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Chapter Text

EXTENDED SYNOPSIS

Ten years ago, Sophie Baek spent only two weeks in London. It was meant to be nothing more than a vacation, but one unexpected night changed everything.

That was when Sophie met Benedict Bridgerton, a charming young man, free-spirited, and dangerously unforgettable. The kind of man who didn’t seem to belong to anyone. And because of that, Sophie believed that night meant nothing to him.

Now, at twenty-eight, Sophie is a pediatric emergency medicine resident, living in London for the past two years thanks to a scholarship that changed her life. Independent, determined, and exhausted from carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, she is about to begin a new chapter outside the city: in just one month, Sophie will leave for Manchester, where she will start a decisive year in her career.

Benedict, on the other hand, at thirty, is trapped in a life he never chose. Heir to Bridgerton Tech and his older brother’s right-hand man, he spends his days buried in meetings, responsibilities, and family expectations, while his true love, art, remains forgotten in drawers and blank canvases.

When fate brings them face to face again, London seems to come to a halt.

Sophie tries to act as if she doesn’t care, convinced Benedict could never possibly remember her.

And the closer they grow, the more the past begins to resurface.

But there is a cruel dilemma between them: she has a departure date marked on the calendar, and he cannot promise a future when he doesn’t even know if he belongs in the present.

Between choices that could change everything, they will have only one month to discover whether some stories truly end the first time… Or if love, in London, can happen twice.

Chapter Text

SOPHIE

"Nobody drinks like that unless they're in love," the woman beside her said, her tone playful.

Sophie had been at that pub for a little over an hour. She had already finished a Manhattan and was on her second, something she only did on very specific nights, nights when she needed to shut her brain off, even if she had to force it.

She had noticed the woman when she sat down beside her half an hour earlier. Noticed the soft perfume, the crossed legs, the short dress over dark tights, and the ankle boots. But Sophie didn’t ask any questions. She wasn’t there to socialize. She was there to forget.

She ignored the attempt at conversation, focusing only on the glass in her hands and the dark mahogany bar in front of her. The music pulsed through the floor, the heavy bass serving as a kind of anesthesia.

"Oh, come on..." the woman insisted, as if Sophie wasn’t clearly trying to be left alone. "It can’t be that bad."

Sophie let out a sigh and turned her head.

The stranger was pretty. She had dark brown hair half pulled back and a short blue dress, elegant, though. Her eyes were blue, or seemed to be in the pub’s low golden lighting, and her delicate face contrasted with her confident, almost provocative posture.

Sophie shrugged, lacking patience, and turned back to the counter.

She had never been there before. Which wasn’t exactly surprising. She had never been much of a drinker, not even in college, when most people seemed to turn alcohol into a lifestyle. Sophie had always preferred control. Preferred responsibility. But tonight, she didn’t want to control anything.

The pub was only a few blocks from the small apartment she’d been living in since she arrived in London. Close enough to walk.

She had planned on getting drunk that night, and she knew she’d regret it in the morning, when her head throbbed and her body begged for rest she wouldn’t have. But right then, it felt like the only sensible thing to do.

The woman beside her said it couldn’t be that bad. But it was. Sophie had lost someone that afternoon. Not in the literal sense. Not someone who belonged to her. Not family. Not a friend. And it hadn’t been her fault. She repeated that in her mind more times than she cared to admit.

Still, it was a life. A body far too small. A mother screaming in the hallway. A father with hollow eyes. A silence too heavy to fit into any medical chart.

Sophie swallowed another sip of her Manhattan. The bourbon and sweet vermouth didn’t burn like they used to. They didn’t taste like anything anymore. They just went down.

"A breakup or unrequited love?" the woman asked again, now more curious than insistent.

Sophie laughed without humor.

"Neither."

And it was true. She wasn’t in love. She wasn’t mourning an ex. She didn’t have a broken heart in the traditional sense, the kind that inspires songs and poems.

Sometimes, life simply demanded a night of solitude and drinking. Sophie had never shared that kind of thing with anyone, not even friends or her coworkers at the hospital.

That was probably why she didn’t have many friends. People liked to suffer in groups. Sophie had always suffered alone.

Why did everyone always assume everything was about romance?

"Okay, fine..." the woman said dramatically as she took a sip of the green drink in her hand. "If you don’t want to talk about it, I get it."

"Sorry. It’s not you."

The woman let out a laugh.

"Oh, of course. The classic 'it’s not you, it’s me' story. Your ex must’ve been a real bitch."

Sophie ended up laughing too, because that woman was far too good a distraction to ignore.

"A bitch?"

"Yes. To make you this bitter. Was she cheating on you?"

Sophie blinked.

Wait, she said she?

The woman looked at her as if the confusion went both ways.

"The woman you broke up with."

Sophie let out a short laugh, almost choking on it.

"I'm not gay," she said, tilting her head. "And I didn’t break up with anyone."

The stranger bit her lip, clearly amused.

"If you’re not gay... what are you doing in a gay bar?"

The question caught Sophie completely off guard.

She turned on her stool and finally took a proper look at the crowd. Couples of women everywhere. Hands intertwined. Subtle kisses. Unrestrained laughter. A sense of freedom she hadn’t seen in many places in London.

"Oh..."

The woman beside her burst into laughter, throwing her head back and slapping the bar twice, like she was watching the best comedy of the week.

"It’s okay! I’m not gay either. Well... not entirely, anyway."

Sophie looked back at her, still a little stunned, gripping her glass tightly.

"Then why are you here?"

The woman shrugged, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

"They have the best mojitos in the city."

Sophie glanced quickly at the stranger’s glass, filled with ice and mint leaves, before returning to her own Manhattan and finishing it like it was water. She took a deep breath, finally giving in to the conversation.

"I'm Sophie Baek."

"Eloise Bridgerton."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

Eloise finished the rest of her mojito in one gulp, pulling the straw between her teeth. Then she stood up calmly and adjusted her dress with an ease that was almost irritating. She took a twenty-pound note from her purse and slapped it onto the counter before grabbing the coat that had been on the stool beside her and slipping it on.

"Are you ready?"

Sophie frowned.

"Ready for what?"

"To get out of here."

Sophie blinked, suspicious.

"I thought we’d already established we’re not gay."

Eloise let out a short laugh, almost a scoff.

"I'm not going to fuck you, Sophie," she said, far too serious for someone who had just made an absurd suggestion. "Although I do think you’re very pretty."

Sophie choked on her own laughter.

"I'm going to a party at my friend and sister-in-law’s house. And I want you to come with me."

"A party?" Sophie repeated, more alert now. "You don’t even know me."

She looked down, staring at her own outfit, because she had come straight from the hospital to the pub and was wearing a black turtleneck sweater, black pants, and plain boots. It was the kind of look that was perfect for surviving London’s cold, not exactly for walking into a house full of strangers, loud music, and beautiful people.

"Besides, I’m not even dressed for a party. I literally look like someone who ran out of work and decided to hide in a pub."

"Great," Eloise said, looking her up and down. "Then you’ll blend in perfectly. Half the people there also came straight from work, and the other half are pretending they got dressed effortlessly." She made a vague gesture with her hand, as if dismissing the concern. "And about us not really knowing each other, you’re right. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends from now on."

She grabbed her bag and motioned for Sophie to stand.

"Now come on. I’m already almost vulgarly late. I’d rather be fashionably late."

Sophie hesitated for half a second, but then let out a slow breath, as if giving up the fight. She pulled out enough money to pay for her drink and left it on the counter, grabbed her beige coat from the stool beside her, and slipped it on.

Minutes later, she was already following Eloise out of the pub and into the London night.

The cold hit Sophie’s face the moment the door shut behind them. The city’s typical fog seemed to wrap around everything, streetlights, parked cars, the wet pavement as if it had rained not long ago. Sophie crossed her arms over her chest and quickened her pace to keep up with Eloise, who walked like she owned the world.

"I like your accent," Eloise commented over her shoulder. "Australian?"

"Yes. But I’ve been living in London for two years."

"Two years?" Eloise seemed genuinely interested. "And is your family still there?"

Sophie stepped around a couple who had chosen the middle of the sidewalk to kiss as if they were in a movie.

"My mom and dad are in Australia. I was born there, but they’re South Korean."

"Cool," Eloise replied simply, as if she were filing the information away for some future interrogation.

Suddenly, she stopped in front of a large house, one of those elegant Victorian-style homes.

"Here."

Sophie looked at the house, then at Eloise, confused. Everything was dark. No lights on. No cars in sight. No sign of a party.

"Are you sure?"

Eloise climbed the few concrete steps and answered as if Sophie were the most innocent person in the world.

"It’s a surprise engagement party for my brother and my best friend."

Sophie blinked, startled.

"Oh..."

"They’re getting married in a few months," Eloise continued, fiddling with the keys or the lock with far too much skill for someone who was supposedly just visiting. "And thanks to my mother, the wedding is going to be a massive event, the kind that looks like a royal parade. So we decided to throw an engagement party that’s not exactly Bridgerton-standard. This is their future house, but they’re basically already living here."

Sophie smiled faintly.

"That’s... adorable."

Eloise stopped and shot her a deadly look.

