Chapter Text
Sophie’s high heels were wobbling dangerously on the gravel beneath her and she was swaying side to side—something she was currently blaming entirely her best friend for.
Not that Hazel cared. Hazel was far too busy trying (and failing) to remain upright herself, her hands clinging to Sophie’s arm for balance while she giggled at her own clumsiness and lack of grace.
They must have been a sight.
In a small, sensible corner of her mind, Sophie knew they were being reckless—perhaps even stupid—wandering the dark, nearly empty streets in short, shimmering dresses at this hour, thoroughly drunk and without a proper plan. But she had stopped caring somewhere around the third shot of tequila.
Her head was spinning in circles, and her stomach and her throat still burned from all the raw alcohol. She only was certain about one thing and one thing only.
“Phillip’s such an idiot.”
The words came out more slurred than she intended as they careened into a smaller street Hazel insisted was a shortcut to the street where all the best clubs were.
“Preach!” her best friend agreed loudly, pumping her fist in the air and nearly losing her balance in the process. “An idiot! All men are dicks!” She paused thoughtfully. “Except John. John’s pretty sweet.”
“He is.” Sophie nodded.
They were momentarily distracted when Sophie misjudged her step, and since Hazel was in no state to correct their trajectory, they swerved right off the pavement and into the thankfully deserted road.
Hazel laughed, apparently delighted by their collective lack of coordination. Sophie, however, was more troubled by the rebellion of her limbs, but after a moment, she found herself laughing too.
Because really, if she fell and broke something tonight, it would simply be in keeping with the rest of the day.
It would just be the cherry on top of a very, very terrible day which had begun with a visit from her step-sister Posy and had ended with the discovery that her boyfriend had been cheating on her. What stung wasn’t the act itself—it was the way he had used her.
He had let her believe their relationship was real while she unknowingly served as a convenient buffer—a shield against his family’s high expectations and the responsibilities that came with being heir to a manufacturing tycoon. And he had never once thought to trust her with the truth.
“I would have played along if he’d asked,” she muttered, more to herself than to Hazel. “He didn’t have to pretend.”
“That was a very shitty move,” Hazel agreed, having heard some version of this argument several times already that evening.
“He could have told me he needed a fake girlfriend,” Sophie continued, her voice quieter now. “He didn’t have to make me think…”
She trailed off.
He had made her think they were serious, that he would propose and they would get married and that she would finally begin to live a life of stability. Araminta had even approved of the match, which should have been a warning in itself. For a brief, foolish moment, he had let her think her whole life was finally heading in the right direction. That she would no longer be the inconvenient addition to a family that had never truly wanted her.
Sophie hadn’t been in love—not really. Phillip often made crude jokes that made her wince and there had always been something slightly performative about his affection. But she had been willing to try. Willing to commit. Willing to build something honest.
What hurt, really, was the fact that he had played her instead of trusting her.
It was humiliating to find out that you were the butt of the joke instead of a willing accomplice.
“Why are we in the middle of the road?” Hazel hummed, peering around as though the answer might present itself if she stared hard enough.
Traffic lights blinked lazily in the distance but still no sound of car engines. It was too late, Sophie supposed. Or too early.
Hazel had a point. They needed to get off the road and—
That was when she saw it.
Perfectly aligned with the curb. Polished to an almost offensive shine beneath the streetlight.
Phillip’s car.
The brand-new black SUV with all the expensive, unnecessary upgrades—heated seats included—that he had brought home a few of weeks ago like a proud father. Watching him that day, one might have thought he’d assembled the engine with his bare hands, or even birthed the car himself. He had been insufferably proud of it ever since.
Sophie had hated the monstrous thing on sight.
“Hazel…” she said quietly, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road, her gaze transfixed on her prize.
Hazel froze as well, her fingers tightening around Sophie’s arm, her green eyes sweeping the empty street as though she expected something far worse than traffic. “What?”
“That’s Phillip’s car.” Sophie told her.
Her friend frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes.” she hissed.
There was no mistaking it.
It made perfect sense. His favourite club was just around the corner. The entire point of the two of them weaving through dark streets from their usual bar had been to go to that very place and be seen—so no one would assume Sophie was hurt over the break-up.
Of course he would be there.
And in a way she refused to examine too closely, it felt deliberate. Almost like fate.
“But don’t they have valets at White’s?” Hazel insisted, frowning at the SUV as though it had personally offended her.
“Who cares?” Sophie replied.
It did not matter why Phillip had left it in the street instead of valet or private security. Perhaps he wanted to show off. But Sophie Baek, if she was honest, had learned today that she knew nothing about Phillip Cavender. What mattered most was that the car was there without any kind of protection whatsoever—gleaming, unguarded, utterly exposed.
She headed straight for the SUV, Hazel stumbling after her.
“What are we doing?” her best friend asked, unease creeping into her voice. Sophie didn’t answer and instead dragged one nail lightly along the side of the car door. The result was unimpressive.
“Soph,” Hazel warned quietly, glancing up and down the street, “if someone sees us next to an expensive car and calls the police—”
“I’ll be quick.” Sophie promised, pressing down harder with her nails. The nails left the faintest suggestion of a mark. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
A hot, irrational tightness spread through her chest. He had made her make a fool of herself. Let her build futures out of nothing. Let her defend him. Let her trust him. She wanted to leave a mark. She wanted Phillip to hurt the way she was hurting. She wanted him to be furious. Payback was an ugly thing. She scratched harder but the noise made her grit her teeth and it barely peeled the immaculate black paint.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Hazel muttered. “If you’re going to do it, use your keys. I’ll keep watch.”
Sophie went very still.
She reached into her clutch and withdrew them, metal glinting beneath the streetlight. The key to Phillip’s new flat slid between her fingers. A different sort of idea flickered briefly at the edge of her thoughts—something involving his flat and an inconvenience he would not easily explain—but she pushed it aside. One thing at a time.
She placed the tip of the key against the fender.
For a second—just one—she hesitated.
Then, she drew the key in a slow, deliberate line from the curve of the wheel well to the center of the door, leaving a bright, unmistakable scar in the black paint.
Her heart pounded.
There.
It was ugly.
It was petty.
It was done.
“Hey!” a man shouted from the distance, proving, if anything, that Hazel was terrible at looking out.
“You’re a terrible lookout!” Sophie accused, her alcohol-soaked brain barely able to form sentences.
“I’m a baker, not a criminal!” Hazel shot back.
Two large men came running, but Sophie’s heels and the liquor in her system had other plans. She tried to flee, stumbled, and then everything happened at once.
“Where do you think you’re going?” one of the men snapped, grabbing her arm hard and swinging her around. Sophie’s brown eyes went wide. He was tall, dark, and imposing, his grip firm and precise.
Hazel had been clinging to her hand, and it made her lose her balance entirely. She tripped, shrieking, batting at the hand holding her, whacking his chest, kicking at his shin. A groan and a curse escaped him, but he didn’t loosen his grip.
“I have pepper spray!” Hazel cried from the ground, frantically emptying her clutch. “I’m not afraid to use it! Leave us alone!”
Even as she struggled to get free, Sophie saw her best friend emptying her clutch on the road to find the promised can of pepper spray.
Even as Sophie struggled to get free, the man’s eyes stayed fixed on her, calculating, controlled, unyielding.
“Oh God” the second man snorted, still hovering near the SUV, inspecting the scratch. “Want me to call it in, buddy?”
“She keyed my car, what do you think Henry?” the first man growled.
Sophie froze. “…Your car?”
The man gave her a firm shake but, she noticed, now that she wasn’t trying to escape, he also wasn’t gripping her that hard anymore. “I saw you. You’re gonna tell me that those aren’t your keys on the ground?”
Her brown eyes darted from her lucky red keychain abandoned on the floor next to the car’s door to the man with who was tapping on his phone.
“Those are my keys, but it’s not your car,” she managed, her voice shaking.
Just as Hazel had finally found the spray can and tried to get to her feet with a yell… she stumbled and fell right back down with a small, distressed strangled noise.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the second man groaned, slipping his phone back into his pocket, seemingly deciding that calling the police could wait. He strode closer, confident and careful, and Sophie tried to position herself between him and her friend, but the first man’s grip on her arm held firm.
