Page 46 of Ruined By the Enemy
And I know I shouldn’t care—because my intentions weren’t good either—but I can’t help agreeing with Raffaele.
Sophie’smine.If anyone were to take her off the board, it’d be me.
A couple of hours later, well past midnight, the car pulls up in front of my house. I exit quickly, rounding the other side to help Sophie.
She stops when the door closes and stares at my house with a sigh. “You didn’t have to bring me here. It’s just a couple of injuries.”
And a vendetta from a stranger.
I keep my comments to myself. “The housekeeper has the week off, but there’s a spare room on the first floor that you can sleep in.”
Inside, the house is dim, just the glow from recessed lights along the hallway casting a soft path forward. I leave the front door ajar for her, waiting silently until she finally moves.
Her steps are slower now, with the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t just come from injury but from holding it all in.I’ve seen it before.More times than I’d like.
I lead her down the hall, past the living room and the study, then push open the door to the guest room.
“The bathroom’s through there.” I nod toward the sliding door on the left. “There are clean towels and a robe. Sheets are fresh.”
Sophie lingers in the doorway, and the distance between us feels smaller with every breath I take. I drink her in without meaning to—from her hurried attempt to make her hair look presentable, to the bruise on her collarbone that makes her look small.
Vulnerable.
Which means I should turn and go.She’s safe now. That should be enough.
But then she speaks, quietly. “Will you stay?”
I blink. She’s staring at the floor, not at me. “Just for a minute. I don’t want to be alone.”
The silence almost swallows the words, and it takes everything in me not to respond too quickly, going against the tiny voice in my head that tells me I’m not agreeing out of pity.
Or care, either.
I nod once and step inside. “Okay.”
She exhales and walks over to the bed, but doesn’t sit. Instead, she picks up the blanket and gathers it in her hands. I don’t notice mine is stretched out until I see her looking at it, her eyes wide and searching.
I pull back as I clear my throat. “How long do you want me to stay?”
Her lips part, but no words come out. “Sophie?” I press.
She shakes her head once, jaw clenched. “I’m fine.” The words crack, just barely, but there’s enough in them to see how much she’s holding back and the strain it has.
I don’t call her on the lie. I just take one step closer. Then another.
When she finally sinks onto the edge of the bed, her shoulders tremble the tiniest bit—so slight it might’ve gone unnoticed. I sit beside her, close enough to feel her warmth, but not touching.
And I stay.
“Have you ever come close to dying?” she whispers.
“Yes.” I nod. Many times. It was the sacrifice I made to take over Moretti Group instead of handing it all to my uncle.
Sophie sighs. “Of course. That’s why you’re the way you are.”
My brows are arched when I turn to her, and her eyes are still searching when they look into mine. Caramel whispers against my skin, nudging the walls between logic and emotions. Or trying to unite both, I’m unsure.
“The way I am?” I ask.