"Yeah. But if you say 'adorable' again, I’ll leave you on the sidewalk."

Sophie let out a laugh, the first real one she’d had all day, and the tightness in her chest finally seemed to loosen.

"Okay, got it."

Eloise opened the front door and stuck her head inside, speaking in a low voice as if she were stepping into dangerous territory.

"Don’t worry, it’s just me."

Before Sophie could even process what was happening, a male voice came from the darkness, deep and annoyingly seductive.

"About time, Eloise."

Sophie’s stomach flipped, not from fear, but instinct. That kind of voice shouldn’t exist outside of movies.

"Fuck off, Bene," Eloise replied, completely unfazed.

She grabbed Sophie by the wrist and pulled her inside.

Sophie let herself be guided, still trying to understand why the hell she was in a stranger’s house with a stranger, following a plan that felt like it had been invented five minutes ago.

The inside was dark, but there was movement. Whispers. Suppressed giggles. People shushing each other. She could barely make out faces, only shadows.

Sophie bumped into someone and murmured an apology, but Eloise didn’t slow down. If anything, she pulled Sophie harder, weaving around furniture until she shoved her behind something large and solid, probably a couch.

Sophie dropped to her knees on the soft carpet, trying not to make a sound, but she ended up nearly falling into someone’s lap.

"If you’d gotten here on time, I wouldn’t have to be the one talking," the same male voice murmured, his mouth far too close to Sophie’s ear.

She froze.

"Sorry?" Sophie whispered back, uncomfortable with the closeness, and with the immediate effect it had on her.

Their hands were dangerously close, almost touching in the dark. His arm brushed against hers, and Sophie felt a shiver crawl up her skin despite the warmth of his body.

His scent was ridiculous.

There was something of rain and clean fabric to it, and a subtle woody cologne, elegant, unmistakably masculine, impossible to ignore.

It was the kind of scent that made a woman forget her own name for a few seconds. Sophie inhaled without realizing it, and hated how much she liked it.

"You're not Eloise," he murmured.

His voice came low, far too close. Sophie felt his fingers graze hers, and it definitely didn’t feel accidental.

She pulled her hand back into her lap, too quickly to hide it.

"No. I'm not."

She offered no further explanation. Suddenly, she felt embarrassed to be there, practically curled up in the dark beside a man she didn’t even know. It was as if the space between them had shrunk on its own, even though all Sophie could see were shadows and vague outlines.

"That's a good thing," he whispered.

His breath brushed against a loose strand of hair at the back of her neck, and Sophie felt an instant shiver rush through her body, as if her skin had reacted before her mind could even understand why.

What the hell was that?

It was the alcohol. It had to be. She wasn’t clear-headed. She wasn’t normal.

The man didn’t seem to notice how close he was, or maybe he noticed perfectly and simply didn’t care. Sophie, just in case, shifted slightly to the side, pressing herself closer to Eloise as if that could serve as a shield.

As she narrowed her eyes against the darkness, she finally understood that this wasn’t just a "little house party." It was a carefully planned gathering. An intimate but still sizeable group of friends and family. People who clearly knew each other, who touched easily, who whispered and laughed softly as if they shared a common story. And she was the only intruder. She’d known Eloise for what, twenty minutes?

She had never done anything like this in her life. Never, under any circumstances, would she have agreed to follow a stranger to a random party. The only possible explanation was that the day had been far too horrible, and Sophie desperately needed a distraction, anything that would keep her from thinking.

"Bene," Eloise whispered, leaning over Sophie.

Sophie didn’t know how Eloise could see so well in the dark. Maybe she had night vision. Or maybe she was just the kind of person who never hesitated anywhere.

"This is Sophie. I found her at Cello’s, even though she’s straight. Ironic, right? The only other non-lesbian in the bar, and I convinced her to come with me."

The so-called Bene let out a low, muffled laugh.

"That's fucking hilarious," he said dryly. "Now can you be quiet? They just pulled up out front."

Sophie was about to ask how he knew that when she heard the unmistakable sound of car doors shutting outside. Then voices, a man and a woman laughing, talking as they walked. The jingle of keys. The metallic sound of them turning in the lock.

Eloise, or at least Sophie hoped it was she, squeezed her hand excitedly as the door opened, and then, suddenly, the lights came on.

Sophie blinked, almost blinded by the abrupt change. One second, everything was darkness; the next, the room was too bright, too crowded, too loud.

People jumped out from behind furniture, walls, and curtains, shouting in unison, "SURPRIIIISE!"

Sophie jumped too, completely caught off guard. Her brain took a few seconds to catch up with what her eyes could now see.

The room was full, around thirty people. Everyone laughing, clapping, hugging the newcomers. She tried to collect herself and, as her eyes adjusted, she felt Eloise pull her into the crowd.

Sophie let herself be dragged forward for two steps, but then managed to slip out of her new friend’s "ninja grip" and maneuver her way to the back of the group, trying to look discreet. As discreet as possible for someone who had crashed a surprise party without an invitation.

She watched the two at the center of attention, but she couldn’t see the woman because there were too many people around her. The man beside her was tall, dark-haired, and carried himself with confident ease. Definitely Eloise’s brother. He wasn’t unattractive, far from it. He had that polished, elegant air of someone used to being noticed.

"Colin..." Sophie heard someone say, and she concluded that must be his name.

She was seriously considering escaping through the kitchen when a red-haired woman approached. Truly red-haired, with striking green eyes and a dress that looked far too expensive for a party that was supposedly "not Bridgerton-standard."

"Sophie?"

Sophie blinked, surprised that anyone knew her name.

"Um... yes?"

The redhead smiled warmly.

"Welcome. I’m Penelope," the woman introduced herself, holding out her hand.

"Nice to meet you," Sophie replied, shaking it.

Penelope let out a soft laugh.

"Eloise said you were her company tonight. And I’m glad you came." She nodded her chin toward the tall man in the center of the room. "I’m going to marry her brother."

Sophie’s stomach sank completely.

Oh, great. She’s the fiancée.

"Oh... I’m so sorry," Sophie said, mortified. "I realize I’m... kind of intruding."

Penelope looked genuinely surprised.

"Not at all!" she replied, laughing. "I love meeting new people. And honestly, Eloise showing up with someone unexpected is very on brand for her."

Sophie let out a weak laugh.

"Still, it’s kind of surreal that I’m here. I literally don’t know anyone."

"I know," Penelope agreed, laughing louder. "It’s completely insane."

"What’s so funny?" Eloise appeared out of nowhere between them, practically bouncing. "Are you stealing my date?" She pointed at Penelope, pretending to be offended.

"No," Penelope replied calmly. "But I liked her immediately."

"This time, I met someone first," Eloise said triumphantly, turning to Sophie. "Penelope always meets all our friends before I do. Always."

Penelope raised an eyebrow.

"Not Anthony, Bene, Colin, Daphne, Francesca, Gregory, or Hyacinth. You definitely met all of them before I did."

Eloise rolled her eyes.

"But that doesn’t count. They’re my brothers."

Sophie blinked, still trying to process.

"All of them? And... in alphabetical order?"

Eloise shrugged.

"Yeah. There are eight of us."

Sophie stood still for a second, absorbing that information. A huge family. She had never met anyone with more than three siblings. Honestly, just imagining a house with eight children was enough to make her anxious.

"Oh my God..." Sophie murmured, mostly to herself.

Penelope laughed, and before walking away, she placed an affectionate kiss on Eloise’s cheek.

"I need to mingle a little," she said, looking back at Sophie with a genuine smile. "But I’m really happy you came, Sophie. I hope we get to talk more later."

"Thank you. I hope so too," Sophie replied, and she meant it.

Penelope had that rare kind of sweetness, the kind that seemed to match her beauty perfectly.

"Come on, Sophie. Let’s go to the bar."

Before Sophie could protest, Eloise pulled her toward the back of the house.

The dining room was enormous, and beautiful in an almost indecent way. Everything seemed designed to impress. In the center, a massive island served as an improvised bar, covered in bottles, glasses, and a pile of drinks that looked like they’d been looted from an expensive restaurant.

A few people hovered around, laughing and chatting in small groups. Sophie didn’t recognize anyone.

Eloise, on the other hand, seemed to know absolutely everyone, or at least looked comfortable enough to pretend she did.

"What’s your poison?" she asked, grabbing two glasses from the stack. "Another Manhattan?"

Sophie let out a sigh, staring at the glass as if it might answer for her.

"Uh... sure. Why not? I don’t have to be on shift until ten tomorrow."

"Good girl," Eloise approved, as if Sophie had just passed a test.

She grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured an obscene amount into the glass, then added only a thin splash of sweet vermouth. No care. No measuring. No dignity. She handed the glass to Sophie. No ice. No ceremony. Just alcohol.

Sophie stared at the amber liquid, horrified.

"You’re kidding, right?"

"Not at all," Eloise replied with absolute seriousness. "This party sucks. We need to drink if we want to survive until the end."

Sophie lifted the glass, sniffed it, and grimaced.

"I can’t drink that. If I drink it like this, in twenty minutes you’ll be holding my hair over the toilet."

"Drama queen."

Still, Eloise grabbed the ice bucket and tossed a few cubes into the glass with a splash that nearly soaked the entire counter.

