Chapter 4 Men's Underwear

Sophia's POV

My reflection against the elevator's panel sends my brain into an overdrive of embarrassment.

My baby blue top is now baby brown. My gray skirt is torn and has large, black stains all over-likely from brown or green fungus. My blonde hair looks feral. My feet feel crusty inside my heels.

A total eyesore.

Alexander is quiet behind me, staring at my reflection, too. I'm finally seeing all that he's been looking at-A dirty escapee.

I'm also seeing that his white shirt is stained from catching and carrying me.

My face catches fire. I drop my eyes, ringed fingers clutching the sling of my purse.

But the second his private elevator dings, my pulse awakens. Reality slowly sinks in. I've never been to a guy's house. The only time was to visit a sick college mate in London, and I went with five others.

Twenty-nine floors above the ground. Twenty-nine floors and several miles away from all that's familiar and safe. The drive here was almost an hour.

I'm in the hands and at the mercy of an insanely attractive billionaire whose vibe screams danger. I'm in his territory.

The doors slide open.

He says nothing, waiting for me to step out. I do.

It takes us ten seconds to get to a large door. He unlocks it with the scan of his finger, and it clicks open.

When the door slams shut behind us, my heart bolts instantly, beginning another marathon.

I take one step in, and–

"Wait," Fingers dig into my shoulder, halting me.

I swallow air, turning around.

"No shoes in the house,"

He's down on his knees in a breath.

My lips press together, my muscles tightening in nervousness.

He takes out a pair of black slippers from a silver console table.

The warm light in his foyer reflects on his dark brown hair. I slowly step out of my Manolo Blahnik heels and slip my feet into warm, furry, oversized slippers.

He tucks my shoes in and rises.

I step away slightly, taken aback by how much he towers over my small 5'4 self.

But he's too busy stepping out of his own shoes into another black slippers to notice my admiration of him.

"Let's go inside,"

Now, I follow his lead, watching his broad back and shoulders move in his black suit-his outfit for tonight that I ruined.

He flips a switch and keeps moving, turning left.

My jaw drops instantly, in awe of his space. All glass and steel. Immaculate marble floors. A TV as big as the ones in the cinema. Floor-to-ceiling windows, the city looks like a dream from where I stand.

Ivory cushions so perfect and sculpted; they look like people risked their lives to carve them. So much space. A 100-meter race can be held here, and there might be enough space to fit a decent crowd.

So intimidatingly perfect.

It smells clean, oceanic, spicy, sweet, freaking expensive... just like him.

My steps slow as I take it all in, noting the floating chandeliers-there are literal diamonds in them. Paintings-minimal and obviously pricy.

When I look ahead again, I see he's paused and is staring at me. There's also a considerable gap between us.

"I'll give you a house tour later. We need to get you out of those clothes first."

I blink, forced to give myself another look.

The warmth of shame caresses my cheeks as I lift my eyes to him. I close the space between us.

He keeps moving and turns another corner.

I glimpse a dining space before I turn.

Then he stops and opens a door.

I halt when he goes inside. He turns on the light. It's a bedroom.

My chest tightens on instinct.

"Aren't you coming in?" He questions with a calmness that does to me the opposite of what he intends.

"Is this your bedroom?" I mutter.

"Is that where you wanna go? My bedroom?"

My mouth falls open.

He scoffs softly, lifting a corner of his lips as he opens the door wider.

"Come in, Sophia... it's a guest bedroom. I'll show you my bedroom when we have that tour."

I go in slowly, noting the delicate quiver racing through me.

A neatly laid bed-white sheets, a vanity desk, and a sofa.

"You can use the bathroom. It has everything you'll need for a bath..."

"A bath?"

"Or a shower..." He adds, walking into a small space that looks like the closet.

When he returns, there are white towels rolled in his hand. He places them on the bed.

"They're fresh... I'll get you something to wear. In the meantime, you can relieve yourself of those pieces of jewelry."

My eyes fall to my hands. I don't lift them till I know he's out of the room.

So embarrassing.

I get to it immediately. I take off my LV purse first, then one by one, I pull off my rings.

There are about twenty-five of them. My bracelets number up to twenty. I force them into my purse and take out my phone.

The only thing left on my wrist is a tiny permanent gold bracelet my dad gifted me when I turned seventeen. I think of him in this moment.

Just then, there's a knock on the door before it's pushed open.

Alexander walks in, holding a beige and blue striped Polo shirt. And something else.

"Garvey will get you some clothes, but you can wear this for now. This..." he holds something else to me. "I don't have women's underwear. But these are fresh and unworn."

Boxer shorts?

My lips fall apart.

"I can take it back if you don't want it."

"No, I-"

I pause to take a deep breath, breaking out in sweat already.

"Washed and never worn." He continues, marketing his underwear to me.

"Thank you," It's all I can mumble to salvage my pride.

I take them from him without meeting his gaze.

"You can lock the door if it'll make you feel at ease. Come to the living room when you're done."

I give him a nod.

The minute he leaves, my knees buckle. It takes me several deep breaths before I rise and lock the door.

In the shower, I'm painfully reminded of the cuts and scrapes my escape cost me. They sting relentlessly.

There's especially a long, reddened cut that curves from the middle of my thigh to the back. It must be the one Alexander tilted his head to examine. A branch from the tree sliced me.

I replay the moment he carried me into his car, and I can't help but wonder if running is still an option. I'll worry about my parents later; I just need to survive the next thing tonight brings.

Now cleaned, I put on the boxer shorts first, then his shirt. It swallows me whole, becoming a short dress. Next, I carefully wear my contact lenses. Not a lot of people know this, but I'm hyperopic.

My dirty clothes are rolled together on the floor where I left them. I grab my purse, phone, and pick up my clothes before exiting the room.

The walk to the living room is one of worry. I'm not wearing a bra.

My dirty top had an inbuilt bra. But it's so filthy, it would be a crime to wear it again.

I hope he doesn't notice.

Music is playing from the ceiling. Some R&B song with a beat so soft, my head floats.

The living room is empty. I stroll in, giving myself a little tour with my eyes.

"Took you long enough..."

I jump, turning around sharply to see him coming from a hallway.

"I thought you drowned."

My heart softly ripples as I stare hard.

His dark hair is damp and dripping water. He's clothed in all black-a loose buttoned-up shirt and matching pants.

"Sit. Let me treat your wounds."

"W-what..." I breathe, finally noticing the first-aid box sitting on the arm of a sofa.

When he comes close, I inhale his scent-so fresh and clean. A mixture of amberwood, cocoa, and the ocean.

Dreamy.

"Put your clothes in that bag."

My eyes stay on him.

He pulls up his sleeve, absentmindedly, then grabs the first-aid box.

But before his sleeve falls to cover his wrist, I catch a glimpse of a red tattoo.

"Sit, Soph," he repeats, dark eyes tracking back to mine.