Page 123 of Power Play
Eventually, I get buzzed in by someone else on their way out. I don’t think about whether she’ll be angry I’ve come. I’m already here, and my heart’s thudding in my throat.
I knock. Once, twice. Wait.
Nothing.
I knock again, louder. “Sophie? It’s me.”
Still nothing. My chest’s getting tighter. I don’t know if I’m sweating from nerves or just the sheer weight of everything I’ve wrecked.
Finally, the lock shifts. The door opens three inches, held firm by the chain. And there she is.
Still beautiful. Still Sophie. Just colder.
She doesn’t say anything. But she looks at me like I’m something she found stuck to her shoe.
I lift my hands. “Please. Just let me talk.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” she says.
“It’s not what it looked like.”
Her laugh is sharp. “Oh, come on. At least respect me enough not to insult my intelligence.”
I step forward. She doesn’t flinch but she doesn’t unchain the door either.
“I didn’t touch her, Soph. I didn’twanther. She came onto me, and I froze like an idiot. I should’ve pushed her away, Iknowthat, but,”
She cuts me off. “But you didn’t. And the press didn’t care about yourintentions. They cared about the picture. The implication. And now everyone knows what kind of man you are.”
I flinch. Because she’s not wrong.
She shakes her head like she can’t believe I’m still standing there. “Do you have any idea what that felt like? Seeing those photos and realising I was the last to know I was being humiliated?”
“You weren’t…”
“Don’t.” Her voice cracks, and that’s what shatters me. Not the words. Not the door still chained between us.That.
“I love you,” I say, because it’s the only thing left. “I love you so much it’s pathetic, and I messed up, and I’m sorry. I’ll say it a thousand times if that’s what you need.”
She leans her head against the edge of the door. “I needed you not to let someone else touch you. I needed you to think about me before all of this happened, not after the damage was already done.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Because she’s right again.
“Soph, please,” I whisper.
“I can’t do this right now,” she says, voice low and brittle. “Maybe not ever. You made your choice the second you didn’t stop her. That wasn’t just about a photo, Murphy. That was about respect. About trust.”
She doesn’t slam the door. That would’ve been easier.
She just closes it. Soft. Final.
The lock clicks back into place.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
SOPHIE
It’s been seven days, thirteen hours, and, because I’m apparently a masochist, forty-nine minutes since I gave Murphy back his socks in a bin bag and told him to piss off.
