Sophie smirks. “Don’t worry about Lisa. She’s always been a bit of a battle-axe, but you just have to know how to chip away at her.”
The doors slide shut with a soft chime, and the lift hums to life, rising smoothly.
It slows slightly, taking its time between floors, the soft whirring of machinery filling the space. I shift my weight, glancing at Sophie. “Is it supposed to be this slow?”
Sophie clears her throat, suddenly very focused on the floor numbers lighting up above the doors. “Uh, yeah… it’s, uh, stopped before.”
Something about the way she says it makes me pause. Her face tinges slightly pink, her lips pressing together like she’s holding something back.
I narrow my eyes. “Sophie.”
“What?”
“You’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
I arch a brow, glancing between her and the slow-moving lift. “It would be a nightmare if this thing stopped.”
Sophie lets out a quiet cough, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Depends on who you’re stuck with.”
That’s when it clicks.
“Oh my god.” I whirl on her, mouth dropping open. “You and Marcus—” I gesture vaguely around the lift.
Sophie crosses her arms, trying for nonchalance, but the way she bites back a smirk betrays her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sophie!”
She shrugs, her smirk growing. “What? It has its benefits.”
I shake my head, fighting a reluctant grin, “I will never be able to stand in this lift normally again.”
She chuckles, winking. “That’s what Marcus said too.”
As I glance at her, something tugs at my chest, something warm, something bittersweet.
She’s happy. Truly, effortlessly happy.
It’s written in the way she smiles, the way her eyes light up when she talks about Marcus. She has someone who adores her, who looks at her like she hung the stars, who would probably set the world on fire if she asked. Creating a Foundation to help with Parkinson’s in honour of her father and she lets herself have it. I swallow hard, forcing my gaze forward as the lift finally reaches the top floor. Iamhappy for her, I truly am. But a small, selfish part of me, quiet and unwelcome, reminds me:
She has what I once wanted.
What I used to dream about when I was seventeen and reckless and so stupidly in love with Ben that I thought nothing else in the world mattered.
Now I’m standing in a five-star hotel, preparing to fight for my family’s business and livelihood. Sophie nudges me withher elbow, bringing me back. “You okay?”
I blink, exhaling sharply. “Yeah. Just… trying my best not to commit a crime in the next ten minutes.”
Sophie hums, tapping her fingers against the lift railing. “That’s fair. Just… maybe don’t break anything in there?”
I frown. “What, like the furniture?”
“No, the antique duck.”
I blink. “The what?”
Sophie sighs, like she’s already exhausted by this conversation. “Marcus has this weird, weird attachment to an antique ceramic duck in the penthouse suite. Hand-painted. Imported from France. I don’t know. Apparently, it’s ‘a conversation piece.’”
