The Miami afternoon sun filtered through Sofia Alvarez's office blinds, casting striped shadows across her desk as she reviewed client emails, her mind still reeling from last night's steamy encounter with Rafael Torres. The penthouse memory—his hands on her skin, their shared passion—burned in her chest, a forbidden affair she'd chosen despite her divorce-scarred caution. But the shadow of betrayal loomed larger now, fueled by Rafael's ex, Elena, and the cryptic texts (Ask about his last deal). Her independent resolve demanded answers, and tonight, he'd promised them.
Sofia adjusted her blazer, her girl power a steady pulse as she prepared for their meeting. Rafael had texted earlier: My place, 7 PM. No more walls. The words carried a weight she couldn't ignore, a test of his CEO integrity against his playboy charm. Vanessa's sabotage with that false review still stung, but Rafael's team had traced it to a burner account—Vanessa's work, no doubt—easing some pressure on her business.
The clock struck 6:30, and Sofia drove to his penthouse, the contemporary Miami streets alive with neon and music. She arrived, her heart pounding, and found Rafael on the balcony, a glass of whiskey in hand, his white shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms. The city lights danced in his hazel eyes, but the tension in his jaw hinted at the cracks she'd seen in his CEO world.
"You're here," he said, his voice low, inviting. "Good."
"I'm here for answers," Sofia replied, stepping inside, her tone firm. "No more delays, Rafael."
He nodded, setting the glass down. "Fair. Sit. This won't be easy."
They settled on the plush sofa, the ocean breeze drifting through the open doors. Rafael leaned forward, his hands clasped. "Elena was my business partner before she became my ex. The Meridian deal—she brought in investors, including a syndicate tied to Miami's underbelly. I didn't know until it was too late. She's using that to pressure me, threatening to expose me unless I give her control."
Sofia's stomach dropped, the betrayal hitting hard. "A syndicate? And you kept this from me?"
"I was protecting you," he said, his eyes pleading. "If word gets out, it could ruin Torres Enterprises—and drag you into it. The texts, Vanessa's games—they're her doing, stirring the pot."
Her divorce scars flared—Diego's "protection" had been control in disguise. "Protecting me doesn't mean lying," she said, standing, her girl power surging. "I'm not some damsel, Rafael. I can handle the truth."
He rose, closing the distance, his hand brushing her arm. "I know. That's why I'm telling you now. I'm cutting ties with her, but it's messy. I need time to fix it."
Sofia's pulse raced, his touch reigniting the steamy spark from last night. "Time's not enough," she said, stepping back. "I need proof you're not playing me. Show me the deal documents."
Rafael hesitated, then nodded. "Tomorrow. My office. You'll see everything."
She held his gaze, her independent heart testing his sincerity. "Good. Until then, we're on hold." She turned to leave, the contemporary Miami night a mirror to her resolve, but his voice stopped her.
"Sofia, I'm not him," he said softly. "I want this—us—to work."
She paused, the affair pulling at her, but her girl power held firm. "Prove it," she said, walking out, the city's pulse echoing her strength.