"…Morning?"
Her tongue felt robbed—clumsy and stuttering.
"Looks like you don't remember what happened last night?"
Sophia was a complete mess.
What happened last night?
What the hell happened?!
She stared at the ceiling as flashes of the previous evening skittered through her mind.
Holy—she'd fallen for that guy's trick.
She thought Lucas had saved her, then… everything went black.
"Mr. Hilton! We're adults—let's just call last night a mistake."
She forced calm into her voice, pretending it was no big deal.
"Oh? A mistake? I saved you—don't you owe me something? If I hadn't come to your rescue, where do you think you'd be right now? Sophia—wearing the title of my fiancée—and you go out to a bar dressed like that? Am I supposed to say you're carefree, or that you're trying to humiliate me?"
Sophia's brain felt like porridge. The scene in front of her seemed oddly familiar.
That night six years ago—wheelchair… the man…