"There. Better now?"

Sophie let out a short laugh.

"Better. But if I get sick and make a total mess, you’d better not think badly of me."

"Never," Eloise said solemnly. "I swear on my black and wicked heart."

She drew an exaggerated X over her chest with her finger.

Sophie narrowed her eyes.

"I don’t know if that comforts me or worries me even more... but okay."

"Great," Eloise replied brightly, raising her own glass filled with an indistinguishable, and probably illegal, mixture. "To new friends."

"To new friends," Sophie echoed.

They clinked their glasses, and Sophie took a sip that was far too big. The liquid burned as it slid down her throat, strong and hot, but for the first time in days, Sophie felt her body loosen. As if someone had turned the volume of the world down. She almost smiled. Almost.

"Dr. Baek."

The male voice cut through the moment. And it was a voice Sophie didn’t want to hear that night. Not ever again, if she had the choice. She turned slowly and saw Thomas Stanton standing there, far too immaculate for an informal party. A coworker. Handsome in the wrong kind of way. Confident in the irritating kind of way.

An unfortunate coincidence.

"Dr. Stanton," Sophie replied dryly, not bothering to fake politeness.

She glanced quickly at Eloise, as if silently asking for help.

Thomas stepped closer than Sophie would have liked, leaning against the counter beside her with ease. He had that air of a man who had never once doubted the world owed him attention.

"I didn’t expect to see you here tonight, Sophie."

"I didn’t expect to be here tonight either," she replied, subtly gesturing toward Eloise. "Thomas, this is Eloise, my... company for the night. Eloise, this is Thomas."

Thomas smiled with far too polished a charm.

"Ah, I already know Eloise. How do you know Sophie?"

Eloise’s smile widened, almost wickedly.

"I found her at Cello’s tonight."

Thomas’s light brown eyebrows rose nearly to the perfectly styled hairline.

"Did you?"

Sophie took another sip of her improvised Manhattan. The alcohol no longer burned. Now it only spread a pleasant warmth.

"Yeah," Sophie confirmed, then looked at Eloise with a teasing wink. "I guess I have a thing for blue eyes."

Eloise burst out laughing, shaking her head, and Thomas blinked, still trying to keep up.

"But... you’re not gay."

Sophie tilted her head slightly.

"Who says?"

"For the months I tried to ask you out, you never once used the excuse that you were gay. And I assume that would’ve been at the top of the list if it were true."

Sophie shrugged, indifferent.

"You’ve been trying for months?" Eloise asked, shocked and completely intrigued, leaning in as if she were watching the best reality show of her life.

"Yes," Thomas confirmed with an ironic smile. "But she always dodges it by saying she doesn’t date people she works with."

Eloise frowned.

"That’s ridiculous."

Sophie shot her a look, but Eloise only lifted her hands as if to say: sorry, but I agree with him.

Thomas took another step, too close.

"I agree," he said. "Especially because I know you want me."

He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, his brown eyes shining with self-confidence.

Sophie laughed without humor.

"If that were true, I would’ve said yes already, wouldn’t I?"

"No, because you don’t date people you work with," Eloise added, far too helpfully.

"Our friend Eloise is right."

Sophie opened her mouth to respond, but a female voice cut through the moment.

"Hi, Thomas."

A young, beautiful woman walked past them, smiling at Thomas as if he were irresistible. He immediately returned a seductive smile and winked at her.

Sophie watched the girl walk away, then looked back at him calmly.

"That’s exactly why," she said, subtly pointing in the direction the woman had gone, "I’m never going out with you."

He shrugged, unbothered, leaning even further against the marble counter as if he were perfectly comfortable being unbearable.

"I don’t even know her name."

Sophie narrowed her eyes.

"So I’m supposed to feel flattered that you actually know mine?" she asked, incredulous, shaking her head before turning to Eloise. "Where’s the bathroom?"

Eloise swirled her drink between her fingers, thoughtful.

"There are two on this floor, but the closest one is back there." She pointed her thumb over her shoulder toward the back of the house.

"Right. You kids have fun," Sophie muttered, already walking away.

"It’s not that easy to get rid of me, Sophie!" Thomas shouted after her.

She didn’t even bother looking back.

"Not even genital warts, Thomas... and I managed to avoid that all these years. I’m sure I can avoid you too."

She heard Eloise burst into laughter, loud enough to draw the attention of a few people in the kitchen.

Thomas let out an offended, dramatic sound.

"I’m wounded!"

"You’ll survive," Sophie called over her shoulder, without an ounce of pity.

She found the bathroom in the back, between the kitchen and a hallway that seemed to lead to the rear door of the house. But there was a line.

Great. Sophie sighed, impatient, and decided to go back toward the front. After a few steps, she finally found the other bathroom, less crowded, and slipped inside.

She closed the door behind her and let out a breath. Washed her hands slowly, watching her own reflection in the mirror and, inevitably, thinking about Thomas Stanton.

Why did he insist so much? He was the type of man who flirted as a sport, a natural flirt, arrogant and dangerously handsome. His impeccable surgical skills and respected last name seemed to give him permission to do almost anything without consequences.

But that hadn’t earned him a scholarship in Manchester, Sophie reminded herself, with a satisfied smile. She had gotten it. And he was still a resident where she was finishing her second year of fellowship.

Two years in London, working herself to exhaustion, proving herself, swallowing her fatigue, dealing with side glances and veiled comments, just to get where she was.

And now, one last year in Manchester, about to begin the following month. Manchester Children’s Hospital. Pediatric Emergency Medicine. It sounded so good it made her want to repeat it out loud just to hear it. Maybe that made her a little arrogant. But she honestly didn’t care.

Thomas was attractive, it would be a lie to deny it. And on particularly lonely nights, Sophie had been tempted to give in to his charm, his intelligence, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say. But something in her always pulled back before taking that step.

Because Sophie knew that if she got involved with Thomas Stanton, she would become a topic of conversation within hours. A joke. Gossip whispered through the hospital corridors. And she had no interest in being either.

Not when she had to prove her worth every single day in a country that wasn’t hers.

Sophie dried her hands and left the bathroom, ready to head back to the kitchen and find Eloise. But the moment she stepped into the hallway, she felt an uncomfortable, almost electric sensation, like she was being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She paused for a moment, pretending not to care, and discreetly scanned the room.

People chatted and laughed in small groups. Drinks in hand, plates of appetizers, music in the background. No one seemed to be paying attention to her. No one was even looking in her direction. A strange sense of relief washed over her, though the feeling lingered.

Sophie was about to convince herself it was just paranoia, maybe the alcohol, when the movement in the room seemed to part, as if the sea had suddenly pulled back.

And then she saw him.

On the other side of the room, seated in a chair as if he didn’t belong at that party, there was a pair of blue eyes fixed on her.

And for a moment, everything stopped. The music, the laughter, the clinking glasses, everything disappeared. Time ceased to exist.

Until it came rushing back in full force, cruel and overwhelming, the exact moment Sophie understood who that man was.

She stumbled back as if she’d been slapped.

Because those eyes had haunted her thoughts on too many nights to count.

Ten years.

A short breath escaped her lips before she could stop it. Sophie lifted a hand to her chest, feeling her heart pounding so hard it seemed ready to crack her ribs. For a second, she was sure she was hallucinating.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was just her mind playing tricks on her.

But then she looked again, and he was still there.

The same gaze. The same intensity.

She knew him.

No. She didn’t just know him. He had been her first, and only, one-night stand, and now he was there, only a few meters away, as if the universe had decided to laugh in her face.

He was alone, not speaking to anyone, completely focused on Sophie, as if the rest of the world had vanished.

Slowly, he stood up, and a mischievous smile formed on his lips. There was interest there, maybe. But there was absolutely no sign of recognition. None. No spark of I remember you.

Just those unfathomable, far-too-beautiful blue eyes watching her as if she were a stranger.

And if Sophie thought her heart had been racing before, she’d been completely wrong.

Now her blood roared in her ears.

He looked older, as expected after ten years, but time had been absurdly kind to him. Ridiculously kind. He was exceptional.

Tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of man who made a woman forget how to breathe. He wore a dark blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing a silver watch on his wrist and faint veins that should’ve been illegal in public. The dark jeans only made it worse, molding a body that looked like it had been designed to tempt sin.

His hair was brown. The kind of hair that begged to be messed up by someone’s fingers.

Sophie swallowed hard, because suddenly everything she thought she had gotten over was back. Whole. Alive. And only a few steps away.

Sophie was ashamed to admit she’d thought about that night, and that man, many times over the years, simply because it had been, without a doubt, unforgettable. And the memory she’d kept of his face and body hadn’t even come close to doing him justice.

But it had only been one night.

She liked to think that was because life had been too real, but she doubted he’d be nearly as interested in a repeat as she might have been.

He was already making his way through the crowd, his intention clear as he caught her watching him.

She wanted to move. Wanted to leave. Wanted to run like hell and never come back.

But she did none of those things, because she was completely and utterly paralyzed by his gaze.

Benedict. That was all she knew about him. Just his first name.

She didn’t know what to think about the absurdity of that night.

