"Sophia, you know I love you." Henry held her tightly in his arms.
For years, he had dreamed of holding her close like this—now that he finally could, he refused to let go.
Sophia struggled fiercely but to no avail. "Let me go, cousin. Don't do this."
He cut her off gruffly, "Don't call me cousin."
He hated that word—it stood between him and the future he wanted with her.
Why couldn't he have fallen for Mary instead? If he loved Mary, none of this would be a problem.
"Even if I don't say it, the truth remains. We will always be cousins," she stated flatly.
Why couldn't he see how hopeless this was?
"I won't let another man have you." With that, he abruptly leaned in, trying to force a kiss.
"No!" Sophia turned her face away.
His kiss missed its mark, but he persisted—one hand gripping her head as he tried again.
Then a large, firm hand covered Sophia's mouth.
Henry's lips met the back of that stranger's hand.
A calm, measured voice cut through the tension. "I don't appreciate other men kissing my girlfriend. And I certainly don't enjoy having men kiss my hand."
Sophia breathed a sigh of relief.
"She's not your girlfriend," Henry retorted, startled but still refusing to release her.
Roche's tone remained even. "That's for her to decide."
In one swift motion, he forced Henry's hands apart and effortlessly drew Sophia to his side.
Henry could hardly believe what had happened—one moment Sophia was in his arms, the next she was gone.
"Cousin, please don't do this," she said softly, pained by the scene but powerless to change his mind.
"Tell him who you love," Roche prompted, his demeanor unshaken.
"The one I love is… Roche," she answered clearly.
Roche gave a faint glance toward Henry. "Clear enough? She loves me."
"Sophia, that's not true. I don't believe you," Henry insisted, still in denial.
"It is true. I love him," she reaffirmed.
"Now that that's settled, you may leave," Roche said dismissively. He wrapped an arm around Sophia's waist and guided her inside.
"Sophia, don't go!" Henry tried to follow, but several servants blocked his path. He could only watch helplessly as she walked away without looking back.
"Why did you go see him without telling me first?" Roche's tone gave nothing away. "If I hadn't arrived in time, would you have just let him have his way?"
Had that happened, Henry wouldn't have lived much longer.
The image of Henry trying to force himself on her ignited a fire in his chest—he hadn't even kissed her yet! How could that guy have almost gotten there first?
"Why are you angry?" Sophia asked, confused.
"My girlfriend was nearly forced into a kiss by another man. Shouldn't I be angry?" His voice still carried traces of fury, but the hand that brushed hers was surprisingly gentle. "The only one who gets to kiss you is me…" His words faded as he leaned in and captured her lips.
He knew exactly what he wanted.
She stared, stunned, at his handsome face so close to hers. Her mind went completely blank.
A faint smile flickered in Roche's green eyes. He nibbled softly on her lower lip, coaxing her gently until she parted her lips and allowed him in.
Without realizing, she yielded.
His tongue slipped inside—her lips were as soft as he'd imagined.
Then it hit her: he was kissing her.
She pushed him away abruptly. "How could you kiss me? We're not really together!" His taste lingered on her lips, and she could still feel the heat—try as she might, she couldn't sound as firm as she wanted.
"Ah." A hint of apology crossed his face. "My apologies. I got a bit too into the role. Please don't mind it." A sharp glint flashed through his green eyes.
"Never mind." What else could she say? She was more upset at herself—for nearly losing herself in that kiss. Even though she knew it was all an act, she couldn't help falling under his spell.
"Then, until this is over, I'm still your pretend boyfriend?" He could guess what she was thinking and decided to strike first.
He needed her to grow more used to him, to care for him. It wasn't time to end things yet.
She knew she should suggest calling it off, but the words wouldn't come. Though reluctant to admit it, the truth was plain: she didn't want to lose him—even as a stand-in.
So in the end, she nodded.
If her heart was already slipping beyond her control, she might as well let it be.
A few days later...
"Cough…" Her throat itched unbearably, and Sophia couldn't hold back a fit of harsh coughing.
Roche set down his English newspaper and looked toward her.
"Are you catching a cold?"
"Cough, cough…"
He put the paper aside and brought her a cup of hot tea. "Drink this. It'll soothe your throat."
"Cough… Thank you." Another round of coughs shook her.
He patted her back gently. "I told you not to stay out in the rain so long, but you didn't listen. Now you've caught a cold, haven't you?"
He'd finally witnessed firsthand how obsessive artists could be.
