Chapter 9

❤️Sophie❤️

The revolving doors glide open as one man steps inside. I don't know why everyone suddenly forgets how to breathe.

The lobby, which has been buzzing with conversations just seconds ago, falls into complete silence.

He’s tall. Very tall.

A perfectly tailored charcoal suit hugs broad shoulders capable of carrying the weight of the world without breaking a sweat. His shirt is open at the collar—no tie, no unnecessary accessories—just an expensive watch wrapped around his wrist.

He walks like he owns the building—actually, he walks like he owns the city.

Every employee immediately lowers their head.

“Good morning, Mr. Blackwood.”

“Welcome back, sir.”

“Your meeting room is ready.”

He acknowledges no one, no smile, no nod—nothing. What a snub. Who does he think he is? He’s rich, so what?

His face is ridiculously handsome in a way that should be honestly illegal—sharp jaw, dark hair, eyes so cold they could probably freeze lava.

Definitely not boyfriend material, more like the type of man who fires people for breathing too loudly.

I quietly step aside to let him pass. Rich people apparently deserve traffic lanes—the billionaire walks past me without so much as a glance.

Good.

I wasn’t planning on looking at him either—liar. I probably looked. Just a tiny bit. Maybe more than necessary. Okay, I stared. Sue me.

The elevators open, and he disappears inside with nearly ten men following behind him.

The doors close, and just like that, life returns to normal. Everyone starts talking again. The pianist resumes playing. People continue drinking their coffee.

I blink. “That was dramatic.”

A passing waiter smiles politely. “It always is whenever Mr. Blackwood is around.”

“I noticed.”

The waiter walks away without replying. I check my phone again—nothing.

Still no message from shadow_23.

My irritation grows. If this idiot stood me up, I swear I don’t know what I’ll do, but it’s probably going to be something horrible.

My eyes start to sting again—pregnancy has turned me emotional. This is stupid. A foolish mistake.

I sit down at table eighteen and glare at my phone as if intimidation might make it ring. It doesn’t. Five more minutes—nothing.

Five minutes later, I lose my patience.

*Where are you?* I send the message.

The reply comes almost immediately.

*Turn around*

My heartbeat skips. Slowly, I turn—nothing. Just people eating breakfast. “What the hell?”

Another vibration. *Not there.*

I frown. Then where? I spin in another direction—still nothing. Someone laughs nearby. Is he watching me? Laughing at me? The thought sends irritation crawling down my spine.

Another text arrives. *Window.*

I look toward the floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the city—still nothing. My eyebrows knit together. Is this man playing hide and seek?

Another message: *Left.*

I sigh dramatically before turning left. An elderly couple waves at me; I awkwardly wave back. Wrong people. Fantastic.

Another vibration. *Your other left.*

To be honest, I almost throw my phone away in frustration. I’m the one paying him, yet he’s still the one playing with me like I’m a fucking toddler.

“ I’m pregnant, not a compass,” I mutter under my breath. A woman at the next table snorts into her coffee. Wonderful. Now strangers are laughing at me.

My phone buzzes again. *Lift your head.*

Confused, I do—and that’s when I notice someone standing behind the glass railings overlooking the lobby. Far enough that I can see his face, but I know one thing: he’s looking directly at me.

My pulse begins to race. He lifts his phone. Mine vibrates. *Good. You followed instructions.*

Excuse me? Instructions? Like I’m his student or what? Who does this man think he is?

Another message appears before I can reply. *Come upstairs. Private lounge.*

I stare at the words, then at the stairs, then back at the words again. My instincts scream at me to walk away. My father’s echoes fill my head.

Forty-eight hours.

I close my eyes for one brief second. “Congratulations, Sophie,” I mutter under my breath. “You have officially reached the stage of your life where you are willingly following the instructions of a mysterious man into private lounges.”

Taking a shaky breath, I tighten my grip on my handbag and begin climbing the stairs.

My knees wobble with every step. Private lounge—that sounds like the beginning of every crime documentary.

“She was last seen following a mysterious man’s instructions into a private lounge.”

Wonderful. Exactly how I imagined my Tuesday.

I keep walking anyway because, unfortunately, homelessness sounds slightly worse than being featured on evening news.

The second floor is even more intimidating than the lobby.

Thick carpets swallow my footsteps, expensive paintings decorate the walls, and crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling.

A hostess smiles politely. “Can I help you, Miss?”

“ I… private lounge?”

“Straight ahead.”

I step in front of a pair of enormous double doors. Gold letters read: PRIVATE EXECUTIVE LOUNGE.

I swallow. Nope. This is definitely the wrong place. Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and step inside—and immediately freeze.

The room is enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city. Men in expensive suits are scattered around discussing business over coffee.

Several bodyguards stand against the wall.

Everyone turns to look at me. My heart hits the floor.

Every single pair of eyes is on me.

I force an awkward smile. “Wrong lounge.” I bow politely. “I’m sorry. I think I’m lost.”

No one answers. I laugh awkwardly—these people are weird.

Before I can embarrass myself further, I rush out of the room, stumbling into a waitress with a tray of red wine. Red wine pours over me from head to toe. Then the glasses and tray hit the floor with a loud crash.

Wow—today is the best day of my life. Why stop at ruining my life when the universe can ruin my outfit, too?

“I’m so sorry,” the waiter gasps.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” I say, bending to help pick up the broken glasses.

“Don’t.” The single word makes the entire lounge freeze.

I slowly lift my head. At the end of the room, the billionaire from downstairs is watching me.

His expression is unreadable, and the men around him haven’t moved. The bodyguards haven’t moved. Even the waitress looks terrified.

Why is everyone acting like this man is a president?

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and mine vibrates.

I stare at the notification.

Shadow_23: You are at the right lounge.

My brain completely shuts down.