"I’m really sorry." Sophie said with sincerity then paused, gathering herself.
"You’ve been nothing but good to , Stan. From the very first mont you walked up to in that courtyard. And I repaid that by making you jump through hoops and keeping you at arm’s length."
Her eyes glistened slightly, though she blinked it away before it could beco anything more.
"I’m sorry. Truly."
Stan looked at her for a long mont. The apology was unexpected, and, he realized with so surprise, genuinely moving. He’d been treating Sophie as a consumption target, a favorability counter, a line item in the system’s ledger. And here she was, standing in front of him with real vulnerability in her eyes, apologizing for things he’d barely registered as slights.
Sothing in his chest stirred, sothing warm, sothing inconvenient, and he carefully pushed it back behind the glass wall where it belonged.
"You don’t need to apologize," he said. "You were being careful. That’s smart, not cruel."
Sophie shook her head.
"No, I was being a coward. There’s a difference." She took a small breath, then smiled, tentatively, hopefully, the way soone smiles when they’re about to ask for sothing they’re not sure they deserve. "Let make it up to you."
"How?"
"I’ve been setting up one of the apartnts in Four Seasons Garden, one of the units you gave . I’ve been decorating it." A faint blush crept into her cheeks. "I was hoping you’d co over with . Right now. Let cook for you. A proper al, just the two of us. No crowds, no Felix, no forum gossip. Just, dinner."
She held his gaze, and the invitation in her eyes carried considerably more than the promise of food.
Stan studied her face.
The blush. The slightly nervous fidgeting of her fingers at her sides. The way she’d said ’just the two of us’ with a particular softness that suggested she’d been thinking about those words before she said them.
The apartnt she’d already started decorating, in a building he’d given her, for an evening she’d clearly been planning since the mont she opened that manila envelope.
’Well,’ he thought, keeping his expression composed while sothing inside him grinned like a wolf. ’Is it finally ti to smash?’
"Right now?" he asked.
Sophie nodded, her blush deepening by half a shade. "If you don’t mind. It’s getting late, and after a whole day of, that," She gestured vaguely in the direction Felix had disappeared. "I think we’ve both earned sothing quiet."
"I could use quiet," Stan admitted. "And food. Mostly food."
Sophie laughed, a soft, surprised sound that loosened sothing in the air between them.
"Then let’s go."
She flagged down a taxi at the curb outside the shopping center, and they slid into the back seat together, closer this ti than the morning ride, the earlier tentativeness replaced by sothing warr, more settled. The kind of proximity that happens when two people have silently agreed to stop pretending they need the extra space.
"Four Seasons Garden, please," Sophie told the driver. "Crown Jewel Tower."
The taxi pulled into traffic, and the city began scrolling past the windows in the soft amber light of early evening.
Sophie turned sideways in her seat, tucking one leg beneath her, facing him with the barely contained excitent of a woman who had been sitting on a secret all day and was finally allowed to share it.
"Okay. So... I have a confession."
Stan lifted an eyebrow. "Already?"
"Shh. Listen." She swatted his arm, a grin tugging at her lips. "When I ca to find you in the cafeteria, when you were eating,"
"Yes?"
"You had fried chicken and fries."
Stan blinked. "...And?"
"You looked happy." Her eyes lit up, hands moving as she spoke. "Not just ’this is good’ happy. Genuinely happy. Like you were enjoying it, really enjoying it. And when you took a bite of the chicken, your whole face changed. You looked... delighted."
Stan had no mory of making any kind of expression over cafeteria food, but he did love fried chicken and fries, so he let it pass.
"So," Sophie said, leaning in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I’m making you fried chicken and fries at my place today."
She delivered it like the final reveal of a perfectly executed plan.
Stan felt a genuine, unguarded smile break across his face before he could stop it.
"You watched what I was eating in the cafeteria and built an entire dinner nu around it?"
"I also bought dipping sauces," Sophie added proudly. "Three kinds. Because I didn’t know which one you’d prefer. And I got the chicken thighs, not the breast, breast gets dry if you’re not careful, and I refuse to serve dry chicken to the man who bought a building."
Stan laughed. A real laugh, the kind that started in his chest and ca out without permission.
"You’ve put serious thought into this."
"I’ve put excessive thought into this," Sophie corrected, entirely unashad. "I’ve been planning this dinner since yesterday. I went grocery shopping at six in the morning. I marinated the chicken before I even did my hair."
"Priorities."
"Exactly. Hair can wait. Marinade cannot, though as you can see, I later did my hair..."
Stan shook his head, still smiling. "I’m genuinely looking forward to it."
Sophie’s expression softened into sothing less playful and more honest.
"You’re going to love it," she said quietly, with the kind of shy certainty that wasn’t about the food at all. "I’m actually a really good cook. My mom taught . It’s one of the few things I’m genuinely confident about."
"More confident than your smile?"
The question caught her off guard. She blinked once, then looked away, her cheeks flushing a shade of pink that the evening light turned almost golden.
"That’s not fair," she murmured. "You can’t just say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because," She turned back to him, and her eyes were doing that thing again, the soft, slightly overwheld thing that made his chest tighten in ways he wasn’t fully comfortable with. "Because it makes forget what I was talking about."
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