Sophia had a key to the penthouse—Aiden had given it to her two weeks ago, a gesture of trust that had made her irrationally happy. She'd used it sparingly, not wanting to presume, but tonight she needed to see him. The auction drama had stirred up fears she couldn't quite name, a sense that the man she was falling for was slipping into a world she didn't fully understand.
She keyed in the security code Maya had provided (another reminder of how much Aiden's life had changed), and rode the private elevator up. The doors opened directly into the penthouse living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city.
And froze.
A woman sat on Aiden's leather couch, sipping wine, looking entirely too comfortable. She was stunning—dark hair cascading over one shoulder, olive skin that suggested Mediterranean heritage, wearing an elegant dress that had certainly cost thousands. Her posture radiated sophistication and confidence.
"Oh," the woman said, standing gracefully. "You must be Sophia. Aiden mentioned you." Her accent was Italian, musical and warm. She extended a hand. "I'm Isabella Romano. It's lovely to meet you."
Sophia's enhanced analytical mind—the very trait that had made her a brilliant researcher—catalogued details with painful precision. The way Isabella moved through Aiden's space with familiarity. The fact that she had wine, suggesting she'd been here long enough to make herself comfortable. The genuine warmth in her greeting that somehow made everything worse.
"Where's Aiden?" Sophia asked, not taking the offered hand.
If Isabella was offended, she didn't show it. "Taking a call in his office. Business with Jade, I think. He should be out soon. Please, sit. Can I pour you wine? He has an excellent Barolo."
The casual domesticity of the offer—as if Isabella lived here, as if she had the right to play hostess in Aiden's home—ignited something sharp and painful in Sophia's chest.
"Who are you?" she demanded. "I mean, who are you to Aiden?"
Isabella's expression gentled with understanding that somehow infuriated Sophia more. "Ah. He hasn't told you about me yet. That's... well, that's probably my fault. I told him I wasn't ready for the others to know."
"Others?" The word came out strangled.
"Sophia, perhaps we should wait for Aiden—"
"No." Sophia's hands clenched into fists. "You're going to tell me right now what you are to him."
Isabella sighed, setting down her wine. "I'm someone who cares about him. Someone he cares about in return. I know he has strong feelings for you, Sophia. He talks about you constantly—your brilliant mind, your dedication to your research, how you challenge him intellectually in ways no one else does."
"But?" Sophia's voice cracked.
"But his heart is large enough for more than one person," Isabella finished gently. "As is mine, it turns out. I never expected to be in this situation, believe me. In my family, such arrangements aren't unheard of, but I never thought... well, it doesn't matter what I thought. What matters is that Aiden is special, and love isn't a finite resource."
The world seemed to tilt. "You're saying you're in a relationship with him? That he's... what, dating both of us?"
"If you'll let him," Isabella confirmed. "I know it's unconventional—"
"What the hell is going on?" Sophia interrupted as Aiden emerged from his office, phone still in hand.
He stopped dead, eyes widening as he took in the scene. "Sophia. I didn't know you were coming over."
"Clearly," she spat. "When were you going to tell me about her?"
Aiden's expression flickered through several emotions—guilt, concern, resignation—before settling on determined honesty. "I was waiting for the right time."
"The right time?" Sophia's voice rose. "The right time to tell me you're sleeping with other women? That I'm just one option among many?"
"It's not like that," Aiden began, moving toward her.
"Then what is it like?" Tears burned in Sophia's eyes, and she hated herself for crying, for caring this much, for letting herself fall for someone who was apparently collecting women like investments. "Explain it to me, Aiden. Make me understand how this is okay."
Isabella stood. "I'll give you privacy—"
"No," Sophia said sharply. "Stay. I want to understand what I'm competing with."
"You're not competing," Aiden insisted, his charisma-enhanced presence filling the room. But for once, Sophia was immune to it, her hurt and anger providing armor against his supernatural charm. "Sophia, you're not in competition with Isabella or anyone else. What I feel for you isn't diminished by what I feel for her."
"That's not how feelings work!" Sophia shouted. "You can't just... just collect people like they're investments in your portfolio!"
The comparison hit close to home—too close. Aiden flinched. "Is that what you think this is? Some kind of acquisition strategy?"
"Isn't it?" Sophia challenged. "The brilliant researcher, the beautiful doctor, probably a model or actress next—you're building a collection of accomplished women to feed your ego."
"That's not fair," Isabella interjected softly. "Sophia, I understand you're hurt, but Aiden isn't like that."
