I can hear the muffled sounds of crying through our shared wall, the thin apartment barriers doing nothing to muffle Sophie's distress. It's been going on for hours now—soft sobs punctuated by periods of devastating silence that somehow feel even worse.
The proximity of our apartments, which had felt like a blessing when we first started spending time together, now feels like torture as I'm forced to listen to her pain without being able to help.
The hallway between our doors feels impossibly long as I cross it, though it's only a few steps.
When I reach her door, I pause, listening for any signs of life inside. The silence is almost oppressive, the kind of quiet that comes from someone trying to make themselves invisible to the world. I knock softly, not wanting to startle her, then wait.
"Sophie?" I call gently. "It's Cassian."
No response. I try again, a little louder this time.
"I know you're in there. I just want to make sure you're okay."
Finally, I hear movement—shuffling footsteps and the soft sound of someone approaching the door.
The peephole darkens for a moment as she checks who's there, then I hear the chain sliding and multiple locks turning. When the door finally opens, my heart nearly breaks at the sight of her.
I find Sophie exactly where I expected—curled on her couch like a wounded animal seeking shelter, but seeing her up close is somehow worse than I'd imagined.
Her laptop sits closed beside her, as if she can't bear to look at another comment, another cruel assessment of her choices and character.
Tear tracks stain her cheeks, and she looks smaller somehow, diminished by the weight of public scrutiny that's been thrust upon her without warning or consent.
She's wearing an oversized sweater that swallows her frame and fuzzy socks, the kind of comfort clothes people reach for when the world feels too harsh to face properly dressed.
Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, pieces falling around her face in a way that would be charming under different circumstances but now just looks defeated.
The apartment feels suffocating, heavy with the kind of oppressive silence that comes from being under siege.
Even with the curtains drawn tight against prying eyes, I can feel the outside world pressing in, ready to judge and dissect every move she makes. The air itself seems thick with anxiety and shame.
"How did you know?" she asks, her voice hoarse from crying.
"Everyone's talking about it," I say honestly, settling beside her on the couch. "The entire campus is buzzing with gossip."
She flinches at that, pulling her knees closer to her chest. "I can't even go to class," she whispers, the words barely audible.
"Everyone stares. They whisper behind their hands and point when they think I'm not looking. I heard someone taking pictures with their phone when I went to get coffee this morning. Like I'm some kind of zoo exhibit."
The defeat in her voice makes my chest ache. This is what Lisette's revenge looks like—not just Adrian's downfall, but the collateral damage of an innocent girl caught in the crossfire.
Sophie never asked to be thrust into the spotlight, never wanted to become a cautionary tale or internet meme.
"The comments..."
She continues, gesturing weakly toward her closed laptop.
"They're calling me everything from 'homewrecker' to 'brainwashed victim' to worse things I won't repeat. Complete strangers are debating whether I'm stupid or complicit, whether I deserve sympathy or scorn."
"Sophie…"
"They're analyzing my facial expressions in the photos!"
She says, her voice taking on a hysterical edge.
"Discussing my body language like I'm a criminal in a lineup. Someone found my social media and posted screenshots of everything—pictures from high school, quotes I shared, conversations with friends. Nothing is private anymore."
I reach for her hand, finding it cold and trembling. "Come to my place," I say gently, making the decision for both of us. "Just for tonight. Away from all this."
She looks at me with red-rimmed eyes, and I can see her weighing the offer. Part of her wants to refuse, to maintain some semblance of independence despite everything falling apart around her. But exhaustion wins, and she nods slowly.
"Okay," she whispers. "Just for tonight. I can't... I can't stay here anymore. Every time I hear footsteps in the hallway, I think it's reporters or more people wanting to take pictures."
The storm outside hits as we reach my apartment, rain lashing the windows until the power flickers and dies, plunging us into darkness. I feel my way to the kitchen to find candles.
The warm glow transforms the space, casting dancing shadows across Sophie's face. She looks ethereal in the flickering light—beautiful and melancholy and utterly fragile.
"Thank you," she whispers. "For not leaving me alone tonight."
"I'll never leave you alone, Sophie."
She looks up at me, something shifting in her expression. Vulnerability mixing with need. I recognize that look—the desperate desire to feel something other than pain.
I reach out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers linger against her cheek, and she leans into my touch like a flower seeking sunlight.
"You're shaking," I murmur.
"I can't turn my brain off. I keep seeing those comments, those photos, everyone's judgment—"
"I can help with that." I hold her gaze steady. "If you trust me."
Her breath catches. "What do you mean?"
"Sometimes the mind needs something else to focus on. Sensation instead of thought." I trace my thumb across her lower lip, feeling her shiver. "Let me take care of you tonight. Nothing you don't want. Just... let go."
Sophie studies my face in the candlelight, searching for something. Then she nods.
I guide her to my bedroom, the space intimate and golden. When I produce a silk scarf from my drawer, her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't pull away.
"Just close your eyes," I murmur, securing the blindfold gently. "Focus on what you feel. Nothing else exists."
I undress her slowly, reverently, peeling away the oversized sweater to reveal soft skin glowing in candlelight. She trembles as cool air meets bare flesh, goosebumps rising across her stomach.
I lay her back against the pillows, taking a moment to appreciate the sight—Sophie spread before me, blindfolded and trusting, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.
"You're beautiful," I tell her. "You deserve to feel beautiful."
I select a candle, testing the wax temperature on my own wrist first. Then I hold it above her collarbone.
The first drop makes her gasp, back arching as warm sensation blooms across her skin. I watch her face carefully, reading every micro-expression.
"Good?" I ask.
"Yes," she breathes. "More."
I let another drop fall across her shoulder, then trail slowly down toward the swell of her breast. Sophie moans softly, her hips shifting restlessly against the sheets.
The wax hardens into small pools of crimson against her pale skin, marking her with temporary art.
"You're safe here," I whisper, letting drops fall in a path between her breasts. "No one can hurt you. No one can judge you."
Her breathing deepens as I work lower, each drop a moment of perfect focus that drowns out the world's cruelty. When warm wax lands just above her navel, she whimpers, fingers twisting in the sheets.
"Cassian—"
"I've got you."
I set the candle aside, replacing heat with touch. My hands smooth over her body, peeling away cooled wax to reveal flushed, sensitized skin beneath.
When my mouth follows, kissing each newly exposed spot, Sophie arches into me with a broken sound of pleasure.
"Let go," I murmur against her stomach. "Just feel."
I kiss lower, tasting her skin, feeling her thighs tremble as I settle between them. When my tongue finally finds her center, she cries out, hands flying to grip my hair.
She doesn't know, the guilt whispers. She doesn't know you're helping destroy the man she still loves.
I push the thought away, focusing instead on her pleasure, on the way she falls apart under my mouth, gasping my name like a prayer.
She'll understand eventually, I tell myself, driving her toward release. When Adrian's gone and she sees how much better this can be.
The lie tastes almost like truth against her skin.