The elevator doors slid open to the private top floor of the hospital. Everything up here was quieter.Sleek. Polished.
Unlike the buzzing lower levels filled with rushing nurses and rolling gurneys, this floor breathed in marble and silence.
Sophia walked the hallway with quiet confidence, her heels whispering across the pristine floor.
At the end stood a double door—frosted glass, gold handles. The name etched cleanly on the side:
Dr. Harris Whitmore – Chief Executive Officer
She didn't knock. She never had to.
The assistant glanced up and nodded as Sophia approached. "He's expecting you, Dr. Whitmore."
Sophia gave a single nod in return and pushed the door open.
The office was wide and immaculate. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the room in natural light.
A row of degrees and plaques lined one wall; a bar cart, untouched, stood in the corner.
Behind a sleek desk sat Harris Whitmore—salt-and-pepper hair, a sharp tailored suit, and the weight of a man who had built an empire with quiet power.
He looked up from his tablet and smiled. "Sophia."
"Father."
He gestured to the chair in front of him. "Sit. You're early."
"I don't like being rushed."
He chuckled softly. "That much hasn't changed."
She sat, crossing one leg over the other, posture impeccable.
"I assume this isn't about the foundation meeting," she said smoothly.
Harris leaned back slightly, folding his hands over the desk. "No. It's not."
Sophia's expression remained unreadable, but her fingers pressed tightly into the armrest—just enough to betray her thoughts.
"I spoke with Marissa," he said after a pause. "She mentioned you've been… unwilling to entertain the dates she's arranged."
Sophia's lips pressed into a line.
"She told you that?"
"She did."
Another pause. Neither of them moved.
"She worries about you being alone," Harris continued. "You work long hours, you never bring anyone home—Marissa thinks you're isolating yourself."
Sophia's tone remained calm. "Marissa thinks a lot of things."
"She means well, Sophia."
"No, she means control," Sophia corrected, her voice soft but firm. "You know that as well as I do."
Her father sighed, not arguing. Not defending.
"She only wants what's best."
"No. She wants what's best for her son. Not for me."
That struck a chord. Harris looked down briefly, as if something in her tone unsettled him.
"I'm not here to pressure you," he said after a moment. "I just want you to be happy."
"You think an arranged date will do that?"
"Maybe not. But companionship matters."
Sophia leaned back slightly, the wall of elegance never cracking—but something about this moment was beginning to needle at her.
Her father watched her carefully, sensing her resistance. "I'm not asking you to fall in love tomorrow.
But at least give someone a chance. Humor your stepmother this once."
Silence stretched between them. Tension rising—quiet, but sharp.
Sophia held his gaze for a long moment.
And then, without fully realizing she was going to say it, the words slipped out.
"I'm already seeing someone."
Harris blinked.
Sophia blinked.
The room held its breath.
It wasn't a lie.
It wasn't the truth, either.
Just something in between.
Her father leaned forward slightly. "You are?"
Sophia nodded once, slowly. "Yes."
A beat.
"Well…" Harris cleared his throat. "That's… good. That's great. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I wasn't ready," she said quickly. Too quickly. "It's new."
"I see." A small smile pulled at his lips, half confusion, half relief. "Is it serious?"
Sophia looked away for the first time.
"I don't know yet."
Her father nodded slowly, eyes still trying to read her. "I'm glad, Sophia. Truly. You've carried too much alone. It's good that someone is… with you."
She forced a slight smile. "Thank you."
He seemed satisfied. Or at least, less suspicious.
"You'll let Marissa know?"
"I will," Sophia said, standing. "I should get back to my rounds."
Harris stood too. "I'm proud of you. Not just as my daughter, but as a doctor. And… I hope they make you happy."
She paused at the door.
So did the truth.
As she walked back down the hall, the echo of her own words stayed with her:
"I'm already seeing someone."
But she wasn't.
So… why did she say it?
Sophia stepped back into her office, her heels muted against the tiled floor.
The calm expression she wore with her father still lingered on her face, but inside, her thoughts were a quiet storm.
She wasn't the kind of woman who lied.
Especially not about something like that.
But the words were out now. And she'd said them like they meant something.
Like someone meant something.
Before the door even closed behind her, Clara popped up from the guest chair in the corner, waving her tablet like a flag.
"There she is! I was about to start chewing my own hand."
Sophia blinked. "You waited?"
"I said we'd eat together. I take my promises seriously, Whitmore." Clara narrowed her eyes playfully. "Don't even try slipping behind your desk."
Sophia moved toward it anyway. "I have two files—"
"Nope." Clara cut her off, stepping in her path. "You owe me lunch. I waited thirty-seven minutes."
"You counted?"
"I always count when I'm hungry."
Sophia raised a brow, amused despite herself.
Clara grinned. "Come on. I know a place nearby. Not hospital food. Actual food. Food that tastes like someone loved it."
Sophia hesitated. Just for a second.
But Clara was already grabbing her coat from the wall and tossing it her way. "Let's go. No stalling. I'll physically drag you."
"You wouldn't dare."
Clara's eyes gleamed. "Try me."
Sophia gave a small, resigned sigh. "Fine."
Sophia followed, coat in hand, but her steps slowed behind Clara's laughter.