On their way back from the gallery yesterday, she'd suddenly asked him to pull over. Grabbing her camera, she'd plunged into the heavy rain to take photos—for four or five hours straight. Even though he'd hurried out with an umbrella, she'd still gotten soaked. Catching a cold was no surprise.
"Cough…" Her face was flushed.
He pressed a hand to her forehead and frowned. "You're burning up. You have a fever."
He immediately pressed the intercom and called for Porter, the werewolf clan's most skilled healer.
"I'm fine… I just need rest and sleep. Cough…"
Without waiting for her to finish, Roche swept her up into his arms and carried her to her room. "If your throat hurts, don't talk so much." Her face was red from coughing—she had to be miserable.
Sophia obediently fell silent.
He tucked her into bed and pulled the quilt over her.
"Master Roche." Porter appeared at the door with his medical kit. "What's wrong with Miss Sophia?"
"Probably from getting caught in the rain yesterday. She has a cold, a persistent cough, and a fever." Roche stepped aside so Porter could examine her.
"A fever-reducing injection would help," Porter suggested.
"Cough… No injections." She was terrified of needles.
"Don't you want to get better quickly?" Roche looked down at her. So she was afraid of shots.
"I do…" But she still refused.
"It'll be over in a second—like a mosquito bite. It won't hurt much," he coaxed softly. "Give me your hand."
She didn't budge.
"Then let's hold off for now," Porter compromised with a smile. "But if the fever hasn't gone down by later, you'll have to get the shot."
Sophia nodded, then started coughing again.
Porter gave her some throat lozenges and prescribed medication. "Eat something light first, then take your medicine. If you take it on time, drink plenty of water, and rest well, you'll recover quickly."
With that, he headed downstairs.
Soon after, a maid brought up a bowl of warm porridge.
Truthfully, she had little appetite, but under Roche's watchful eye, she forced herself to eat a little.
He made sure she took her medicine. "Now lie down, close your eyes, and get some sleep."
"Cough… Are you leaving?" Maybe it was the vulnerability that came with being sick, but she didn't want to be alone.
She wanted him to stay.
Her cousin seemed to have finally accepted that she and Roche were together. He'd gradually given up and hardly appeared anymore. That was good news—but she couldn't bring herself to feel happy about it.
Once their goal was achieved, it meant her pretend boyfriend would bow out.
She didn't want what they had to end…
Footsteps faded into the distance until they disappeared completely.
She knew he had important matters to attend to. He couldn't stay here with her.
Her head felt heavy, her thoughts fragmented and disconnected. But then she thought she heard footsteps again.
Was she dreaming? Or…
She opened her eyes and met his green gaze. A content smile touched her lips.
"Go back to sleep," Roche said softly. He pulled up a chair, opened his laptop, and began to work.
Feeling reassured, Sophia closed her eyes. Listening to the sound of his typing, she slowly drifted back to sleep…
Sophia and Mary sat together in a café.
Mary glanced around and sighed wistfully. "It feels like it's been forever since I've had time to relax like this. And I never dared hope you'd actually agree to meet me."
Sophia smiled faintly. "We used to spend so many afternoons like this, remember? If Zoey weren't so busy right now, she'd be here too."
Tears misted Mary's eyes. She still didn't understand how she'd become so dangerously obsessed back then—enough to consider killing her closest friend. "Sophia… I'm so glad you're alright."
Sophia's gaze drifted toward the window, where she spotted Zoey waving and walking toward them. "Look outside."
Mary turned to look.
"I thought Zoey couldn't make it?" she said, surprised.
Sophia smiled. "She said no matter how busy, she had to have coffee with us."
Zoey pushed open the café door and hurried over. "How long have you two been here?"
"Not long," Sophia replied. "I thought you were tied up with work?"
It felt just like old times.
"It's been ages since the three of us got together. How could I miss this?" Zoey ordered a cup of Mandheling and turned to Mary. "I thought you'd gone into hiding. Not a word from you—did you ever stop to think I might worry?"
Mary clasped her hands together. "I'm sorry! Forgive me just this once. It won't happen again." These were her true friends.
"Alright," Zoey said magnanimously. Then, shifting tone mysteriously, she asked, "So, Sophia, where did you meet that green-eyed hunk? Have you seen him, Mary?"
Mary played along perfectly. "He's definitely one of a kind."
The two exchanged a look, then launched into a full interrogation: "How did you meet him?" "Does he have any brothers?"
Sophia looked helplessly at her friends, patiently answering their questions—and enduring their teasing.
The three spent the rest of the day laughing and chatting, enjoying each other's company just like they used to.