Chapter 5: Dangerous Chemistry
The day after our unexpected encounter, I wake up with a sense of disorientation. For the first time in seven years, I’m not in Ethan’s bed. I’m in a luxury suite at my parents‘ home in Geneva, and my body still carries the ghost sensations of Lucas’s touch.
The memory of his mouth on me, of his fingers pressing into my skin, makes me flush despite myself.
A soft knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.
“Miss Sophie?” It’s Greta, one of the housekeepers. “Mr. Lucas is downstairs waiting for you. Your brother says to tell you he’s taking him for tennis if you don’t
come down in fifteen minutes.”
Fifteen minutes? I check the time: 10:30 AM. I overslept.
“Tell them I’ll be right down!” I call, jumping out of bed.
I shower in record time, blow–dry my hair, and pull on a casual sundress. Seven years with Ethan trained me to be mindful of my appearance, always dressing to his standards. Today, I decide to skip makeup entirely. If Lucas wants to see me, he
can see the real me.
When I descend the stairs, I find him lounging in the sunroom, a coffee cup in his
hand, deep in conversation with my father. They’re both laughing, and the sight
catches me off guard.
Lucas looks up and catches me staring. The smile he gives me is slow and
deliberate, his eyes sweeping over me with unmistakable appreciation.
“There she is,” he says, rising to his feet. In daylight, without the haze of whatever
drug his cousin slipped him, Lucas is even more striking–tall and impeccably dressed in casual linen pants and a button–down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms.
My father clears his throat. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” He gives me a kiss on the cheek as he passes. “He’s a good one, Soph,” he whispers, making me
blush.
Lucas waits until my father is gone before approaching me. “You look beautiful,” he says, his accent more pronounced in the morning light.
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“I’m not wearing any makeup,” I reply, suddenly self–conscious.
“I know.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “That’s what makes it even better.” He steps closer, placing his hands on my waist as naturally as if we’ve been together for years. “About last night,” he begins, his voice dropping lower. “I wanted to apologize if I was… forward. The drug lowered my inhibitions, but it doesn’t excuse my behavior.”
I swallow, unsure how to respond. Part of me wants to tell him no apology is necessary–I enjoyed every minute of what happened between us. But another part, the part still raw from Ethan’s betrayal, is wary.
“You don’t need to apologize,” I finally say. “We’re getting married in two weeks. I think we’re allowed some… exploration.”
His eyes darken at my choice of words. “Exploration,” he repeats, testing the word.
“I like the sound of that.”
Before I can respond, he leans down and kisses me–not with the desperate
hunger of last night, but with deliberate, controlled passion. His lips move against mine slowly, like he’s savoring something precious.
“Get a room!” Jake’s voice shatters the moment. He stands in the doorway, tennis racquet in hand, smirking at us.
Lucas pulls back, but keeps one arm around my waist. “I believe we had one last night, until you interrupted,” he replies smoothly, making Jake grimace. “Chr**t, I don’t need that image in my head.” My brother makes a gagging noise. “Are we playing tennis or what?”
Lucas looks down at me. “Would you like to join us? Or perhaps we could do something else. Just the two of us.”
The loaded suggestion in his tone makes my pulse race. “I’d rather do something
else,” I admit.
Jake rolls his eyes dramatically. “Fine, abandon me. I’ll just find someone else to destroy on the court.” He points accusingly at Lucas. “But you owe me a rematch.” “Tomorrow,” Lucas promises, his attention already returning to me.
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Once Jake leaves, Lucas brushes a strand of hair from my face. “What would you like to do today?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I usually don’t have free time. