Chapter Text
The first time Benedict saw her, she was carrying three boxes of oranges through the hotel lobby like she owned the marble beneath her feet.
Not a guest.
Not staff either.
Just… determined.
He noticed determination before beauty. Beauty was common in his world. Determination was rare.
The oranges nearly slipped from her arms when a businessman clipped her shoulder without apologizing. She staggered, caught the boxes against her hip, and kept walking with her chin high.
Benedict watched from the mezzanine balcony of the Grand Aurelius Hotel, whiskey resting against his lower lip.
“Who’s that?” he asked lazily.
John, his assistant glanced down. “Vendor delivery, I think. Bakery applicant.”
“Applicant?”
“The café space beside the east wing has been vacant for months. She’s been trying to lease it.”
Benedict looked down again.
Dark hair pinned messily back. Plain cream blouse dusted with flour at the cuffs. No jewelry except a tiny silver necklace with jade pendant
Not wealthy, then.
But proud.
Interesting.
And undeniably beautiful.
Three days later, he found her arguing with the leasing manager in the lobby.
“I already submitted the proposal,” she said tightly. “Twice.”
“And I explained twice,” the manager replied with rehearsed patience, “that the Aurelius brand requires established partners.”
“I am established. Online orders, private catering, wholesale pastry contracts—”
“With respect, Miss Baek, your business exists out of your apartment kitchen.”
Benedict stepped in before he consciously decided to.
“That’s how every good restaurant starts.”
The manager immediately straightened. “Mr. Bridgerton.”
Sophie Baek turned toward him.
God.
Up close, she was worse.
Not polished. Not delicate. Not the kind of woman his family paraded through charity galas.
Her eyes were sharp with exhaustion and fury.
He liked that far too much.
“What seems to be the problem?” Benedict asked.
The manager hesitated. “Miss Baek lacks the financial guarantees required for tenancy.”
Sophie inhaled slowly like she was trying not to explode.
“I have investors lined up,” she said.
“You have one investor,” the manager corrected. “Who backed out yesterday.”
Her jaw tightened.
Benedict watched humiliation flicker across her face for half a second before she buried it.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
“How much?” Benedict asked casually.
Sophie frowned. “Excuse me?”
“How much capital do you need to open?”
The manager looked alarmed. Sophie looked offended.
“Why?”
“Because I’m considering solving your problem.”
“I didn’t ask for charity.”
His mouth curved.
“No,” he agreed softly. “You don’t seem like the type.”
She met him the next evening in his private lounge overlooking the city skyline.
Sophie arrived in the same cream blouse.
No designer labels. No practiced seduction.
Just a notebook clutched tightly in her hands.
Benedict found himself irrationally pleased she hadn’t tried to impress him.
“You’re late,” he said.
“By two minutes.”
“You still counted them.”
She ignored that. “Why are you helping me?”
Straight to the point.
He leaned back against the sofa. “I have an image problem.”
“I know who you are.”
“I’m sure you do. Headlines tend to exaggerate.”
“They said you disappeared from your own engagement party.”
“I did.”
Her lips twitched before she stopped herself.
There it is, he thought.
He wanted to see her laugh again.
“My family wants stability,” Benedict continued. “Investors want stability. The board wants stability.”
“And you think funding a bakery helps?”
“No.” His gaze settled on her. “You help.”
Understanding dawned slowly in her expression.
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
She sat straighter. “You want me to pretend to date you.”
“Accompany me publicly,” he corrected. “Galas. Events. Dinners. Six months.”
“And in exchange?”
“I finance your café completely.”
Her fingers tightened around the notebook.
Benedict watched the exact moment temptation hit her.
Not greed.
Hope.
That was far more dangerous.
“You’d spend millions for appearances?”
“I spend millions on worse things.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then:
“There would be rules?”
He smiled slowly.
“Of course.”
Something in her eyes flashed at that.
Not fear.
Challenge.
God, he was already in trouble.
The café opened four months later.
Baek Atelier.
Warm lights. Fresh pastries. Hand-painted menus. A line out the door every morning.
Every inch of it funded by Benedict Aurelius.
And everyone knew it.
Sophie hated that part.
“You’re scowling at your own opening,” Benedict murmured beside her.
“You invited reporters.”
“I own half the reporters.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“It makes it efficient.”
He reached to brush flour from her cheek before thinking about it.
The room seemed to still.
Sophie looked up at him.
Too close.
Far too close.
Benedict’s hand lingered.
He told himself to move it.
Instead, he slid his thumb softly along her skin.
“You’re exhausted,” he said quietly.
“I’ve been baking since four in the morning.”
“You should’ve hired more staff.”
“With what money?”
He gave her a look.
Her eyes narrowed instantly. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Act like everything here belongs to you.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because technically—
It did.
The lease.
The renovations.
The imported ovens.
The custom espresso machines.
His money had built all of it.
And they both knew it.
Benedict stepped closer.
The noise of the café blurred around them.
“You think I’d hold it over your head?” he asked softly.
“You could.”
The honesty in her voice sliced through him.
Because she was right.
He could ruin her with one signature.
Pull funding.
Terminate contracts.
End everything.
Power sat naturally in his hands; he’d been raised with it.
But standing in her café, looking at flour smudged across her cheek and stubbornness burning in her eyes, he realized something unsettling.
Sophie Baek was the first thing he’d ever had power over that he didn’t want to break.
“I won’t,” he said.
Her expression softened slightly.
Then someone called Benedict’s name across the room.
Philip Cavender, a wealthy investor approached, smiling too broadly at Sophie.
“You must be the famous girlfriend.”
Sophie smiled politely.
The investor kept staring.
Too long.
Benedict felt irritation curl instantly beneath his ribs.
“She’s busy,” he said flatly.
The investor laughed awkwardly. “Right. Of course.”
He walked away quickly.
Sophie blinked. “That was rude.”
“He was staring at you.”
“So?”
“So I didn’t like it.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Silence.
Heat gathered low in Sophie’s cheeks. Unnamed feelings suddenly bubbling up.
Then she whispered:
“You can’t get possessive when this relationship is fake.”
Benedict looked at her for a very long time.
Then he said quietly:
“What makes you think it still is?”