The ride home from the gala should have been electric with anticipation. Instead, Alexander's phone had been ringing nonstop, first his assistant, then his lawyer, then three different board members. By the time they reached the mansion, his jaw was tight with tension that had nothing to do with desire.
"I need to take this," he said curtly, already answering another call as they walked through the front door.
Sophia stood in the foyer, still in her stunning emerald dress, watching as Alexander paced into his office without so much as a backward glance. The promise from the dance floor- the heat, the hunger, the declaration that he would make her his, seemed to evaporate like smoke.
She waited. An hour passed. Then two.
Finally, she knocked softly on his office door. "Alexander? Is everything alright?"
"Not now, Sophia." His voice was clipped, businesslike, the same tone he'd used when she first started working for him.
The dismissal stung, but she tried again. "I just thought…"
"I said not now." He didn't even look up from his laptop.
Sophia felt heat flood her cheeks, but not the good kind from earlier. This was embarrassment, hurt, the sharp sting of rejection. She retreated to her room, telling herself he was just dealing with a work crisis. That he'd come to her when he was finished.
But he didn't come.
The next morning, Sophia woke to an empty house. Alexander's car was gone, Mrs. Morrison informed her, and he'd left before dawn for the office. No note. No explanation. No acknowledgment of what had almost happened between them.
For three days, Alexander avoided her completely. He left early, came home late, and when their paths did cross, he was coldly polite, the same distant courtesy he showed the housekeeping staff.
Sophia threw herself into caring for Emma and Ethan, who thankfully seemed oblivious to the tension. But every ignored glance, every clipped response from Alexander felt like a slap.
On Thursday evening, she'd finally had enough. The twins were at a sleepover, and she found Alexander in his study, nursing a whiskey and staring broodingly at his laptop.
"We need to talk," she said, stepping into the room uninvited.
Alexander didn't look up. "I'm busy."
"You've been busy for four days." Sophia closed the door behind her, her heart pounding with a mixture of hurt and anger. "What happened, Alexander? At the gala, you said…"
"I said a lot of things." His voice was flat, emotionless. "I was drunk on champagne and... distracted. It meant nothing."
The words hit her like a physical blow. "Nothing?"
Finally, Alexander looked at her, and the coldness in his gray eyes made her stomach clench. "What did you expect, Sophia? That I'd actually follow through on some romantic fantasy? You're the nanny. You work for me. That's all this is all it can ever be."
"That's not what you said when you had your hands on me," Sophia said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "When you told me I was yours."
Alexander's laugh was harsh, cruel. "Did you really think this was some fairy tale? That I'd fall for the help and we'd live happily ever after?" He stood, moving to pour himself another drink. "You take care of my children, Sophia. You're good at your job. But that's where it ends."
Each word was designed to wound, and they found their mark with devastating precision. Sophia felt tears burning behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.
"I see," she said quietly. "Then I suppose I should remember my place."
"Yes," Alexander said, his back to her as he stared out the window. "You should."
Sophia stood there for a moment longer, waiting for him to take it back, to turn around and tell her he didn't mean it. But he remained frozen by the window, his shoulders rigid with rejection.
"Goodnight, Mr. Steele," she said formally, using his title for the first time in months.
She thought she saw him flinch, but he didn't turn around.
In her room, Sophia finally let the tears come. Great, sobbing waves of humiliation and heartbreak. She'd been such a fool, reading more into heated glances and passionate words than was actually there. Alexander Steele was a billionaire CEO, and she was exactly what he'd said- the hired help who'd forgotten her place.
The next morning, she was back to being the perfect professional nanny. Polite, efficient, invisible. If Alexander noticed the change, he gave no sign. He treated her with the same cold courtesy, and slowly, Sophia felt herself disappearing back into the role she'd occupied when she first arrived.
Just the nanny. Nothing more.
But late at night, when she thought about the heat in his voice when he'd called her "mine," she wondered if she'd imagined the whole thing. Or if Alexander Steele was just very, very good at pretending he felt nothing at all.