She’d ended up in a pub she’d never been to, met a woman who somehow connected with her too easily, too quickly, as if they’d been friends for years. And that same woman apparently knew everyone, including the man Sophie had slept with once, ten years ago.

It was ridiculous.

And yet, even though Sophie didn’t believe in fate, karma, or anything like that, part of her felt like maybe that was exactly what it was.

Or some cruel joke from the universe.

"I’m Benedict Bridgerton. You must be Sophie, my sister Eloise’s date," he said, finally approaching her, wearing a shamelessly charming smile.

Sophie couldn’t think straight, because now it was obvious.

Her one-night stand was the brother of the woman she had just met. The “Bene.”

Of course it was the same man she’d spoken to in the dark. The same man whose breath had brushed her skin. The same man she had practically melted against like an idiot with no self-respect.

It had been dark. That was her only excuse.

Well, that and the alcohol.

Yes, the alcohol definitely helped explain how pathetic she’d been.

The combination of anonymity and lack of inhibition did strange things to people. It made you feel brave and, apparently, stupid.

His scent wrapped around her like a warm wave, hitting her hard, like a physical memory. Lust, wood, something citrusy, and far too masculine to be fair. Heat immediately rushed to her cheeks.

She recognized the voice.

Of course it was him.

Benedict let out a low laugh, and Sophie realized it was because she was standing there staring at him without answering, as if he were the bloody ghost of Christmas past.

"Do you always look at people you don’t know like that?"

Sophie blinked, as if waking up. She bit her lip, nervous, because suddenly she had no idea what to say.

Should she tell him who she was? Just to experience the crushing embarrassment, and that inevitable sting when he didn’t remember?

Because she was absolutely certain she hadn’t been his first or last one-night stand.

So why do that to herself?

It would be like raising a pathetic flag and waving it right in his face.

"No. Sorry. Long night, that’s all," she said too quickly. "I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything."

Shut up, Sophie. Shut up, for fuck’s sake.

God. If he hadn’t been uncomfortable before, he probably was now.

"You didn’t." He laughed, and then took another step into her space, as if the word boundary didn’t exist in his vocabulary. Sophie was 5'1", so she had to tilt her face up to meet his. "Actually... I think I like it," he murmured.

Her cheeks burned again.

"You can look at me like that whenever you want."

Sophie crossed her arms, trying to regain some kind of control over herself.

"Do you always flirt like this with women you don’t know?"

It was a challenge. A blatant one.

She didn’t want to ask directly whether he remembered her, so that was the safest, and least humiliating, way to test him.

He smiled faintly.

"Depends."

"Depends on what?"

Benedict tilted his head, as if assessing her reaction.

"On whether they’re as beautiful as you are."

Sophie arched an eyebrow.

"Does that line usually work for you?"

He let out a low, rough, slow laugh, and the sound was so intoxicating it made her toes curl inside her shoes.

With absurd ease, Benedict reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. Sophie did the impossible not to close her eyes. Not to lean into his touch as if she’d been waiting for it her whole life.

"You’re the first woman I’ve ever used it on," he said. "So tell me."

Sophie smiled.

"I completely fell for it."

The worst part was that her voice came out steady, calm, as if she weren’t on the edge of an internal breakdown.

His gaze sharpened. More aware. More dangerous.

"I doubt it."

She swallowed.

"Why?"

Benedict took a step closer.

Closer. So close the air between them felt warmer, heavier, and he still wasn’t touching her.

Christ... was she breathless? What was wrong with her?

"Because we practically kissed in the dark earlier," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Sophie let out a short laugh.

“Was it you?”

She knew perfectly well, but she asked anyway.

“It was me, Sophie.” His voice dropped even lower. “And I have to admit… I didn’t want to be at this party tonight.” His eyes burned into hers, and the entire room seemed to disappear again. “But that definitely changed.”

Everything was too hot. Electrified. Pulsing.

And he felt it too. Sophie could see it.

She could’ve sworn anyone within a five-mile radius could feel it.

Benedict leaned in, just inches from her face, and his voice came as a whisper.

“I wanted to kiss you while you were sitting against me in the dark. Before I even saw your beautiful face.”

Sophie held her breath. The world suddenly felt too small. He moved even closer, and she was sure it was going to happen. He was going to kiss her, and she wasn’t going to stop him.

“And you know something, Sophie?” he continued, his mouth so close she could feel the warmth of his breath.

She shook her head no, mute, as if any word would break the spell. His forehead nearly touched hers.

“Sophie, there you are!”

Eloise’s voice hit the moment like a bucket of ice water. Sophie startled and jumped back, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.

Eloise appeared, dragging along a tall dark-haired man, with Penelope right behind her, smiling as if nothing was happening.

Benedict took a deliberate step back. But the look he shot Eloise was an irritated scowl, loaded with pure threat. Eloise, of course, didn’t notice. Or didn’t care.

He might have been irritated, but Sophie was in absolute bliss at the perfectly timed interruption.

How the hell did I let him get to me so fast? Again. What was I thinking?

“Colin, let me introduce you,” Eloise said, throwing an arm over Sophie’s shoulder, heavy-handed and completely clueless, her movements sloppy and her sapphire eyes totally glazed over. “This is my friend, Sophie. I found her at the bar,” she said, dragging out the words. “She’s hot, huh? Too bad I don’t play for the vagina team.”

Sophie’s eyes widened, her face immediately heating up.

“Eloise…”

But she couldn’t stop herself from laughing. She reached out her hand to the man in front of her.

“Hi, I’m Sophie Baek.”

Colin looked surprised for a brief second, and his eyes flicked quickly to Benedict before returning to Sophie.

It was so fast Sophie almost thought she’d imagined it.

“Colin Bridgerton,” he replied politely, shaking her hand firmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sophie.”

“I have to admit I crashed your party.”

“Nah.” He waved it off like it didn’t matter. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name. Eloise has been talking about you all night.”

And then, again, he looked at Benedict.

Sophie felt her stomach tighten.

Why?

“Ah… w-well,” she stammered, hating the fact that her tongue had decided to stop working. “She is my date, after all. I’d be devastated if our first attempt wasn’t a success.”

“I think it’s safe to say it was,” Penelope commented with a warm smile. “Eloise said you’re a doctor. Do you work tomorrow?”

“I do.” Sophie swallowed. “Actually… I should probably go.”

Penelope stepped toward her, and her smile lit up her entire face, so genuine Sophie felt an unexpected ache in her chest.

“I’m really happy you came. And… if you’re free tomorrow night, we’re having dinner at the Bridgertons’ house. I mean, it’s mostly to go over wedding details and things like that, but I’d love for you to join us.”

Sophie was momentarily stunned by the invitation.

Before she could respond, Eloise squeezed her shoulder, as if she owned the situation.

“You have to come. My mum is going to love meeting you and… anyway, we have other siblings who aren’t even here tonight, because this party was kind of thrown together. Tomorrow might be a boring dinner, so you need to come so I don’t suffer alone.”

Penelope huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Yes, sorry, that was kind of rude of me, wasn’t it?” Eloise asked, putting on an apology that didn’t last even half a second.

“I’m over it,” Penelope replied with a patient smile. “But seriously, Sophie… we really would love for you to come. So please, say yes.”

Sophie let out a nervous laugh.

“Won’t I be… extra?”

“A what?” Colin laughed.

Sophie rolled her eyes at herself, far too aware that the alcohol was already taking effect.

“An uninvited person.”

“Oh. Right.” Colin shook his head, still amused.

“Not at all,” he said, with a smile Sophie couldn’t quite decipher. It was kind… but there was something behind it. As if he knew more than he was letting on.

Sophie nodded, conceding.

“Okay. Thank you. That sounds fun.”

Penelope pulled Eloise’s heavy arm off Sophie’s shoulder.

“Hey!” Eloise protested.

Penelope only smiled at her drunk friend, as if she’d been doing that for years.

“How are you getting home?” Benedict asked then, and his voice went straight through Sophie like a warm hand at the back of her neck.

He stepped closer.

Close enough for her to feel his presence without needing to look.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie saw Penelope and Eloise exchanging quick looks.

Before she could answer, Thomas appeared out of nowhere, showing up beside her like an inconvenient shadow.

“Sophie, are you leaving?”

Sophie took a deep breath, trying not to show her irritation.

“Yes. I have a shift tomorrow.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” Thomas offered immediately.

Benedict went still.

His expression didn’t change, but Sophie felt something shift.

“You don’t have to,” she replied firmly. “I live nearby.”

“Then it’s not out of my way. Come on.” Thomas took her hand and tugged her gently, as if it had already been decided.

Sophie hesitated. For a second, she thought about refusing out of pride. Or maybe just because she didn’t want to leave.

Didn’t want to step away from Benedict. At least not right then. But in the end, she gave in.

“Alright,” she admitted with a half-smile, more out of politeness than desire.

She turned to Eloise.

“Thank you for everything tonight.” And then she pulled her into a hug. “You turned a horrible day into something actually good.”

Eloise sniffed dramatically.

“You’d better stop, or you’ll make me cry ugly. And I don’t do that unless I’m drunk.”

Sophie pulled back, smiling.

“You are drunk.”

“Oh, right. Then you should go… but I hope you put in some effort for our next date.”

