They stepped out of the Crown Jewel Tower together, greeted by the warm glow of the late-morning sun spilling across the streets below.
Sophie was dressed modestly, her outfit comfortable but flattering in the effortless way she always managed. In one hand, she carried a small overnight bag she’d packed earlier with clothes for yoga while Stan had been putting on his shoes.
He noticed the bag imdiately but said nothing.
She noticed him noticing it, and said nothing too.
Neither of them needed to. The quiet exchange between them had already said enough.
Stan simply motioned toward the car before walking ahead and opening the passenger door of the Huracán for her.
Sophie slid into the seat with the small, contented smile of a woman who appreciated the gesture without needing to make a scene of it. She placed her bag neatly at her feet before turning toward him as he settled behind the wheel.
"Let’s go," she said softly.
Stan started the engine. The drive was unhurried.
He took the longer coastal route to avoid the worst of the late-morning traffic, the road stretching beside the water for a ti before eventually cutting inland.
Sophie sat angled slightly toward him, one knee turned in his direction, her hand resting lightly on the center console. Every so often, her fingers drifted over to his forearm where it rested near the gearshift, tracing absentminded circles against his skin.
She didn’t speak much. She didn’t need to.
The morning had settled into a particular kind of quiet, the easy, intimate silence that cos after a night shared without reservations. There was no need for performance between them. No urgency. No pressure to fill every pause with conversation.
"You’re being very calm today," Stan observed after a while.
Sophie glanced at him briefly. "Should I not be calm?"
"You’re usually more talkative."
A faint smile touched her lips as she looked back out the window.
"I’m usually trying to make sure you don’t get away," she admitted lightly, her tone carrying the softness of a confession that barely qualified as one because they both already understood the truth beneath it. "Right now, I have you in a car driving to your apartnt. I don’t really need to work as hard."
Stan shot her a sideways glance.
She looked entirely at ease, composed, relaxed, quietly satisfied in the way only soone could be when things had unfolded exactly the way they’d hoped they would.
"Strategic," he said dryly.
"I have my monts."
She leaned back against the headrest, her fingers still idly moving against his forearm, and the rest of the drive passed in that sa comfortable rhythm, quiet, warm, and effortlessly intimate.
About twenty minutes later, his building ca into view.
It stood in one of the city’s quieter premium districts, a modern high-rise set apart from the neighboring towers by the restraint of its design. No flashy branding. No grand entrance ant to impress strangers. Just clean architectural lines, dark reflective glass, and the kind of discreet security presence that quietly conveyed privacy matters here without needing to announce it outright.
Sophie leaned forward slightly in her seat as they approached.
"This is where you live?"
"This is where I live."
She studied the building as he guided the Huracán down into the underground garage, taking in the details with the sa calm attentiveness she brought to anything that genuinely interested her.
"Nice, it suits you," she said after a mont.
Stan glanced at her briefly. "How so?"
A faint smile touched her lips.
"It doesn’t try too hard."
Stan smiled to himself and said nothing. The observation was accurate enough not to need a response.
The elevator from the garage opened directly onto his floor.
Sophie stepped out first, and stopped.
The apartnt revealed itself in one long, uninterrupted sightline. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the main living space, framing the city beyond in a wide sweep of sunlit glass and distant steel. The interior was finished in warm neutrals and dark wood, the furniture minimal but unmistakably expensive, every piece chosen with purpose rather than excess.
Nothing about the place tried to impress. That, more than anything, made it impressive. It was clean. Elegant. Quiet.
Completely, unmistakably Stan.
Sophie took two slow steps forward before letting her overnight bag slip gently onto the floor beside her.
"Stan."
"Yes?"
"This is gorgeous."
He glanced around once, as though seeing the apartnt through her eyes for the first ti.
"It works."
Sophie turned toward him with open disbelief.
"’It works?’ Just that?" she repeated. "Stan Harrison, this apartnt is gorgeous. You cannot look at this place and give ’it works.’"
Stan only gave a small shrug, calm and unapologetic.
That earned a bright laugh from her, warm, genuine, impossible to suppress.
She wandered deeper into the apartnt after that, taking her ti.
She explored spaces the sa way she approached everything that interested her: quietly, attentively, absorbing details without rushing.
Her fingertips occasionally brushed the back of a chair, the edge of the marble kitchen counter, the side of a bookshelf, small absent touches, as though she were learning the apartnt through texture as much as sight.
She found the kitchen first. Then the living area. Then the massive stretch of windows overlooking the city.
That made her pause completely.
For nearly a full minute, she simply stood there, looking out at the skyline washed in late-morning light.
Eventually, she continued on, finding the hallway leading toward the bedrooms. She slowed slightly there but didn’t go farther.
Not yet.
Sothing in her instinctively decided that part of the apartnt belonged to later, to a different mood entirely, one less about discovery and more about intimacy.
So she turned back instead.
When she returned to the living room, Stan was leaning casually against the kitchen counter, watching her with the quiet patience of soone who had expected this exact reaction all along.
Sophie stopped in front of him.
"Show the gym please."
A small smile tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth.
"This way."
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