Chapter 39 A GHOST
After Hugo made his way to the parking lot, something caught his eye just as he approached his car, something that made him stop dead in his tracks.
There, sitting pretty in one of the parked vehicles, was Sophie.
For a moment, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. He blinked, but the vision didn't disappear.
Ever since the accident, he had done everything possible to keep thoughts of her buried. That night had nearly broken his restraint. It had taken everything in him not to kiss her.
Instead, he'd run and fled like a coward, straight home, his last resort to stop himself from doing something his mind desperately wanted.
And from that night on, he'd shut it all down. Blocked every thought of her with discipline and distance.
He squinted, trying to get a clearer look but he still couldn't be sure. Was it really Sophie?
What would she be doing here at this hour?
The thought unsettled him. He shook his head, telling himself he was hallucinating. All the suppressed emotions and the love he had locked away so tightly were clearly starting to take a toll on him. Still, his feet moved on their own, drawing him closer to the car.
Inside, Sophie was so caught up staring at him at the way he moved, the way he filled out his shirt and walked with effortless confidence that she forgot to duck. She hadn't expected to see him, not here.
She had only driven down to this place in a quiet moment of confusion, trying to understand what she truly felt. But now that he was right there, walking toward her, the panic kicked in.
Quickly, she unbuckled her seatbelt and slipped out of the car, turning away to leave, hoping to disappear before he could confirm it was her.
But it was too late.
He was already close.
As she turned to walk away, she felt his hand on her elbow.
"Sophie," he said softly as he turned her gently toward him.
Her gorgeous face came into view under the dim light, and for a second, he froze.
She, on the other hand, looked like she'd seen a ghost.
"What are you doing here... at this hour?" he asked, his voice low but laced with concern.
She didn't know what to say. What was she doing here? Even she didn't have a clear answer.
"Uhmm..." she tried to speak, her voice barely finding its way past the knot in her throat.
But before she could finish, he glanced around sharply, then reached for her hand and pulled her deeper into the shadows of the parking lot, behind one of the massive concrete pillars.
It wasn't just instinct, it was caution.
A part of him was always watching now, always wary. He couldn't afford to be seen with her.
After the incident, it had become almost impossible to look Ethan in the eye. And though Ethan hadn't said a word, Hugo had already accepted the rejection. He had taken it in like a bitter pill, swallowed it whole before the words could even leave Ethan's mouth.
He gently pressed her back against the pillar, using his body to shield her from view.
His heart pounded as her eyes locked onto his, searching, questioning and it made the guilt swell inside him.
"Sophie," he began, voice low, "I'm really sorry about that day. It wasn't my intention to disrespect you or... take advantage of you...."
"Huh?" she cut in, her brow lifting. "Take advantage of me?"
She let out a laugh dry, surprised, and slightly offended.
He blinked, caught off guard.
"Well... I shouldn't have done that, and....."
"Why shouldn't you have?" she interrupted again, firmer now, her eyes narrowing.
He hesitated, his gaze dropping briefly before returning to hers.
"Sophie, you're a Sinclair. That name means something. Just because we're close doesn't mean I had the right to cross that line."
And in that moment, everything clicked for her.
She finally understood what had been holding him back all this time: the restraint, the distance, the sudden shift in how he treated her.
To Hugo, she wasn't just Sophie. She was a Sinclair. A symbol of status, power, and legacy.
And no matter how close he was to the family, no matter how long he'd been around... in his mind, he wasn't one of them, and he probably won't be allowed to have her.
She looked straight into his eyes, steady and unflinching.
A new kind of confidence surged through her calm, clear, unshaken.
It wasn't that he didn't want her. He did. She could see it now. He was just scared.
But she wasn't.
She had never cared about the Sinclair empire the way everyone expected her to. She'd never been pressured by the weight of the name or the legacy behind it. So why should that be the thing that kept her from being with someone she loved?
Without another word, she pushed herself off the pillar and into his arms.
His breath hitched.
Her heart was pounding. she places her hands on his chest and slowly glides them up to his neck, she felt his heartbeat thudding harder than hers.
He was trembling beneath her touch, and in that moment, she knew he felt it too.
"Sophie..." he breathed, her name escaping his lips like a plea.
There was desperation in his voice not because he didn't want her, but because he did. So much so, it terrified him.
He wanted her to stop. Because he knew he wouldn't be able to.
But she didn't.
Instead, she cupped his face with one hand, her fingers warm against his skin. Slowly, she rose onto her toes, her breath brushing hot against his jaw.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you," she whispered, her voice soft, almost trembling.
And then she pressed her body into his, closing the last sliver of space between them.
His breath caught. Every muscle in his body tensed.
Her words replayed in his mind like a spark that set everything he'd buried on fire.
It hit him like a wave, raw, unexpected, impossible to ignore.
His breath grew shallow as he stared down at her, every part of him torn between restraint and desire. Did she mean it the way he hoped? Did she feel what he'd been trying so hard to bury?
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingertips lingering against her skin.
"You have no idea what those words do to me," he said, his voice low, rough.
"Do you want me?" she asked, her voice low, almost a whisper but it carried weight, the kind that shook something loose in him.
The question stunned him. His mind stuttered, unable to process the fact that Sophie Sinclair was offering herself so openly, so vulnerably.
She didn't ask like a tease. She asked like if he said yes, she'd give all of herself to him. And that terrified him.
"Sophie, I..." he started, but the words caught in his throat.
"Do you want me?" she asked again firmer this time, almost desperate. Her eyes searched his, like she was daring him to say what he felt. Like he was wasting time..
"Yes," he said.
But it didn't come from his mouth.
It came from the desire in his heart. From the hunger in his eyes. From the hand that slid to the small of her back and pulled her in like he'd been aching to do it forever.