Chapter 129
Oliver's POV
The car felt cramped. I watched her silhouette in the dim light, and for a moment I was back to those days, stealing glances at her in the university library. The years between us seemed to disappear.
God, she's still beautiful.
I moved closer, studying the graceful curve of her neck. My hand reached out almost involuntarily, fingers gently touching her cheek.
"You haven't changed," I whispered, more to myself than to her.
The words hung in the air between us. Before I could stop myself, I leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead—soft, reverent, like a prayer I'd been holding for ten years.
Sophia's breath caught. "Oliver..."
I pulled back, reality crashing over me. What the hell am I doing?
The car soon stopped at the hotel entrance. I pulled her inside with me.
"We need to talk," I said, forcing my voice to steady. Once in the reserved room, I checked the door locks, running my hands along the walls. Old habits from my security training. "About tomorrow. About getting you out of here safely."
No listening devices. Good.
"Tomorrow evening," I continued, turning to face her. "I've arranged safe passage out of Zenoria. But we need to maintain this... arrangement. The engaged couple act. It's our cover."
Sophia's eyes narrowed. "What did you promise them, Oliver? What kind of deal did you make?"
Always so sharp. That was the Sophia I remembered—never accepting surface answers, always digging deeper.
"Does it matter?" I deflected, but she stepped closer, her gaze unwavering.
"It matters to me."
"Just trust me, okay? By tomorrow night, you'll be free."
I turned toward the mini-fridge to get a water bottle. Sophia also moved toward the same area to grab a charger from the table. The accident happened suddenly—we collided, a tangle of limbs and momentum that sent us both tumbling backward onto the bed.
I landed on top of her, my body responding instantly to the contact. Shit. Heat flooded through me, and I felt myself hardening against her thigh. The scent of her perfume—something floral, uniquely hers—filled my senses.
"I'm sorry, I—" I scrambled to get up, but the damage was done. My body had betrayed me completely.
Sophia's eyes widened, her cheeks flushing pink. She'd felt it too.
"I need a shower," I muttered, practically fleeing to the bathroom. "A cold one."
The water was ice-cold, but it did little to cool the fire burning under my skin. Ten years, I thought, pressing my palms against the tile wall. Ten years of wanting her, and one accidental touch nearly breaks me.
---
When I emerged, wrapped in the hotel's plush bathrobe, Sophia was sitting on the edge of the bed, back to her normal composure. She looked up at me, and I caught her gaze traveling over my chest, lingering on the defined muscles I'd built through a year of rigorous training.
"You're not the skinny boy I remember," she said softly.
I almost smiled. "And you're not the idealistic student who used to quote famous poets in the library."
Her expression grew serious. "People change, Oliver. We both did."
You became everything I was afraid to hope for, I thought. Strong, brilliant, untouchable.
Sophia pulled out my phone—the secure one I'd given her earlier. "I need to call my father."
I watched as she dialed, her fingers steady despite everything she'd been through. The call connected, and I could hear Charles's tense, worried voice from the other end.
"Dad? It's me." Her voice softened. "I'm okay. I'll be home tomorrow night."
There was a pause, then Charles's strained voice: "Sophia, thank God. I've been—there's been some complications here. Elizabeth is using you as leverage, and I—"
"Dad." Sophia's voice cut through his panic like steel. "Listen to me. We are Wilson family. We don't bow to anyone's threats. Ever."
I felt something shift in my chest at the conviction in her voice. This was the woman I'd fallen in love with—not the scared girl who'd needed protecting, but the strong woman who could command respect with a single sentence.
"You're right," Charles said, his voice growing stronger. "You're absolutely right. I won't help Elizabeth achieve her goals."
When she hung up, Sophia looked at me with eyes that held both gratitude and something deeper.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For coming for me."
I stood up, needing distance before I did something stupid. "I didn't do this so you'd owe me something."
I did it because the thought of her in danger made me want to burn down half of Zenoria. I did it because time hadn't been enough to kill what I felt for her.
But she was a Wilson now—powerful, untouchable, destined for things far beyond what I could offer. Using her gratitude, her vulnerability, to get closer would make me no better than those men with ulterior motives.
"I know you didn't," she said, standing as well.
I stood by the window, staring out at the Zenoria cityscape, my shoulders rigid with tension I couldn't shake. The silence between Sophia and me stretched like a chasm, filled with ten years of unspoken words and buried feelings.
"I'm sorry." The words came out barely above a whisper, but they cut through the quiet like a blade.
I heard her shift behind me, the soft rustle of fabric as she rose from the edge of the bed.
"Oliver—"
"No, let me finish." I turned to face her, feeling something raw crack open in my chest. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. For how I've been acting. I should have been brave enough to stand up and fight, instead of retreating."
"I know this is hard," she said carefully. "Father—"
"That was just an excuse I made for my own cowardice." My jaw clenched. "Remembering why we ended in the first place. Why I wasn't enough."
"Oliver, that wasn't your fault. I was the one who chose family expectations over us."
We stared at each other, the weight of our shared history pressing down between us.
Maybe we were both wrong. Maybe we just didn't know how to fight for ourselves.
I extended my hand toward her. "Maybe we were both wrong," I said quietly. "But right now, we need to focus on getting out of here safely. Can we... start over? Just for now?"
I watched her look at my outstretched hand, remembering how it felt all those years when her fingers intertwined with mine. After a moment's hesitation, she reached out and grasped it.
"Fresh start," she agreed. "But Oliver—"
"I know." My thumb unconsciously brushed across her knuckles. "I know this doesn't fix everything. I know we still have a long way to go."
Her father's voice must be echoing in her mind right now. The family expectations that once tore us apart are still there, waiting.