"And how would you know?" Sophia rounded on her. "How long have you even known him? A week? Two?"
"Three weeks," Isabella admitted. "But sometimes you know someone's character quickly. He's genuine, Sophia. His feelings aren't a game."
"Three weeks," Sophia repeated hollowly. "He and I have been... whatever we've been... for longer than that. But apparently, that doesn't matter."
"It matters more than you know," Aiden said urgently. "Sophia, you were the first woman who saw me for who I am, not what I have. Your opinion, your respect—it means everything to me."
"But not enough to be exclusive," she finished bitterly.
"That's not—" Aiden ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I'm not trying to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. But I'm also not going to lie about who I am or what I'm feeling. I have deep feelings for you. I also have feelings for Isabella. Both of those things are true, and I'm not going to apologize for being honest about it."
"Honest?" Sophia laughed without humor. "You call hiding a whole other relationship being honest?"
"I wasn't hiding—I was waiting to find the right way to tell you. I knew this would be difficult."
"Difficult," Sophia repeated. "You think this is just difficult? Aiden, this is... I can't..." She shook her head, tears finally spilling over. "I thought we had something special. Something real. But apparently, I was just naive."
"What we have IS special," Aiden insisted, reaching for her.
Sophia stepped back. "Don't. Just... don't."
The pain in his eyes looked genuine, but she couldn't trust her perception anymore. How much of what she felt was real, and how much was his system-enhanced charisma manipulating her emotions?
"I need to go," she said, heading for the elevator.
"Sophia, please. Don't leave like this. Let's talk—"
"There's nothing to talk about," she interrupted, jabbing the elevator button. "You've made your choice. You want multiple women, fine. But don't expect me to be one of them."
"I'm not asking you to decide right now," Aiden said desperately. "Just... think about it. Give me a chance to explain—"
"Explain what?" Sophia demanded as the elevator doors opened. "That I'm not enough for you? That your heart is 'big enough' for multiple people? I heard the speech, Aiden. I just don't believe in it."
She stepped into the elevator, and the last thing she saw before the doors closed was Aiden's anguished expression and Isabella's sympathetic one.
The ride down felt endless. Her phone buzzed—Aiden calling—but she declined it. Then again. And again.
Finally, a text: I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. You mean more to me than I can express. Please, when you're ready, let me try to explain properly. No pressure. No timeline. Just... please don't give up on us.
Sophia stared at the message through blurred tears. Part of her wanted to run back upstairs, to demand he choose, to make him prove she was enough.
But another part—the rational, analytical part—whispered uncomfortable questions. Why did he have to choose? If he genuinely had feelings for multiple people, and they knew and accepted it, what was really wrong with that?
No. She shook her head violently. That was crazy. You didn't share the person you loved. That wasn't how love worked.
Except... was it? Her research into AI and consciousness had taught her that human assumptions about emotions weren't always accurate. Social norms changed across cultures and eras. What seemed impossible in one context was normal in another.
But this wasn't an academic exercise. This was her heart, breaking in real-time.
Her phone buzzed again. This time, it was a message from an unknown number: This is Isabella. I know you have no reason to listen to me, but I wanted you to know—Aiden is devastated. He talked about you all through dinner, how brilliant you are, how much he values your mind. This isn't about you not being enough. You're more than enough. He's just... capable of more than most people. I know it's hard to understand. I'm still figuring it out myself. But if you care about him at all, please don't shut him out completely. He needs you in ways I can't provide. - Isabella
The message was both comforting and infuriating. Part of Sophia appreciated the other woman's thoughtfulness. But another part resented being told what Aiden needed by someone who barely knew him.
She made it home—her small apartment suddenly feeling shabby compared to Aiden's penthouse—and collapsed on her bed, phone still clutched in her hand.
The system had changed Aiden's life. She'd watched it happen, seen him transform from a struggling scholarship student to a confident tycoon. But she was only now realizing how much that transformation had cost.
The boy she'd met in the library had been simple, straightforward, unencumbered by wealth and options. That boy would have been thrilled to have just her. That boy would have been enough for her.
But that boy was gone. In his place was a man who commanded rooms with his presence, who moved in circles of power and privilege, who attracted extraordinary women with casual ease. A man who loved her, yes—she believed that much—but who also loved others. Who wanted more than she alone could give.
The question was: could she accept that? Could she share him?
Or would her pride, her need to be someone's everything, cost her someone she was rapidly realizing she couldn't imagine living without?
The answer didn't come that night. Or the next day. Or the day after that.
But the question haunted her, demanding resolution.