Sophie laughed, shaking her head.

“You can count on it.”

Penelope hugged her next, confirming the dinner again.

Sophie waved at Colin, thanking him once more, and then her eyes inevitably found Benedict.

He was standing a few steps away, watching Thomas, and then his gaze shifted to her. Sophie felt her chest tighten.

She lifted her chin, holding his stare, but she turned her face away before it was too late. Before she did something stupid.

Thomas was already guiding her to the door, his hand firm at the small of her back, far too possessive for someone who hadn’t even gotten a real “yes.”

“You realize this is the first step, right?” he asked once they were outside the house, as he opened the car door.

Sophie slid into the passenger seat and pulled on her seatbelt without looking at him.

“First step toward what?”

Thomas started the car and smiled like he was pleased with himself.

“You agreeing to go out with me.”

Sophie let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“So that’s the challenge? The thrill of being continuously rejected? What is it? I just don’t understand your persistence.”

He shrugged.

“Maybe I actually like you, Sophie. Maybe I don’t have any other reason to ask you out besides that.”

Sophie didn’t have an answer, so she stayed quiet.

The kind of silence full of thoughts.

The kind that weighs.

As Thomas drove, she stared at the streetlights flashing past the window, and all she could see was Benedict. His face. His voice. The way he’d said her name.

Sophie had seen Benedict that night, and he didn’t remember her. Or at least he didn’t seem to.

Even worse: she was going to see him again the next day, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t anxious for it.

Chapter Text

SOPHIE

Sophie hadn’t slept much before her hospital shift, and that had absolutely nothing to do with the amount of alcohol she’d consumed the night before. Nor with the fact that Thomas had insisted on walking her all the way to the building’s entrance, talking too much, smiling too much, and placing an irritatingly gentle kiss on her cheek as if they were something.

It also had nothing to do with the patient she had lost during the previous afternoon shift. And it definitely had nothing to do with the fact that she’d met a whole new group of friends with only one month left before leaving London.

No. The only thing, or rather, the only person, occupying Sophie’s thoughts that night was Benedict Bridgerton.

She hadn’t seen him in ten years. But she recognized him immediately.

Time had changed some things. He looked taller, broader in the shoulders, with the air of a man who had learned how to carry himself like someone important. A bit more maturity in his gaze. But it was him.

It was the same mouth, the same eyes. The same presence that was impossible to ignore. And, worst of all, the same scent.

As if the universe had made a point of returning everything all at once: the past, the memory, the feeling of being young and impulsive and stupid, and the cruel shock of realizing it still lived inside her.

His face would remain etched in her memory forever, along with every detail of that night years ago in London. The sound of his laughter. The texture of the sheets. The way he had looked at her as if she were a piece of art he wanted to memorize.

She had never thought she would see him again, and the fact that he hadn’t recognized her, even after hearing her name, even after looking directly at her face, hurt.

It hurt because she had recognized him without needing an introduction. It hurt because that night had clearly meant far more to her than it had to him. It hurt because no one liked being forgotten, especially not by a man who had once been so close to her, inside her, and who still looked like the kind of man who could ruin a woman with nothing but a smile. There. That was it.

She knew it had been a decade ago, in another time and another version of herself. But still.

That was why her hands were cold when she rang the doorbell at the Bridgerton mansion that night.

She took a deep breath, staring up at the imposing façade. The house was old, with that London architecture that seemed designed to remind the entire world that some families had never had to worry about money. Tall, symmetrical windows, golden light spilling discreetly from within, as if the house was always prepared to receive someone important.

The front garden was immaculate, even in the cold. Perfectly trimmed bushes, clean stone pathways, and a small fountain that seemed to exist more out of tradition than necessity.

Sophie swallowed hard. She had really come, even knowing he would be there. Even knowing she would have to face him again. And it shouldn’t have been something she wanted. But it was. Because deep down, some pathetic part of her still needed to confirm it.

She needed to know if he truly didn’t remember, or if he was only pretending. Or if he did remember, and simply didn’t care.

She lowered her gaze to herself before the door opened, checking her outfit as if it were possible to avoid emotional disaster through carefully chosen fabric. The dress was elegant and discreet. A rose-gold satin midi with thin straps and a soft neckline.

Her hair was down and perfectly straight. A nude lipstick, light makeup, and small pearl earrings. Over it, she wore a long black fitted coat with gold buttons and a high collar, because London was cold and damp in the way only London could be.

Earlier that day, Eloise had sent her the house address through Instagram, along with a voice note that was half drunk, half excited, insisting Sophie “had to come even if she had to be dragged.”

After that, they’d finally exchanged phone numbers like two normal people, instead of two strangers who had happened to meet by chance at a gay bar.

When she rang the bell a second time, the door opened with a flourish, and an older woman, impeccably dressed in a dark uniform, appeared with a gentle smile.

“Good evening, miss. May I help you?”

Sophie straightened her shoulders.

“Good evening. I’m Sophie Baek. I was invited to dinner.”

The woman’s smile widened.

“Ah, yes. Miss Baek. Welcome. I’m Mrs. Crabtree, the housekeeper. May I take your coat?”

“Nice to meet you,” Sophie replied politely as she stepped inside and removed her coat herself.

The air inside the house was warmer and smelled of wood, fresh flowers, and something sweet, perhaps expensive wine or some discreet ambient perfume.

The hall floor was pale marble, and there was a long rug that looked like it had been brought from somewhere in continental Europe centuries ago. The walls were lined with enormous paintings, old portraits, landscapes, classical art. The high ceiling was decorated with golden moldings and a crystal chandelier that reflected the light like water.

Sophie felt small. Like she’d just stepped into a film, but before she could take in more details, an excited voice echoed down the corridor.

“Sophie!”

Eloise appeared almost running, wearing a yellow satin dress with her hair down.

“You came!” Eloise grabbed her shoulders and inspected her as if she were assessing a patient. “Oh my God, you look gorgeous. I knew you had good taste.”

Sophie laughed, relieved by her energy.

“Thank you. I almost didn’t come.”

“Almost? There is no almost when it comes to a Bridgerton invitation. You came. That’s it. Now you’re trapped in my world.”

Sophie opened her mouth to respond, but an older, elegant woman appeared behind Eloise. She had a soft smile and kind eyes. Sophie immediately realized it was Violet Bridgerton, Eloise’s mother. They looked very much alike.

She wore a long burgundy dress, a delicate necklace, and her brown hair was pinned perfectly in place.

“So this is Sophie,” Violet said, her voice warm. “Eloise hasn’t talked about anything else since yesterday.”

Sophie instantly grew nervous.

“Mrs. Bridgerton… thank you so much for the invitation. I’m sorry for showing up like this, last minute.”

Violet took Sophie’s hands in hers in a surprisingly intimate gesture.

“My dear, you were invited. And any friend of my daughters is welcome in this house.”

Sophie felt her cheeks warm.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Violet,” she corrected with a smile. “Just Violet.”

Eloise made a triumphant gesture.

“I told you she’d like you.”

“Come. The others are already in the sitting room.”

As they walked through the ground floor, Sophie couldn’t help noticing everything.

The walls were covered in dark wooden panels, gleaming under the warm yellow light. There were vases of fresh flowers in nearly every corner.

The living room had enormous sofas, a lit fireplace, and books arranged by color on a massive bookshelf. Sophie noticed a modern sculpture on top of a side table. But her thoughts were quickly interrupted when a man approached them with the posture of someone who owned the place.

He was tall, with brown hair slightly graying at the temples, wearing an impeccable suit. His face was serious, but not hostile. There was something protective in his expression.

Violet touched his arm affectionately.

“Edmund, this is Sophie Baek. Eloise’s friend.”

Edmund Bridgerton extended his hand to Sophie.

“Miss Baek. Welcome.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Bridgerton. It’s a pleasure.”

He studied her for a second longer than necessary, not in an invasive way, but in an assessing one, as if trying to understand who she was.

“A doctor, aren’t you? Eloise mentioned.”

Sophie nodded.

“Yes. Pediatric emergency.”

Edmund seemed genuinely impressed.

“Admirable. The Bridgerton family has many talents, but courage and composure, those are rare.”

Sophie smiled, unsure of how to respond.

“Thank you.”

“Come, dear. You’ll feel more comfortable once you’re surrounded by people talking too much. It’s the official sport of our family.”

Sophie let out a laugh, following the three of them down the corridor toward a set of enormous double doors. As she stepped through, Sophie realized they weren’t heading into an ordinary room.

It was a ballroom separate from the main house. The space had an incredibly high ceiling, massive chandeliers, long tables covered in immaculate white tablecloths, sophisticated floral arrangements, and lit candles that cast a golden, intimate glow.

The room was full. Not crowded like a typical party, but full in the refined way of a traditional gathering: quiet conversations, controlled laughter, wine glasses, waiters moving through the room with trays of appetizers. Soft classical music played in the background.

Sophie held her breath. It was far too beautiful for what was supposed to be just a rehearsal dinner.

“Welcome to the Bridgertons’ organized chaos,” Eloise whispered in her ear.

Violet guided Sophie through the room as if introducing a guest of honor.

“Francesca, dear,” Violet called.