“Here—let’s pick up your stuff and get you standing, okay?” He shook his head. His voice was low, precise, and sharp, each word clipped. He shook his head at the other man in a glance that somehow silenced him. “They’re wasted.”
“Yes, well, it doesn’t mean it gives them a pass to key my car.” he grumbled.
Sophie struggled, batting at his hand weakly. “But it’s not your fucking car!” she sputtered, slurring the words. “I… I apologize for the language.” Her tongue felt thick, clumsy, and her voice came out rough, words unintelligible. “That’s… that’s not your car.”
He lifted a single dark eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. “I promise you, love, that it is my car.”
Sophie blinked at the nickname. Rude, she thought, her stomach fluttering with equal parts panic and something else she didn’t want to name.
Her heart thumped in her chest. He was impossibly tall, impossibly strong, and he was impossibly infuriating. She had to force herself to look away before she tripped over her own thoughts.
He was rude, and yet, it was less rude than keying a stranger’s car, really.
But it wasn’t his car so it didn’t matter.
She glanced at Hazel. The other man seemed intent only on helping her gather the scattered contents of her clutch, not on attacking her. Hazel still gripped her pepper spray, eyes flicking to him like a hawk, ready to strike if necessary. Sophie let out a shaky breath and turned back to the man who was so intent on arguing with her.
His hair was trimmed neatly, rich chestnut locks swept neatly back. Light stubble traced a sharp line along his jaw, and his expensive-looking cashmere coat seemed to hang effortlessly over broad shoulders. Despite the irritation etched across his face, a smirk hovered at the corner of his mouth, the sort of crooked smile that hinted at amusement.
But it was his eyes that caught her—stormy, green and piercing. Sophie felt her chest tighten; for a moment, the air itself seemed too heavy to draw in.
Likely the tequila, she told herself, though it did little to calm the fluttering in her stomach.
“You’re mistaken,” she insisted, trying to sound firmer than she felt.
He let out a disbelieving scoff that could have almost passed for a snort. “Miss, I can promise that I am not.”
“You are exceedingly confident for someone accusing a stranger,” Sophie remarked, letting herself relax slightly now that she was fairly certain neither man meant them harm. His companion had helped Hazel to her feet and taken a cautious step back, hands raised.
“Guilty as charged,” the man holding her said. “As guilty as you and that key.”
“But it is not your car!” Sophie snapped, gesturing toward the SUV. “It is Phillip’s!”
“Who’s Phillip?” the other man asked, burying his hand in his pockets.
“That’s her asshole ex-boyfriend,” Hazel said, finally tucking the spray can back into her clutch. “He cheated on her and made a fool of her, and now everyone knows he just used her so his dad wouldn’t find out he didn’t want to inherit the family business. We hate him.”
There was a beat of shocked silence from the two men, and Sophie couldn’t blame them.
“Okay. Fair enough,” the other man said at last, a small laugh escaping. “We hate him.”
“Don’t humor them,” the man holding Sophie grumbled.
“Oh, come on, Benedict,” the other replied, shaking his head. “This kind of drama only happens to you.”
Benedict…
It was a nice name, Sophie decided, and it suited him. It suited his broad shoulders, strong build, his grip that was firm but not cruel.
“I’m very sorry your boyfriend, or well, ex-boyfriend is shitty,” Benedict said finally, letting go of her arm, “but that isn’t his car. And even if it were… keying it is still very much illegal, regardless of how awful he might be.”
“Of course it’s his car,” Sophie insisted, squinting at the SUV. It was Phillip’s car, wasn’t it? It looked exactly like Phillip’s.
“Of course it’s not,” he countered smoothly, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“But… but…” Sophie stammered, glancing at Hazel for support. Her friend looked just as lost, hugging herself and darting nervous eyes between the SUV and the two men. Maybe she’d sobered up a little during the ordeal; Sophie wished she could say the same for herself. Her thoughts were still thick and sluggish.
