Chapter 215
Sophia‘s POV
I stood outside the glass tower in Midtown, staring up at the building that used to bear my family's name. Cruz Energy Group—the words had been etched in gold above the entrance for three generations.
Now they were gone, replaced by Reynolds Holdings in stark black letters.
Four years since Lucas Reynolds came back from whatever hell had swallowed him after his family's bankruptcy.
Four years since he'd systematically dismantled everything my family had built, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but this—me, walking into what used to be my father's building like a prisoner reporting for duty.
My hands shook as I pushed through the revolving door. The lobby looked the same—marble floors, soaring ceilings—but it felt different. Colder. Like the building itself knew it had been conquered.
I remembered the day Lucas had shown up at our family estate, three years after vanishing. My parents had been so relieved to see him alive. They'd actually apologized for calling off our engagement, explained that they'd only wanted to protect me from the fallout of his family's collapse.
He'd smiled. Accepted their apology. Shook my father's hand.
And then, six months later, he'd destroyed us.
The hostile takeover had been surgical. Precise. He'd found every weakness in our corporate structure, every debt we'd tried to hide during the recession.
Within three months, Reynolds Holdings owned sixty percent of Cruz Energy.
Within six, my parents were under investigation for financial fraud—charges Lucas had manufactured with such skill that even our own lawyers believed them.
Now they sat in a "private care facility" in Connecticut. Not quite a prison, but close enough. Lucas visited them once a month, made sure they had everything they needed. Made sure I knew he could take it all away if I didn't cooperate.
Cooperate. Such a clean word for what he made me do.
I stepped into the elevator, my finger hovering over the button for the executive floor. The floor where I used to have an office with a view of Central Park. Where my father used to call me in to discuss expansion strategies.
Now I had a desk outside Lucas's office. A secretary's desk. Because that's what I was now—his secretary during business hours.
And his whore at night.
The elevator doors slid shut, and I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls. Navy pencil skirt. White silk blouse. Hair pulled back in a neat bun. I looked professional. Composed.
Like I wasn't dying inside every single day.
I thought about the Lucas I'd fallen in love with seven years ago. The boy who'd proposed to me on a beach in Cabo, who'd been so nervous his hands shook as he opened the ring box. Who'd kissed me like I was something precious.
That Lucas had been gentle. Patient. He'd wait for me to initiate intimacy, would ask permission before even holding my hand in public.
That Lucas was dead.
The man who'd come back three years ago was someone else entirely. Someone cruel and calculating, whose moods shifted like storm clouds.
One moment he'd be almost tender, touching my face with something like regret in his eyes. The next he'd have me bent over his desk, his hand in my hair, fucking me like he hated me.
Maybe he did hate me. Maybe he hated all of us—the families who'd turned their backs on him when his father went to prison.
But I was the one paying for it.
The elevator chimed. Twenty-third floor. I stepped out into the hallway, my heels clicking on the polished hardwood. A few people looked up from their desks, their eyes sliding away when they met mine.
They all knew. Of course they knew. Lucas didn't exactly hide what I was to him.
I walked past the break room, heard voices inside: "—can't believe she has the nerve to show her face—"
"Well, what else is she going to do? It's not like she has any other options."
My desk sat in the open area just outside Lucas's office—a deliberate choice, I was sure. He wanted everyone to see me there, wanted them to know that the Cruz princess had been reduced to answering his phones and fetching his coffee.
I set my bag down, pulled out the files I'd taken home last night. Contracts that needed reviewing. Emails that needed responses. All the mundane tasks that used to be handled by actual secretaries, before Lucas decided I should do them instead.
"Morning, Sophia." The voice came from behind me—Martinez, one of the senior accountants. "Lucas is looking for the Q3 projections. Said you'd have them ready."
I didn't turn around. "They're on his desk."
"Right." He didn't leave. I could feel him standing there, his eyes on the back of my neck. "Must be tough, working here. You know, given the history."
"I manage," I said flatly.
"I'm sure you do." Something in his tone made my skin crawl. "You've always been good at... managing situations."
I spun around, ready to tell him to fuck off, but he was already walking away. Coward.
"Hey, Sophia." Another voice—Miller, from marketing. Expensive suit, slicked-back hair, wedding ring he never seemed to remember he was wearing. "Need you to make copies of these for the meeting. Twenty sets."
He dropped a stack of papers on my desk without waiting for a response. I stared at them, feeling something hot and bitter rise in my throat.
"There's a copy room on the fifteenth floor," I said carefully. "With people whose actual job is making copies."
"Yeah, but Lucas said you'd handle it." Miller smiled, the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Unless you want me to tell him you refused?"
I picked up the papers, my fingers tight around the edges. "Fine."
"That's what I thought." He leaned against my desk, his cologne overwhelming. "You know, if you ever get tired of being Lucas's pet, I could—"
"Don't." I cut him off, my voice sharp.
The morning crawled by. Phone calls. Emails. Making copies like I was some entry-level intern instead of someone who used to sit on this company's board of directors. Every task felt like another small humiliation, another reminder of how far I'd fallen.
By the time the board meeting rolled around at two, I was exhausted. Not physically—I could handle the work. But emotionally, spiritually, I was drained.
The conference room was already full when I arrived—twelve men in expensive suits, all of them looking at me like I was something they'd scraped off their shoes. I recognized most of them. Some had worked for my father. Others had been family friends, had attended my quinceañera.
Now they looked through me like I was invisible.
I started distributing the folders, moving around the table. When I reached Morrison—fat fingers, red face, always breathing too heavily—he shifted in his seat, and his hand found my hip.
I froze, the folder still in my hands. His fingers squeezed, proprietary. Claiming.
"Looking good, Sophia," he said, loud enough for the others to hear. "Reynolds is a lucky man."
A few of them laughed. Not uncomfortable laughs, not protests. Just... laughter.
I tried to step away, but his hand moved lower, cupping my ass through my skirt. My whole body went rigid.
"Morrison—" I started, but before I could finish, someone else moved.
The woman from HR—sharp bob, always wore too much red lipstick—stood up from her seat and somehow managed to bump into me. Hard. I stumbled forward, right into Morrison's lap.
His arms came around me, thick and suffocating. I could smell his cologne, feel his breath on my neck.
"Well, well," he said, his voice dripping with false surprise. "Looks like someone's eager."
The HR woman leaned down, her mouth close to my ear. "Come on, Sophia," she whispered, just loud enough for Morrison to hear. "You're already playing whore for the boss. Don't be picky about your clients."
Something inside me snapped.
I brought my heel down on Morrison's foot—hard. He yelped, his grip loosening, and I shoved myself up and away from him.
"You bitch—" he started, but I was already moving toward the door, my heart pounding, my face burning with humiliation and rage.
I made it three steps before the conference room door opened.
Lucas stood in the doorway, his dark eyes taking in the scene. Morrison rubbing his foot. The scattered papers. Me, halfway to the exit with my hands shaking.
For a second, nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
Then Lucas's gaze found mine, and something cold and dangerous flickered in his expression.
"Sophia." His voice was quiet. Controlled. Which somehow made it worse. "Wait for me in my office."
My heart dropped, and I had a sinking feeling that something bad was about to happen.