A poised young woman with brown hair and a serene expression turned around.

“Mother.”

“This is Sophie. Eloise’s friend.”

Francesca smiled politely.

“Nice to meet you, Sophie.”

Then came Daphne, beautiful and flawless, with a charming smile, along with her husband, Simon. Then Gregory and Hyacinth, bored-looking teenagers. Anthony appeared next, serious, with the posture of a CEO, and beside him stood Kate, his wife, very beautiful, stunning really, with intelligent eyes.

Kate took Sophie’s hand.

“Eloise finally brought someone interesting home,” she commented, and Sophie laughed.

“Kate!” Eloise protested.

“What? I said ‘interesting.’ That’s a compliment.”

Sophie was already beginning to feel less out of place when Violet led her to another part of the ballroom.

“And this is my daughter-in-law, Penelope, whom you already know.”

Penelope appeared with the same sweet smile from the night before, wearing a light-colored dress, her red hair pinned back delicately. She opened her arms immediately.

“Sophie! You came!”

Sophie felt genuine relief.

“I did. Thank you for insisting, and congratulations on the dinner.”

Penelope held Sophie’s hands.

“I was hoping you’d say yes. Eloise became unbearable in the group chat.”

“I heard that!” Eloise shouted from the other side of the room.

Colin appeared beside Penelope, smiling and charming.

“Sophie,” he greeted. “I told you this family was insane.”

“They’re all lovely,” Sophie replied, laughing.

Violet looked at Colin as if she’d suddenly remembered something.

“Colin, dear… have you seen Benedict?”

The name hit Sophie like a physical shock. A snap. A shiver.

She tried to keep her face neutral, but she felt her shoulders tense and her fingers tighten around the glass someone had placed in her hand.

Colin frowned.

“Actually, no. I haven’t seen him since last night.”

Eloise rolled her eyes.

“Of course you haven’t. Benedict has the terrible habit of disappearing when he’s supposed to show up.”

Violet sighed with the kind of patience only mothers of many children develop.

“I specifically asked him to come early.”

“He’ll show up,” Anthony said, approaching, his voice low and firm. “Benedict always shows up. Just never on time.”

Kate let out a small laugh.

“It’s his special talent.”

Sophie swallowed hard, trying to breathe normally.

She was going to see him here today.

Dinner began with the sound of a bell and a coordinated bustle. The guests were guided to a long table, where sophisticated plates were already arranged as if for a magazine editorial.

Sophie sat between Eloise and Francesca, which helped her not feel completely lost. The waiters served delicate starters and white wine, and everything tasted like money and tradition.

She tried to pay attention to the conversation around her, comments about the wedding, the guest list, flowers and music, but her mind insisted on wandering.

And without meaning to, she caught herself looking toward the entrance of the ballroom again and again. As if her body knew before she did. As if some part of her had been waiting. So when the double doors opened, she didn’t need to look right away to know.

The conversations quieted. Not completely, but enough for Sophie to feel the shift. And then she saw him.

Benedict walked into the room as if he was used to entering places where everyone stared, and of course, he was.

He wore a black suit, a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, no tie. His brown hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run a hand through it on the way in. And there was something in the way he moved, a mix of confidence and indifference, as if he knew he drew attention but couldn’t be bothered to care.

He greeted Violet first, kissing her hand affectionately.

Then he said something to Anthony, something quick. But then his eyes swept across the room and landed on Sophie. His smile faltered for a split second. Not a smile of recognition, not exactly. But one of surprise, curiosity, or interest.

Sophie felt her heart pound so hard it hurt. For a second, she hated herself for it. Because he was beautiful. Ridiculously beautiful. It was the same look that had made an eighteen-year-old girl forget the entire world ten years ago.

Benedict didn’t look away. He stared at her as if she were a problem he wanted to solve. As if she were an unanswered question.

Sophie held his gaze for only a moment, and then, out of pure self-preservation instinct, looked away. And in that moment, Sophie understood the night was going to be much longer than it should have been.

After dinner, the Bridgerton mansion gradually began to lose the formal, impeccable atmosphere Violet insisted on maintaining during events.

Penelope and Colin were the first to retreat, exhausted by the commotion and the social pressure that came with the pre-wedding festivities, even though they looked happy and radiant. Daphne and Simon also said their goodbyes early. Their baby was waiting for them at home.

The sitting room was enormous and cozy, with light-colored sofas and elegant armchairs, a marble fireplace still warm, and far too many books for a family that supposedly lived for social events. Old paintings lined the walls, along with family portraits that seemed to scream tradition.

Violet and Edmund had also withdrawn after making sure everyone had been fed, complimented, and socially approved. The housekeeper, Mrs. Crabtree, moved like an efficient shadow, collecting empty glasses before anyone even realized they’d finished drinking.

Now, at the heart of the room, Anthony and Kate sat close to each other, as if they were a perfectly synchronized couple. Francesca occupied an armchair with a glass of white wine. Eloise was sprawled on the sofa. And Benedict sat in an armchair by the window with his phone in hand, holding a glass of whiskey.

Sophie sat at the end of the sofa, a glass of red wine between her fingers, trying to look relaxed. Trying to look normal. But it was impossible, because Benedict was there, and he was far too real.

Kate was the one who started the conversation first.

“So, Sophie. Eloise said you work as a doctor.”

Sophie nodded.

“Yes. I’m a fellow in Pediatric Emergency Medicine.”

Kate made a low sound, impressed.

“That’s extremely difficult.”

“It is,” Sophie replied, unable to keep the pride out of her voice. “But I like it. I mean… most of the time.”

Anthony let out a brief laugh.

“‘Most of the time’ is exactly what I’d say about running my family’s company.”

Benedict let out a sound that almost resembled a restrained laugh, but he didn’t comment.

Eloise, her legs folded on the sofa, turned her face toward Anthony with an expression of dramatic boredom.

“Oh, please. Don’t start with that. Don’t let Sophie think you actually work.”

Anthony narrowed his eyes at his sister.

“I do actually work.”

“You give orders and complain,” Eloise corrected.

Kate laughed, resting her chin on her hand, amused as if that argument was simply part of their routine.

“He does work. I can testify.”

Anthony smiled at his wife and kissed her cheek. They made a beautiful couple.

Francesca took a small sip of her wine, watching them.

“That’s why I’m never joining the company.”

“Thank God,” Eloise said dramatically. “A sensible Bridgerton. Finally.”

Anthony ignored her.

“But yes, Sophie, the three of us, me, Benedict, and Colin, are involved in the business. The Bridgerton Group.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows.

“The Bridgerton Group?” she repeated.

Benedict finally spoke, his voice low and calm.

“It’s a holding company. Our father founded it before marrying our mother. Real estate, investments, and wealth management. We have stakes in a few private hospitals as well.”

Anthony added, as if it were a business presentation.

“I’m the CEO. Colin handles public relations and international expansion. He’s basically the company’s diplomat.”

Eloise made a face.

“Colin is the company clown.”

Anthony pointed at her.

“And you are a walking problem.”

Eloise raised her glass.

“Proudly.”

Kate looked at Sophie.

“And Benedict is the creative director and the one responsible for the foundations and cultural projects. He invests in art, sponsors exhibitions, that sort of thing.”

Sophie looked at Benedict, unable to stop herself.

He seemed a little surprised to be described. As if he hated being translated into words.

“And do you like it?” Sophie asked, before she could stop herself.

Benedict stared at her for a second, with blue eyes that reflected cold, warmth, ocean, storm, and clear sky all at once.

“I like what gives me freedom,” he replied.

The sentence sounded like it carried something underneath. Like it was an answer to far more than a simple question. And Sophie didn’t know if he was talking about the company, or about life, or about the women he never remembered.

Eloise broke the moment, because she always broke moments.

“The only thing Benedict likes is pretending he doesn’t care about anything.” She pointed her glass at him. “And then being melancholic with a whiskey like he’s some French film character.”

Benedict slowly turned his head, looking both offended and amused at the same time.

“Are you drunk again?”

“I’m not drunk. I’m… philosophically disoriented.”

“You were philosophically disoriented yesterday too, when I had to carry you to your room.”

Eloise’s mouth fell open, scandalized.

“I did not need to be carried!”

Benedict let out a low laugh.

“Eloise, you were trying to convince me the car was a capitalist invention and that we should walk home in protest.”

Kate laughed out loud, and Francesca covered her smile with her hand.

Anthony took a sip from his glass, clearly trying not to laugh because apparently he liked maintaining his composure, but his eyes gave him away.

Eloise pointed at Benedict, indignant.

“You weren’t that different from me!”

Benedict raised an eyebrow.

“Me?”

Sophie laughed softly, despite herself. She lifted her glass and took a sip, trying to keep her mind in place.

Kate, inevitably, focused back on Sophie as if she were a witness in an interrogation.

“And how long have you been in London?”

“Two years,” Sophie answered.

Kate tilted her head.

“And do you like it here?”

“I do. London is… intense. But I’ve learned to love some parts of it.”

Eloise pointed at her excitedly.

“She loves London, but she hates Londoners.”

Sophie laughed.

“I never said that.”

“You said it with your eyes,” Eloise insisted.