“But… it looks like a car a man buys to compensate for—well, you know—and you do not look like the sort of man who needs that,” she slurred, gesturing vaguely at him.
Benedict stared, utterly still, for a long, impossible moment.
Then his friend burst into laughter, and Sophie’s words hung in the air, clumsy and ridiculous.
“Thanks,” Benedict finally said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint, crooked smile, irritation giving way entirely to amusement. “I do need a new car. My brothers picked this one for me.” He glanced at his companion. “Remind me to ask Anthony and Colin if they were trying to send me a subtle message about… well, me—when they chose it. Actually… Nevermind. Don’t remind me.”
His friend doubled over, holding his stomach to stifle laughter.
And that was when Sophie spotted the undeniable proof the car wasn’t, in fact, Phillip’s.
Her heart sank, then fluttered with relief and embarrassment all at once. She had been arguing with a stranger, in the middle of the street, about a car she hadn’t even looked at properly.
“There’s a flower,” she whispered.
It was a small thing, a fake daisy dangling from the rear-view mirror.
He shrugged. “Yeah. One of the kids put it there for good luck.”
Sophie’s heart hammered against her ribcage. She felt queasy, and not in the alcohol way.
“This isn’t Phillip’s car,” Sophie whispered, horror creeping into her voice.
“Nope,” he said, shrugging again.
“This… this is your car. This is definitely your car,” she finally realized, the words tumbling out like a confession.
“So I've been telling you.”
“But I hurt it,” Sophie whimpered, lips wobbling. “I hurt your car!”
“Wow,” he said, awkwardly reaching for her arm. “It’s… okay. It hasn’t hurt it. Really. Don’t…”
But she couldn’t stop it. Her chest heaved, and she broke into heavy, ugly sobs.
“Oh, sweetie!” Hazel cried, suddenly hugging her, tears streaking her own face.
“I am so sorry!” Sophie wailed.
“I’m sorry too!” Hazel added, sniffling. “I’m even more sorry that we might go to jail… and it wasn’t even the right car!”
Benedict took a step back, watching them as if they were completely unhinged.
“Well, that’s a mess,” Henry said, glancing between them.
“Shut up, Henry,” Benedict muttered with a sigh, his tone clipped. “Help me get them off the road. Bloody dangerous.”
“So rude!” Sophie complained, though she allowed the men to shepherd her and Hazel to the pavement, where, at least, no car could run them over. Then guilt sank in—here she was, whining about rudeness when she’d just committed a crime. “I am so sorry I hurt your car…”
“It’s fine,” Benedict said again, sighing, the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. “Give it another couple of weeks and it’ll be scratched and bumped beyond repair anyway.” He exchanged a sharp, knowing look with Henry. “Once Hyacinth gets behind the wheel…”
“That kid’s a menace on the road,” Henry agreed, shaking his head.
“Please don’t worry—it’s perfectly fine,” Benedict insisted, his tone calm, almost indulgent. “As I mentioned, give it a few weeks or so and you won’t even notice a thing.”
“Want me to call someone?” Henry asked, looking at Hazel.
She let go of Sophie and took a pleading step toward him. “Please… don’t call the police. We’ll pay for the damage.”
“Yeah, that ship has sailed,” Henry said with a sigh. “Haven’t had you arrested yet; we’re not going to now. I meant someone to pick you up. You can’t wander out here by yourselves. You’re too drunk—it’s dangerous.”
Sophie’s lips wobbled and tears still streaked her cheeks as she glanced from Hazel to the untouched side of the car.
“Come on…” Benedict cleared his throat and, almost awkwardly, brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. To wipe away her tears, she realized. “Stop crying. It’s just a car. Not worth it. And doesn’t sound like your ex is worth it either.”
She licked her lips as he dropped his hand, wishing he would touch her again, wishing she could lean into the warmth of his palm and…
“John?” Hazel stammered into her phone. “We did something really bad and we need a ride… We’re… We’re… I’m not sure…”
Hazel sounded lost, scared even, and Sophie felt a pang of guilt. If she hadn’t had the brilliant idea of committing petty crimes…
“Here, give me,” Henry said, snatching the phone from Hazel’s hand. “Hi, John. No, she’s fine. They’re fine. They’re just… really wasted. We don’t want to leave them like this. Yeah, no problem. We’ll wait until you get here.”
