating my options with my hands on my hips, when the sound of footsteps approached.

"Trouble?" His voice was like the rumble of a distant storm—calm but hinting at powerful forces beneath. I didn't have to turn around to know it was Evan; his presence seemed to charge the air.

Because I couldn’t resist the pull, I glanced over my shoulder, taking in the sight of him—still clad in his MRFD T-shirt, tucked neatly into his dark blue pants.

"Car won't start," I replied curtly, my pride flaring up like a match struck against a rough surface. "And I'm perfectly capable of handling it."

"Of course you are." Evan's words were gentle, no trace of condescension. He stopped beside me, gazing down at the open hood with an assessing eye. "I just got off a twenty-four-hour shift, so I can either continue on to my apartment, which is apparently quite close to yours…" There was a pause, a moment of unspoken negotiation. "Or, you can let me check on your car.”

I hesitated, caught between the need for punctuality and the stubbornness that had become my shield. With a reluctant nod, I stepped aside, granting him access to the engine.

“On one condition: you listen while I talk,” he said with a smirk.

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