Benedict looked at Sophie, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

“She’s right. You have a very… expressive look.”

Sophie felt her stomach twist, because his gaze said the same. And for a second, the entire world seemed to narrow down between the two of them.

Kate noticed. She looked from Sophie to Benedict and, for a brief moment, the smallest smile appeared on her face. As if she’d understood something. As if she’d seen a spark.

“It’s late,” Sophie commented, as if it were a warning. “I… I should go.”

Eloise made a dramatic face.

“No! Stay. Let’s talk more.”

“I work early tomorrow,” Sophie said, standing up and reaching for the black coat she had left beside her small purse.

Anthony raised an eyebrow.

“Doctors really do work too much.”

Sophie slipped the coat over her dress and noticed Benedict following her movements with his eyes. He watched as she buttoned her coat, as if he were memorizing the motion.

Sophie hated how much it affected her.

She picked up her purse.

“How are you getting home?” Benedict asked.

She looked at him.

“Taxi.”

Francesca turned to her.

“Good luck with that. This street is a nightmare for getting a cab, especially at this hour.”

Anthony made a sound of agreement.

“She’s right. It’s a residential area. Cars don’t come through often.”

Kate stood up slowly.

“Sophie, dear, you shouldn’t walk alone.”

Sophie opened her mouth to protest. But Benedict was already moving. He set his glass down on the table as if the decision had been made before she even spoke.

“I’ll take you,” he said simply.

Sophie froze for a second.

Her heart was beating so hard it was almost humiliating.

“You don’t have to,” she replied quickly. “I can.”

“Accept,” Kate said gently.

Sophie knew it was late. She knew that street was far too quiet. She knew London could be dangerous when it wanted to be. But she also knew something else.

Accepting a ride from Benedict was like putting her hand into a flame and pretending to be surprised when it burned.

“Alright,” she said. “Thank you.”

Then he smiled. Not a wide smile, but a small, restrained one.

“Come on, then.”

Sophie felt her stomach drop. Because deep down, she already knew. This was going to be a disaster. And she was completely screwed.

She said goodbye to everyone and then stepped outside, with Benedict right behind her. When they crossed the front door, the cold London air hit them like a slap. The night was damp and quiet, a light fog that seemed permanently present.

They walked side by side toward the car, and Sophie realized the silence between them wasn’t comfortable. It was tense and heavy. She kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, focusing on the street, the stone path, the tall gate, anything except him.

Benedict walked with his hands in his pockets, far too relaxed, as if it were just a simple ride. As if he weren’t the man who had spent the last ten years like a ghost in her memory. As if he weren’t the reason she had slept poorly. As if he weren’t the reason her body reacted just from having him beside her.

When they reached the car, Benedict stopped and calmly walked around, opening the door for her like a proper British gentleman.

“After you.”

Sophie hesitated for half a second before getting in. She avoided looking directly at him, because if she did, she might lose control.

Benedict slid into the driver’s seat and the interior of the car filled with his scent. An absurd mix of woody cologne, expensive soap, and something naturally masculine that felt unfair. He started the car and, for a few seconds, only the sound of the engine and the windshield wipers filled the space.

The silence was almost deafening. Sophie didn’t know if she was euphoric or irritated that he was taking her home. The attraction clearly wasn’t their problem. The problem was that it was all too easy. Too natural. But she was leaving in a month, and the things she felt when she was near him were dangerous. They were seductive, intoxicating, as if he were a glass of wine she had already promised herself she wouldn’t drink again, but there it was, right in front of her, poured, waiting for just one slip.

Benedict put the car in motion and drove away from the mansion’s path with ease, unhurried. Even though the windows were closed, she kept her face turned toward the glass, watching the streetlights pass by and the fog drawing shadows across the road.

“This ride is going to feel very long if we stay silent.”

Sophie turned her head just enough to glance at him. He kept his eyes on the road, his hands steady on the wheel, his expression calm. Far too handsome.

“I just want to get home,” she replied.

“And you will.”

Sophie looked back out the window. A few more seconds. A few more streets, and then she heard Benedict take a deep breath, as if deciding what to say.

“Are you always like this?”

Sophie frowned.

“Like what?”

He gave a small smile.

“Like you’re planning to escape through the window at any moment.”

Sophie let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Maybe I am.”

Benedict glanced at her quickly, only for a second, before returning his eyes to the road.

“Is that because of me?”

Sophie’s stomach tightened, and she didn’t answer right away, because the answer was obvious. Yes. It was because of him. Because of the memory of him. Because of the humiliation of being forgotten.

“No,” she lied, far too quickly.

Benedict made a low sound, almost a laugh.

“Right.”

The word was said with enough disbelief to irritate her.

“Do you do this often?” she asked, trying to turn the tables.

“Do what?”

“Taking unknown women home.”

Benedict raised an eyebrow, amused.

“You’re not unknown.”

Sophie laughed again, more bitter this time.

“Oh, I’m not?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He just kept driving.

“You’re Eloise’s friend. I know your name. I know what you do. I know you have a different accent when you’re nervous.”

Sophie felt her face heat up. She finally turned her head toward him, truly looking at him.

“I’m not nervous.”

Benedict smiled, slow.

“If you say so…”

Sophie opened her mouth, ready to argue back, but no words came out, because for a second, the silence between them shifted. It was no longer uncomfortable. It was electric. The kind of silence that came right before a storm.

“How was your day at the hospital?” he asked then, changing the subject.

Sophie blinked, surprised.

“Long.”

“Do you like what you do?”

“I do.”

“Even with everything you see?”

“I like it because…” she started, but stopped, because she didn’t know why she was about to open up to him.

“Because you save children,” Benedict finished for her.

Sophie felt her throat tighten.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Benedict nodded slowly, as if he respected it, and for the rest of the drive, he didn’t say anything else.

The ride to Sophie’s building was far too short, and when she finally recognized the street, she straightened in her seat and cleared her throat, forcing her voice to come out steadier.

“It’s here.”

Benedict slowed down immediately.

“Which building?”

She pointed without looking at him.

“That one. The red brick one, with the black door.”

He nodded and pulled over. Sophie reached for her seatbelt as if it were a release.

“We’re here.”

She nodded.

“Yes.”

Benedict turned slightly toward her, his body far too relaxed, as if this were a normal conversation. A normal goodbye.

“You’ve been delivered safely.”

“Thank you,” she replied, almost automatically, without looking at him.

She opened the door before he could say anything else, and the cold wind cut in like a blade, slicing through the suffocating warmth of the car. Sophie got out quickly, shutting the door harder than she intended.

She pulled her coat tighter around herself and started walking toward the building entrance without looking back.

Just go in. Just go in already.

If she went inside, she’d climb the stairs, lock the door, and Benedict would return to his perfect life, to the mansion, to the family, to his world, she would return to hers, to reality, to the fact that in a month she would be leaving. It was simple. She just had to keep walking without looking back.

“Sophie. Wait.”

She froze. For a full second, her body obeyed before her mind could decide. Sophie closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

Then she turned slowly, her face controlled and her expression neutral, as if she weren’t collapsing on the inside.

Benedict stood a few steps away, and the streetlight illuminated part of his face, making his eyes look even clearer, even more intense. He walked toward her slowly, as if he knew that if he came too fast, she really would run.

“What is it?” she asked, trying to sound annoyed, but her voice came out too low.

Benedict stopped close, at a respectful distance, but still near enough for Sophie to feel the warmth of his body despite the cold. He tilted his head slightly, studying her as if she were an enigma.

“Why does it feel like you’re running away from me?”

The question hit Sophie like a direct blow. She swallowed.

“I’m not running.”

Benedict raised an eyebrow.

“No.”

He took a step closer, and now he was too close.

Sophie felt her entire body go on alert, as if her skin knew before she did that this was dangerous. His scent was there again, wrapping around her, and the memory of that night ten years ago threatened to rise like a violent flash. He didn’t touch her. But it felt like he did.

She remembered the vacation trip, two weeks in London at eighteen. Visiting Keira, her cousin. The thrill of being away from home. The feeling of being an adult for the first time. And then him. Benedict.

“You have the most beautiful eyes,” he murmured, still holding her hand. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Yes. You. Ten years ago.

She pulled her hand back gently, but too quickly to disguise it.

“Good night, Benedict.”

And then she turned and kept walking, not waiting for him to respond, not looking back.

How could he say those things, look at her like that, know her name and still not remember? She hated how disappointed she was. She hated even more the fact that, for some absurd reason, she still hoped he would.

But Benedict caught up with her before she reached the building door.

“Hey.” His voice came from behind her, firm, as if he didn’t accept being dismissed so easily. “What did I say? I think you’re beautiful.”

Sophie stopped for a second, but didn’t turn.

“Normally women don’t run away from me when I say that. Actually… they usually do the exact opposite.”

She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply.

“I just want to go inside, Benedict. It’s late. I’m tired. I have to wake up before the sun rises… if it even decides to show up tomorrow.” She finally turned her face enough to glance at him. “Thank you for bringing me. That was… kind of you.”

Benedict let out a short laugh, as if she’d told a very good joke.

“Kind of me?”

He looked genuinely offended.

“Sophie, I’m a lot of things. But kind is not one of them.”

