"Love doesn't arrive softly. It crashes through what's left standing"
A few weeks passed, soft and brutal at the same time.
The kind of weeks where grief and suspicion settled into the corners of my mind, but life outside kept moving whether I was ready or not.
Today we were at the construction site.
The sun cast a gold haze over the skeleton of the building. Workers hauled beams, machines hummed, and fresh paint coated the ground with sharp chemical scents. A commercial empire rising from dust.
I stood still, watching it all. Watching something that should have felt impressive... but instead looked like a storm gathering.
Sophie sat on a stone brick nearby, arms crossed, shoulders tense. I walked over and sat beside her, dust settling around us like ash.
She sighed; a quiet, heavy sound. "This building is going to cause a lot of problems one day."
I turned to her. "Then why did you want to build it?"
She blinked, surprised. "I didn't... this building would be the last thing I would have on my mind, to build"
I frowned. "Clint said you were the one who came up with the idea. That you—" I hesitated. "—dumped the workload on him because you had other priorities... and that you wanted 'credit without responsibility'"
Her face froze. Colour drained out. Then anger; sharp and raw rose to the surface. "He said what?"
"That you gave him the project. That it was your initiative. That you were... well, lazy."
She stood abruptly, fury igniting her expression. "I never even approved this. He took charge himself. He said I wasn't fit enough to make effective decisions, so he handled it. And this building... it's going to put the company in a horrible position. Asset-wise. Cost-wise. Long-term damage that'll take years to fix."
I stared at her.
Clint had lied to me. Lied about her. No surprise there.
Manipulated the narrative so he could pull strings behind her back.
A snake in a suit.
Sophie spotted Clint across the site and walked toward him with a storm in her steps. I followed, staying a few paces behind. "Clint!" she called sharply.
He turned; irritation already visible. "What now, Sophie?"
She stopped inches from him, voice steady but burning. "Why are you lying to everyone? Telling them I approved this project when you were the one who forced it through?"
Workers nearby slowed down, pretending not to listen... but listening.
Clint scoffed. "You didn't care enough to manage it, Sophie."
"No, I didn't have any part of this! I told you that it was a bad idea from the start and after you make me feel small about how I can't make proper decisions, you go off telling people that this was all my idea?!" Her voice cut through the thick construction air. "What was your plan, huh? To paint me as some sort of bad-heiress to remove me from my position and get it yourself? You told Grey I was lazy. I wonder what else you've told other people. Maybe that you're the one running the company? That I'm useless? That Victor's legacy was better off in your hands?"
Clint stiffened, face darkening with humiliation. "You're embarrassing yourself," he hissed.
Sophie's eyes narrowed, fierce and steady. "No. You are an embarrassment all on your own! I'm exposing you. In front of all these workers you pretend to respect. You're angry because the truth hurts... you're jealous. Jealous of a position you will never have."
Clint's jaw clenched. He stepped forward, fury twisting his features. "Watch your mouth."
But Sophie didn't stop. "You'll always be known as Victor's secretary. Never his equal. Never an heir. Never anything more than a shadow pretending to be a leader."
His face twisted.
Something snapped.
His hand lifted.
Ready to strike.
But before I even registered the thought, my body moved. I caught his wrist mid-air.
Hard.
Clint froze, his arm locked in my grip. My voice dropped to a low, dangerous calm.
"Touch her," I said quietly, "and you'll regret it."
He tried to yank his arm away, but I tightened my hold until he winced.
Sophie stood tall behind me, chin lifted.
She wasn't afraid. She was furious.
I let Clint's hand go sharply, pushing it away. "Don't try that again."
We turned and walked off, leaving Clint seething and embarrassed in front of the entire workforce.
Sophie was still shaking with anger when we got into the car.
I could practically hear her heartbeat from the driver's seat.
I didn't take her home.
Instead, I drove until the city noise faded and the world softened.
The old boardwalk stretched out ahead of us... wood creaking under the wind, ocean waves crashing in slow, rhythmic breaths. The sky was painted in warm sepia hues, like an old photograph come alive.
Sophie sighed as she stepped onto the boardwalk, the sea breeze brushing her hair back. She walked ahead slightly, staring out at the water.
"It's strange," I said, stepping beside her. "You don't seem happy in the heiress position."
"I'm not," she admitted, voice small but honest.
"What do you want then?"
She leaned against the railing, watching the waves lap at the shore. "I like reading. Always did. It was the only thing that made me feel like I wasn't trapped." A breath. "I wanted to be an author someday. Live quietly. Maybe in a small apartment somewhere far away. Just... write stories. Not run this... empire."
She looked down, biting the inside of her cheek. "Being an heiress wasn't a choice. It was a duty forced on me. Everything in my life has been forced."
My chest tightened.
"What about growing up?" I asked gently. "Was there anything that made you feel... safe?"
She shook her head slowly. "No. Victor controlled everything. He tortured me—emotionally, mentally. Sometimes physically. I don't even know what a normal childhood feels like."
The sadness in her voice was quiet. But powerful.
"I'm sorry," I said softly.
Sophie exhaled shakily, and I stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her waist. I didn't think—my body just moved, like some instinct older than thought. She leaned back against me, her head fitting under my chin.
We stood like that, a silhouette against the sea.
After a while she asked, "Did you always want to be a bodyguard?"
"Yes," I said. "Not because of the danger. Because of the purpose."
She tilted her head a little, listening.
"My dad taught me that protection isn't just about fighting. It's about knowing what others can't see. Being alert when everyone else relaxes. Anticipating danger before it exists. It's being the steady presence someone can rely on when the world feels unpredictable."
I paused.
"A bodyguard protects not just with strength... but with vigilance. With patience. With an unspoken promise." I rested my chin lightly on her hair. "If something comes for you... it goes through me first."
Her shoulders relaxed against me. I felt her smile; small, but real.
"You're doing an amazing job," she whispered.
And somehow, with her standing in my arms and the ocean breathing around us, I believed her.
For the first time in a long time, I believed her.