Interrupted, But Not Forgotten
Sofia's POV
Work resumed like nothing had happened. Like we hadn’t nearly crossed a line in that office, like his tongue wasn't in my mouth, like I didn’t want to taste more. The air between us still thick with what we left unfinished.
Leandro acted like a pro. Cool. Calm. Distant, even. The only giveaway was the way his eyes found mine every time I entered a room. Quick glances that lingered a little too long. Words said a little too softly when it was just us. His voice had a way of making my skin heat even in the freezing AC of the building.
I thought about it all day. My lips still tingled from the hot moment we shared. My body still remembered the feel of his breath against my neck, the weight of his hands, the rough rasp of his voice whispering, “Tell me to stop…”
I never did.
And now, I didn’t want to.
So when he found me near the back entrance at closing time and casually asked, “Can I drop you off?” — I didn’t hesitate.
“Sure,” I said, meeting his gaze. “I’d like that.”
He didn’t smile. He just nodded once, like he already knew I’d say yes. But when his hand brushed the small of my back as he guided me to his car, I felt everything.
\---
The ride was quiet. Not awkward, just charged.
The kind of silence that made your heart race.
I sat beside him, watching the city lights blur past the windows, my hand resting on the leather seat close to his. Our pinkies almost touched.
Neither of us said a word about what happened earlier.
But it hung between us, thick and alive.
When we pulled up in front of my building, I felt it again, that same tension creeping up my spine. I was about to say something, maybe ask him in, maybe tease, when I saw the figure on my porch.
My mood snapped like a twig.
“Mierda…”
“What?” Leandro asked, following my gaze.
“My mother.”
She was sitting on the steps like she owned them, legs crossed, arms folded, and a cigarette in her hand. She saw the car, stood up, and waited like this was her show.
I sighed and opened the door. “You don’t have to get involved—”
“I already am,” he said simply, stepping out with me.
The second she saw him, her eyes narrowed. “You,” she sneered. "You're here again."
Leandro arched a brow.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” she snapped. “I know exactly who you are.”
I stiffened. “Mom!”
“No. I want to know what he’s doing dropping you off. What he’s doing with you.” She stepped closer, glaring at him like she was about to throw hands. “I know your type. Rich. Dangerous. Men like you eat girls like her alive.”
Leandro didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
I stepped between them. “That’s enough—”
“I’m just saying the truth,” she snapped. “He’s trouble. But of course, you never listen to me. You’re just like your father. Stubborn and blind.”
“Mom, I swear—”
But Leandro touched my arm lightly. “Let her talk.”
I looked up at him, surprised.
He stepped forward, calm, unbothered. “Done?”
She looked thrown off for a second. Then she laughed bitterly. “Yeah. I’m done. Not like she listens anyway. All she does is work and throw money at me like it’ll fix anything.”
Leandro turned around, walked to his car, opened the door—and pulled out a black duffle.
He came back and dropped it at her feet.
She blinked.
He unzipped it slightly. Bundles. Neatly stacked, tight and thick.
“Take it,” he said, voice low. “Every last dollar. And never come near her again.”
She looked between the money and him, and for the first time, she was silent. Then—she laughed. Long and bitter.
“You think money’s gonna fix her?” she asked, scooping up the bag. “Nah. But it’ll fix me.”
She turned to walk off, then stopped just beside me. Her voice dropped to a whisper meant only for me.
“Good job, mija,” she sneered, her breath hot with smoke. “Fucking your boss? Smart girl. Keep it up. It’s finally bringing us fortune.”
And then she walked away like she didn’t just stab me in the chest with her words.
\---
I stood there frozen.
I didn’t even realize I was shaking until Leandro’s hand found mine.
“Hey,” he said gently.
I looked up at him, my throat tight.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.”
“I’m not sorry I did.”
“Why?”
His thumb brushed my hand. “Because now I understand you a little more.”
I bit my lip, swallowing hard. “You don’t want to understand me.”
He tilted my chin up. “Don’t tell me what I want.”
“I…” My voice was barely there. “I think I just need a minute.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze not leaving mine. “Okay.”
I swallowed and stepped back fully, breaking whatever had been holding us together in that breathless moment. My hand went to my forehead without thinking.
The pressure had started behind my eyes. That familiar dull throb. All of it—my mother’s ambush, her words, the emotional overload—had finally caught up to me.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I’m starting to feel a headache coming on. A bad one.”
He took a small step closer, not too close. “You want me to stay?”
I shook my head. “No. I think I just want to lie down. Alone.”
There was no irritation in his expression. No guilt-trip or cold withdrawal.
“Alright,” he said, his voice quiet. “Get some rest.”
I nodded, already reaching for my keys. Then his voice came again—lower this time, more intimate, like it wasn’t meant for the night air or the city buzzing behind us.
“Sofia?”
“Yeah?”
“If you need anything… just call me.”
I met his gaze, and for a second, I wanted to cry. Not because he said it, but because he meant it. And I wasn’t used to that.
“I will,” I whispered.
He gave me one last look, then walked back to his car without another word.
I watched him drive off.
Only when the taillights disappeared down the street did I turn back to the door, press my forehead against it, and let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
My mother’s voice still echoed in my ears.
“Good job… fucking your boss…”
I closed my eyes, trying to shut it out. But it stuck, heavy and ugly.
Inside, the house was quiet. Too quiet. I kicked off my shoes, dragged myself to the couch, and let my body sink into it.
I didn’t want to cry.
I didn’t want to think.
I just wanted silence.
And space.