She barely listened as Henry rattled off an address to John, and Hazel reclaimed the phone to continue her conversation. Sophie vaguely registered that John wanted her to stay on the line, just in case—which was probably wise, given that, for all he knew, they were in the company of two strangers who had picked them up in the street.
Benedict was still watching her, and she found herself licking her lips again, her drunken brain conveniently forgetting that she probably looked like a melted panda.
“You have children?” she asked, the words slurring slightly.
His expression softened. “Oh no. Just younger siblings.” He made a small, rueful face. “I’m the second of eight.” He paused, then shrugged. “That’s why my name begins with a B—my parents, in their infinite wisdom, decided to name us alphabetically.”
That was… a lot. Sophie wasn’t sure she had processed all of it. Hazel was still talking to John on the phone, and Henry occasionally interjected, but Sophie and Benedict had drifted slightly to the side.
It felt like a bubble, suspended in the chaos. Mostly because he was watching her with that look. The kind of look that made her stomach flutter and her cheeks warm. She reminded herself, vaguely, that she was drunk, disheveled, and probably a ridiculous sight.
“No wife?” she asked.
His green eyes twinkled with amusement. “Not that I’m aware.”
Why couldn’t he give a simple answer to a simple question? She tilted her head, deciding that meant he wasn’t married. “Girlfriend?”
“I don’t really have girlfriends,” he said smoothly, shrugging.
She blinked, trying to process. “Boyfriend?”
His eyes widened slightly, and he took a reflexive step closer. Sophie stepped back, pressing lightly against the car, and he immediately stilled, leaving her enough space not to feel crowded.
“I’m very much interested in women, love,” he said, voice low and calm, but there was a teasing edge that made her stomach clench. “And men. Just… not particularly interested in dating right now.”
Sophie’s brain tripped over the words, her drunken mind trying to follow, trying not to trip over the way he looked at her.
She hadn’t realized Hazel’s chatter had died down until her best friend piped up again. “Oh, shush, darling. We aren’t about to be assaulted, and this is much more interesting than talking to you on the phone…”
Benedict shot a startled glance at Hazel and Henry, as if he’d completely forgotten they were there. He was distracted now but Sophie wasn’t. Her mind was very much on track.
“I’m cold,” she declared suddenly, closing the distance between them in two short, wobbly strides—she really needed to fix her heels or make them more liquor-friendly—and slipped a hand under his heavy coat.
He drew in a sharp breath at the contact. “Your jacket seems warm. Is there room for me there?”
She pressed closer, gazing straight into his eyes.
“So, let me get this straight,” he said, smirking, “you keyed my car and now you intend to steal my jacket?”
“I want you to kiss me,” she said bluntly, because apparently, subtlety was beyond her in this state.
Did she imagine him leaning in? There wasn’t much space between them now. She could feel his breath.
“If only you were a little less… drunk, and I a little more so,” he muttered, tone low, teasing.
She pouted. “I quite know what I am doing, thank you.”
“The scratch marks on my car suggest otherwise, love,” he deadpanned, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“Sophie,” she offered, belatedly realizing she hadn’t introduced herself.
“Sophie…” he repeated, voice softening slightly.
She shivered again—not entirely from the cold. With a long-suffering sigh, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Their eyes never broke contact.
Sophie felt something she couldn’t name, her heart fluttering against her ribcage as she leaned into the warmth of his jacket.
“Is he falling in love with her?” Hazel whispered, wide-eyed.
“Bloody looks like it,” Henry snorted, incredulous.
The comment broke the spell. Benedict stepped back, clearing his throat, irritation flickering across his face.
“Shut up,” he said to his friend, voice clipped. “I just don’t want her freezing to death.”
“Right,” Henry mocked, smirking. “Very gentlemanly of you, Ben.”
Before Benedict could reply, John’s car pulled up beside them. Hazel practically leapt from Sophie’s side into John’s arms, jabbering and blubbering incoherently about everything that had gone wrong that evening, leaving him utterly bewildered.
