My Forever One

The glass in Sophia Carter's hand was her fourth. Maybe fifth. She'd stopped counting after the second, when the sting of humiliation had begun to settle somewhere deep behind her ribs. The bar's dim lighting made it easy to blend in, to disappear into the velvet shadows and pretend she wasn't unraveling beneath the surface.

The low hum of sultry jazz curled through the air like smoke, weaving itself around the tinkling of glasses and the muted chatter of the city's elite. It was the kind of place you came to escape, to indulge, or to forget. Sophia was doing all three.

Her tailored blazer hung off one shoulder, her blouse slightly unbuttoned, exposing just enough collarbone to make her feel something-feminine, powerful, maybe even desirable. Today had been hell. She had spent months preparing the marketing pitch of her life, only to have her idea shot down in front of a full boardroom by a junior exec who couldn't spell "innovation" if it was stapled to his forehead. She hadn't even fought back. Just nodded stiffly, gathered her files, and walked out like a good little soldier.

And now she was here, drinking overpriced whiskey in a bar she couldn't really afford, in heels she should've taken off an hour ago.

"Rough day?" came a voice-smooth, deep, with the kind of confidence that made her spine straighten.

Sophia turned slowly, glass halfway to her lips. He stood beside her stool, hands in his pockets, wearing a perfectly tailored navy suit that hugged broad shoulders and a trim waist. His tie was loosened, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing just enough of a strong, tanned throat to suggest danger. Or indulgence. Maybe both.

His eyes were a shade between storm and smoke-gray with an edge of steel-and they were fixed on her with amused interest.

She lifted a brow, setting the glass down. "Let me guess-you read minds."

"No," he said with a half-smile, sliding into the stool beside her uninvited. "But I've had my share of rough days. And you look like you're trying very hard to forget one."

"Maybe I am."

"And is it working?"

Sophia tilted her head, considering him. "That depends. Are you here to help or distract me?"

"Why not both?"

A laugh slipped past her lips before she could stop it. She hated how rusty it sounded, like she'd forgotten how to flirt-how to feel anything that wasn't strategic or guarded. But something about him-his unshakable calm, the glint of humor under the confidence-was starting to chip away at the walls she wore like armor.

"What's your name?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Let's not do names tonight."

That should have been a red flag. An exit sign. But instead, it made her pulse skip.

"No names?"

"No history. No baggage. Just one night."

The offer hung between them, bold and forbidden.