“Have a good night,” she insisted, taking a step toward the door as she searched for her key in her bag.

But before she could take another, Benedict reached out and grabbed her forearm, then gently pulled her, turning her to face him. Sophie’s heart lurched violently.

She hated the way her body reacted, as if it were some natural command. Benedict looked at her with a different expression now. Less teasing. More confusion. More frustration.

“Why the hell are you running from me?”

He looked hurt and bewildered, and that almost made her give in. Almost.

Sophie swallowed hard. What was she expecting, after all? For him to say he remembered her? That that night had mattered to him too? That she hadn’t just been another one? That she hadn’t been forgettable? But none of that was real. None of that was sensible. She had one month left before leaving.

“I already told you I’m not running from you.”

Benedict raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing her.

Sophie huffed.

“Okay… maybe I am.” He smiled, far too victorious. Sophie continued before he could comment. “But it’s not about you.”

“Of course it’s about me,” he said, amused.

Sophie rolled her eyes, frustrated with herself.

“I’m… I’m screwed.”

Benedict laughed, and the sound was deep, rough, far too warm.

“Sophie, darling… you’re not screwed.” He paused, his gaze drifting down and up her face with dangerous calm. “At least not yet.”

Sophie blinked, incredulous.

“You can’t be serious.”

“What if I am?”

He stepped closer, until Sophie had to fight the urge to step back. The distance between them was now minimal. Intentionally minimal. Benedict tilted his face, as if he were about to share a secret.

“What if I say I want to kiss you right now?”

The entire world went quiet. The street. The wind. The distant sound of a car passing. Everything.

“Nothing good can come of this. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. And this…” she shook her head, gesturing vaguely between the two of them, “…is not happening.”

Again.

Benedict was silent for a moment. His smile didn’t disappear, but it changed. It became less playful. More sincere.

“But you want me,” he said simply. Sophie opened her mouth to deny it, but he continued, as if he could read the answer on her face. “And I want you.” He let out a soft sigh, as if it were an annoying confession. “I just don’t want to come off like a complete asshole. Believe it or not, I’m not usually like this.”

Sophie let out a short, humorless laugh.

“A complete asshole? I’m not entirely sure I believe that, Benedict.”

He smiled to the side, accepting the blow as if he enjoyed it.

“You caught me off guard.” His gaze softened. And that was worse than any flirting, because he looked genuine. “I wasn’t expecting you, but there’s something about you, Sophie, that draws me in in a way no one has in a long time.”

Sophie felt her stomach twist, and it wasn’t from nerves. It was recognition. Because she knew exactly what he meant. She just didn’t know why he didn’t remember her.

His eyes were locked on hers, warm and sincere, without the shallow malice she expected from a man like him. Sophie realized she was holding her breath.

“If I ask you something… will you consider it?”

She swallowed.

“Possibly.”

Benedict smiled, satisfied with the smallest opening.

“Do you want to go out with me tomorrow?”

Sophie blinked.

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he confirmed, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Since you’re not working, like you said you would.”

Sophie felt blood rush to her face.

“How do you...”

He pointed at her, amused.

“Don’t play shy with me. I can spot bullshit from miles away. And you’re a terrible liar. At best.”

Sophie scoffed, trying to hide the smile that insisted on appearing.

“I’m not a terrible liar.”

“You are,” he said with an irritating conviction. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is… what do you say?”

She hesitated, and she hated how tempted she was. Hated how that idea sounded too good. She had thought about him for years. A night that had never gone away. A face that had never faded, and now he was right there.

“I’m leaving in a month.”

“Where to?”

“Manchester.” She swallowed hard. “I’m spending a year there to complete my certification.”

Benedict smiled, and for a moment he looked genuinely impressed.

“That’s incredible.” He paused, then added more quietly, “The certification part. Not the part where you’re leaving.”

“I don’t know if I’m coming back. It depends on the job.”

Benedict nodded slowly, as if filing that away.

“Right. So…” He lifted his eyebrows, like he’d just had a brilliant idea. “You go out with me tomorrow.”

Sophie frowned.

“Benedict…”

“No, listen. We can be friends.”

She let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“Friends?”

“Friends,” he repeated, completely shameless. “Because I want to spend more time with you. I want to get to know you, despite this countdown.” He took a step closer, and his voice dropped low enough to send a shiver across her skin. “And maybe… just maybe… I can convince you into some casual, no-strings-attached sex.”

Sophie’s eyes widened.

“Oh my God.”

Benedict just smiled.

“So what do you say, Sophie?”

A stuttering laugh escaped Sophie’s lips before she could stop it. Why was that also so strangely attractive?

She had never been the kind of woman who allowed herself that kind of idea. She never chose chaos. Never chose impulse. She was always strict, grounded, focused. The girl who studied while everyone else partied, who refused distractions, who preferred the weight of responsibility over the comfort of fun. But the idea of a little freedom, something casual, with no future, no expectations, knowing it would lead nowhere… that could be exactly what she needed.

For one second, it was too tempting. For one second, she almost let herself believe.

Until the rational part of her woke up like an alarm going off inside her skull. Because that was, without a doubt, the biggest nonsense she had ever heard.

“You do know there’s no such thing as casual, no-strings-attached sex, right?”

Benedict smiled, as if she’d just said the cutest thing in the world.

“Who says? It’s absolutely possible.”

She let out a short, incredulous laugh and shook her head.

“Oh, really? Did the magical fairy who told you that also tell you processed foods are healthy, smoking doesn’t kill, and the pull-out method is an approved form of birth control?”

He blinked, not losing his composure, and then, as if her sarcasm were a compliment, Benedict tilted his head and gave her a charming smile in return.

Sophie sighed, pressing her lips together, irritated with herself for still being there, for still talking, and feeling that electric tension between them.

“You might as well tell me chocolate has no calories,” she murmured. “It’s tempting and I’d love to believe it, but it’s not true. These things never end well.” She stared at him, trying to make him understand she wasn’t one of the women he could just win over with a handful of pretty words. “I really don’t even see the point in us spending time together.”

For a moment, Benedict went quiet. The smile was still there, but something in him shifted. Then he took a step closer, as if the cold didn’t exist, as if that street were just a backdrop, as if the only thing that mattered was her.

“You’re telling me you’re leaving in a month. So the option of something other than casual isn’t there.”

Before Sophie could react, he took her hand again. This time with more intention.

“If you weren’t leaving,” he continued, voice low, “something tells me I’d be trying a completely different tactic right now. Something tells me I’d be taking you on a real date.”

She swallowed hard. But then he let out a sigh and gave her a half-smile, as if resigned.

“But it looks like I don’t have the luxury of time with you.”

His hand squeezed hers a little tighter, as if he wanted to make sure Sophie was paying attention.

“So I’ll take whatever I can get. So… I’d like to take you out tomorrow. As friends. Are you in?”

Her chest tightened, because she wanted to say no. She wanted to say no with the same strength she’d built her entire life on self-control. But the truth was, she wanted to. More than she should.

“Yes,” she said, before she could regret it.

Benedict’s face transformed instantly, as if she’d lit something inside him. His smile grew so wide it seemed to brighten everything around them, as if that dark street had gotten lighter just because Sophie had said yes. And for a second, she thought he was going to kiss her.

Her body braced. Her heart raced. Her breath caught.

But Benedict only lowered his head and pressed his lips to her cheek. A soft, almost reverent kiss, and yet far too intimate.

Sophie closed her eyes without realizing it.

“There’s no way I can resist you.” His voice was low.

Sophie let out a slow breath, trying to steady herself.

“We’ll see about that,” she murmured. “Maybe you’re right… maybe you’re wrong. But I’m not as experienced at getting out of this without getting hurt as you are.”

Benedict slowly shook his head.

“You have no idea. Or maybe you do. But what you think you know is wrong, Sophie.”

Sophie blinked, confused.

“What are you talking about?”

Benedict stepped closer once more, so close Sophie could smell his cologne mixed with the cold air.

“I never wanted you to leave.”

Her heart stopped, and the words took a second to register. Sophie’s throat tightened. She tried to breathe, but the air suddenly felt too heavy.

Benedict continued, his voice carrying something that felt old.

“And I always wanted to know why I woke up the next morning… and you weren’t there.”

Sophie stood still. Completely still.

He remembered. Benedict remembered everything.

Sophie drew in a sharp breath, feeling pressure build behind her eyes. She didn’t know if she wanted to cry, laugh, or scream. She didn’t know if she wanted to punch him or kiss him. She didn’t know if she wanted to thank him or hate him. But she knew something inside her had just cracked.

Benedict placed another kiss on her cheek, as if he wanted to mark the moment. Sophie stood there with her mouth slightly open as he stepped back, and when his eyes met hers again, there was something warm there.

“It was good to see you again, Sophie,” he said softly. “I’ll be here early tomorrow… so get some sleep.”

He gave her one last look, a look that seemed to promise this was only the beginning. Then he turned and walked back to the car.

Sophie stayed frozen, unable to move, watching as he opened the door and got in. Until he rolled the window down and she realized he wasn’t going to leave until she went inside.

She went into the building and lifted a hand to the cheek he’d kissed.

Damn… maybe he does remember me. Maybe he always has.