Sophie’s POV
That evening, lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, it hits me: I screwed up. Big time.
I should have accepted Bellamy's proposal. Should have said yes to the walk, gained his trust. Then I could have tried to escape and had a much better chance. We'd be outside. I could have run.
Instead, I told him to fuck off and locked myself in here.
Stupid.
What if he changes his mind? What if tomorrow he decides I've had my chance? What if this was my one opportunity and I threw it away?
Fear courses through me—sharp and urgent. I need to fix this now. Before something changes or Bellamy decides I'm not worth the effort.
I hear water running. The bathroom. I'm off the bed, following the sound. My heart pounds as I approach the door.
I open the door.
"Bellamy, I wanted to say…"
The words die.
He's just stepped out of the shower, water dripping down his chest, and he's just tying a towel around his waist—right now, this second.
Which means I catch a glimpse of something an engaged girl definitely shouldn't see…
My face goes nuclear. I spin around. "Oh my god. I'm sorry. I didn't—"
"It's fine." His voice is amused. "I saw you in your underwear that day you tried that black lace on. Consider us even."
Even. Right.
I hear him moving. "You can turn around. I'm decent."
I turn slowly. He's still just in the towel low on his hips, but at least now I'm not seeing everything. Water droplets trail down his neck, his shoulders, his chest and abdomen. That scar on his side is more visible now.
He leans against the sink, unbothered. "Did you need something?"
Right. I came here for a reason. When I come to my senses, I realize what I need to do. Lower his guard. Seduction.
I step into the bathroom, closing the door. "About earlier... I was harsh. I'm sorry."
Bellamy's eyes narrow. "Are you?"
"I've been under stress." I move closer. "And you've been patient. More patient than I probably deserve."
"Sophie." Warning in his tone. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing." Another step, close enough to smell the soap on his skin. "Maybe I was wrong. About the walk. About giving you a chance."
I reach out, let my fingers trail across his chest. His skin is still damp, warm. I feel his muscles tense immediately.
"Sophie." His voice is strained. "Don't."
"Don't what?" I look up at him. "You offered to show me beautiful things. I'm just saying yes."
His hand catches my wrist, but he doesn't push me away. Just holds me there, my palm flat against his chest where I feel his heartbeat—fast.
"You don't mean this," he says quietly.
"How do you know what I mean?"
We stand there, my hand trapped against his chest, his eyes boring into mine. I watch him watch me—see the war happening behind those blue eyes. Every muscle in his body is taut, tense, fighting something.
Then, in one fell swoop, he moves.
His hands come up under my armpits and he lifts me—actually lifts me—and sets me down on the washbasin. The cold porcelain against my thighs makes me gasp.
And before I can process what's happening, he steps forward, positioning himself between my legs.
I freeze in shock.
He's so close now. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. Close enough that I can see every drop of water still clinging to his skin. Close enough that when he leans in, presses in, I feel everything.
The hard edge of the sink against my back. The heat of his body in front. And his arousal, unmistakable, pressing against me through the towel.
My breath catches. This is not how this was supposed to go.
"Bellamy…"
"Don't play with me, Sophie." His voice is low, rough, his face inches from mine. So close I feel his breath against my lips. "Don't use seduction as a weapon when you don't mean it. Don't touch me like you want me when you're just trying to manipulate me into letting your guard down."
"I don't…"
"Yes, you do." His hands are on the sink on either side of me, caging me in. "I know what you're doing, I know why you came in here. And I'm telling you—please." That last word comes out almost desperate. "Please don't."
I blink up at him, the question forming before I can stop it. “Isn't this what you wanted? Isn't this why you kidnapped me?”
"I would be glad," he says softly, his eyes searching mine, "if you ultimately chose me. If you wanted this, wanted me. But only if you truly wanted it. Not because you're trying to achieve your own goals. Not because you think it'll help you escape. If it happens between us, I want it to be real."
The sincerity in his voice, the raw honesty—it catches me off guard. Makes my chest tighten in ways I don't want to examine.
“And I didn’t kidnap you.” He adds eventually. “Not quite.”
"You didn't kidnap me?" I manage, my voice breathier than I intend. Probably because he's still pressed against me, still close enough that I'm hyperaware of every point of contact.
"No." The word is firm, certain.
I let out a sharp, slightly hysterical laugh. "What do you call this then? Borrowed me? Rented? This is pure kidnapping, Bellamy. Textbook definition."
He winces at the word. I see it—the way "kidnapping" lands like a physical blow. His jaw tightens and for a moment something like pain crosses his face.
But he doesn't respond, doesn't argue, doesn't try to justify or explain.
Instead, he steps back. The sudden absence of his body heat makes me shiver. He reaches for a shirt hanging on the back of the door, pulls it on while I'm still sitting on the sink trying to remember how to breathe normally.
"Whatever the case," he says, his voice carefully controlled now, "we can definitely go for that walk. Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"Noah's been pestering me all day. Wants to explore the forest, see what's out here." He runs a hand through his wet hair, not looking at me. "We'll all go. You, me, him. Fresh air, beautiful sights, no seduction tactics required."
The way he says "seduction tactics" makes my face burn again.
"I should…" I slide off the sink, my legs shakier than I'd like. "I should go."
"Probably a good idea."
I move toward the door, then pause with my hand on the handle. "Bellamy?"
"Yeah?"
I’m quiet for a moment. What did I even want to say? Admit I was wrong to try to play on his feelings? Thank him for all those days of kindness we shared? Compliment his toned body?
Absolutely all thoughts flew out of my head, so I just shook my head. "Nothing. Forget about it."
Bellamy is silent, staring at me, as if sensing a lie. I see a struggle in his gaze—a desire to get the truth and let me go. The latter wins.
"Okay." he says quietly. “Goodnight, Sophie.”
I leave before I can do something even more stupid. I close and lock the door, then lean against it, my heart racing, my skin still tingling from where he touched me.