(Sofia's POV)
"I will have you all to myself tonight," he said to me.
I held his gaze for a second, feeling the weight behind those words.
"You sound very sure," I replied.
"I am," Alessandro said calmly.
There was no hesitation in his voice, no room for doubt. Just certainty.
I exhaled lightly and stepped back, picking up the empty containers from the desk.
"Then you should finish your work," I said. "I'll be waiting."
His eyes followed me. "I won't be late."
"You better not."
A small smile crossed his face.
He walked me out of the office himself.
The staff stepped aside as we passed.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Alessandro."
I nodded in response, barely paying attention. My focus was on him — the way he moved, the way he carried himself like nothing had ever happened.
At the elevator, I turned to him.
"Call me when you're done."
"I will."
"And don't stress yourself."
He smirked slightly. "You've said that already."
"I'll keep saying it."
He stepped closer, closing the space between us, then kissed me — quick, but firm.
"Tonight," he reminded.
"I'll be waiting," I said.
The drive back home was quiet.
But my mind wasn't.
Victor Kane's voice echoed again.
Adrian planned it.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
If that was true, then nothing about this was over.
By the time the evening settled in, I was already home.
The mansion felt calmer than usual, but not empty. There was a quiet rhythm to it—the soft movement of the maids, the distant clink of utensils from the kitchen, the low hum of life continuing as it always did.
But tonight felt different.
I didn't sit still.
I went straight to the kitchen, joining the maids and my aunt as they prepared dinner. At first, they were surprised to see me step in, but I didn't explain much. I simply moved alongside them, helping where I could, adjusting small things, making sure everything was just right.
It wasn't about the food alone.
It was about him.
Everything was.
The table was set carefully, each detail in place, warm dishes arranged neatly, the atmosphere calm and inviting. When it was done, I stood there for a moment, taking it all in.
It felt… right.
Like something steady in the middle of everything we had been through.
I left the kitchen shortly after, my steps slower now as I made my way upstairs.
Inside the bedroom, the silence wrapped around me differently—softer, more personal.
I walked toward the wardrobe and opened it, my fingers moving across different fabrics before stopping on something darker. Simpler. More intentional.
I took it out slowly.
There was no rush in the way I moved, no hesitation either. I wanted this. Not out of pressure, not out of fear—but because I chose to.
I changed quietly, the fabric settling against my skin, light but deliberate, shaped in a way that didn't hide much. It wasn't loud or excessive, just enough to feel… certain.
When I looked at myself in the mirror, I paused.
Not to judge.
Not to doubt.
Just to take in the moment.
This wasn't about perfection.
It was about presence.
About reminding him that beyond everything—the danger, the tension, the weight he carried—there was still something waiting for him here.
Something steady.
Something his.
I adjusted my hair slightly, then let my hands fall to my sides, exhaling softly.
Downstairs, everything was ready.
And now…
So was I.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway broke the silence, and I moved immediately, my attention snapping toward the door. A second later, I heard it open and close, followed by steady footsteps that echoed faintly through the house.
"Sofia."
His voice reached me before I saw him, calm and familiar in a way that instantly settled something inside me.
I walked into the living room and found him already there, jacket off and sleeves rolled, as though he had stepped back into his place without effort.
"You're back early," I said.
"I told you I wouldn't be late."
I nodded as I stepped closer, my eyes studying him for a moment longer than necessary, as if I needed to reassure myself that he was truly here. For a brief second, neither of us spoke—we simply looked at each other, the distance between us holding more weight than it should have.
Then he closed it.
His hand came to rest at my waist, pulling me in just enough to ground me, to remind me that this wasn't just another moment slipping away.
"You've been thinking too much," he said quietly.
"And you haven't been thinking enough," I replied.
A faint smile touched his lips before he leaned in and kissed me, and this time there was no hesitation in it, no pause—just certainty. I responded without holding back, my hands settling against his shoulders as the tension I had been carrying all day slowly gave way.
When he pulled back, his forehead brushed lightly against mine.
"I'm here," he said.
"I know," I answered softly.
He took my hand then and led me upstairs without another word, and I followed him easily, the quiet understanding between us saying more than anything we could have spoken. When we reached the bedroom, he paused at the door, his gaze holding mine for a moment as if he needed to be sure I was still with him, still present.
"I meant what I said," he murmured.
"I know."
That was enough.
Inside, everything else seemed to fall away—the danger, the questions, the uncertainty. None of it mattered in that moment. His hand moved slowly along my arm, steady and grounding, before pulling me closer again, and this time I didn't hold anything back.
The kiss deepened, warmer and more certain, built not on urgency or fear, but on something steadier.
Something real.
His hand moved slowly along my back, drawing me closer as if there was no longer any distance he was willing to allow between us. I responded without hesitation, my fingers tightening slightly against him, holding on in a way I hadn't realized I needed to.
There was no rush in the way he touched me, no impatience—just intention. Every movement felt measured, like he was reminding both of us that we were here, that this moment was ours and untouched by everything waiting outside those walls.
I felt it in the way he held me.
In the way he didn't pull away.
In the quiet certainty that settled between us.
When he finally broke the kiss, it wasn't to create distance, but only to look at me, his gaze steady, searching, as though he needed to see what I was feeling without me saying a word.
My breath was uneven, but I didn't look away.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said softly.
I nodded, my voice quieter than I expected. "I know."
His forehead rested briefly against mine, grounding, before his hand found mine again, guiding me with a calm familiarity that felt natural—like this was exactly where we were meant to be.
There was no need for more words.
Everything that mattered had already been said.
And in that moment, being close to him felt like the only thing that made sense.
Without a second thought, he started kissing my neck, his hands moving softly over my body, not rushed, just gentle and intentional.
When he turned and captured my lips again, the kiss deepened, and I felt it instantly. I was already dripping, unable to hold back any longer. It had been the first time since the accident, and everything felt heightened.
I unzipped his pants and brought out his dick. He was hard—very hard.
"I want you inside of me," I whispered slowly.
Before I could finish, I felt him, warm and firm, as he entered me gently, moving in slow, steady strokes.
"Don't stop," I whispered. "Right there…"
"Do you miss this?" he asked quietly. "Do you like this?"
"Yes… just like that," I answered, my voice unsteady as soft moans escaped me.
He kept moving, unhurried but certain, the rhythm building gradually between us until neither of us could hold back anymore.
"I'm coming," I said breathlessly, and he let out a low moan as he followed, collapsing gently against me.
We stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, holding on to the quiet that followed.
As we go asleep together.