John inspected the damage to the SUV, wincing. “I can leave you a check—”
Benedict waved him off with a faint smirk. “No need.”
“I think he wants the girl instead,” Henry muttered, chuckling. Hazel, ever oblivious, nudged him in the ribs and giggled like an idiot.
Sophie, wobbling slightly, shuffled closer to Benedict again, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. “It’s… cold,” she mumbled, leaning just a fraction into his jacket.
He didn’t move back, but his eyes darkened slightly, stormy and unreadable. “Careful,” he said, his tone low but amused. “Try not to freeze to death.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, voice unsteady, though she didn’t really feel fine. Her brain was far too muddled by alcohol and adrenaline to form anything coherent.
“Alright,” John cut in, a little dazed and clearly overwhelmed by the scene he’d walked into. He gently grabbed Sophie’s arm and tugged her back. “I think it’s time for the ladies to get some rest.”
“But I want to stay with Benedict,” Sophie protested, wobbling slightly.
“And I want to have a drink with Henry!” Hazel argued, looping her arm around his shoulders. “He’s fun.” She paused as he slid his arm around her waist to steady her. “But no funny business—I’m in love with that one.”
She pointed at John.
John gave a soft, loving smile that made Sophie’s stomach twist. She wanted someone to look at her like that too.
Henry barked a laugh. “Tell you what. You go with your boyfriend, and we’ll have a drink soon, yeah?”
Sophie thought he was humoring her, but Hazel seemed satisfied and allowed Henry to help her into the car. John shot Henry a grateful glance, and Sophie felt the pinch of jealousy all over again.
“I’m truly sorry about all of this,” she mumbled again, voice wobbling.
“No need,” Benedict said smoothly. “I’ve seen far worse, trust me.”
Sophie barely registered being guided toward the car, not understanding why Benedict wasn’t following. When it occurred to her, Benedict wasn't coming with them, she twisted from John’s loose grip and planted herself squarely in front of Benedict.
“Do you like me?” she asked plaintively. Dignity could wait. She had very little of that left today anyway.
Benedict tilted her chin up with a single finger, brushing his lips against hers in something that was almost, but not quite, a kiss. Her eyelids fluttered shut at the contact.
“Ask me again when you’re sober,” he murmured, calm and measured, but the faintest twitch of amusement softened his tone.
Sophie blinked, still reeling. That was all well and good… but her drunken brain refused to process why he wouldn’t just give her a proper answer.
“Phone,” she demanded, a sudden flash of clarity cutting through the haze.
“Bossy,” he remarked, one eyebrow lifting.
She didn’t even flinch. “Just give it here.”
Benedict pulled a sleek from his back pocket and handed it to her. She barely registered how nice it was, too focused on the task at hand.
She typed in her number, squinted at the string of digits, then thrust the phone toward John’s impatient face. “Is that right?”
“Do you really think I know your number by heart?” her friend deadpanned.
“Check it!” Hazel called from the car. She would have stepped out to help, but Henry gently nudged her back into her seat.
John double-checked the digits, then handed the phone back to Benedict with another apology—entirely unnecessary in Sophie’s opinion.
“Call me!” she managed to shout before John finally persuaded her to climb into the backseat.
She wasn’t sure if Benedict had answered. The last thing she heard before the car door slammed shut was Henry’s laughter. She twisted around as John put the car in gear and saw him clap Benedict on the shoulder.
Benedict stared after the car as it pulled away, and she stared right back until he disappeared around the corner.
She sank back into her seat with a soft sigh.
“Seatbelt, Sophie,” John reminded her.
He looked more amused than exasperated, and if there had been any irritation at all, it vanished when Hazel grabbed his hand and pressed a quick, light kiss to it.
Sophie fumbled with her seatbelt, and only once she was buckled in did she realize why she felt so bulky. She hadn’t handed Benedict’s coat back.
She buried her nose in the collar and breathed it in.
It smelled good.
He would have to call to get it back, wouldn’t he?
And then… Well, then she would be sober, and she would ask him the question again.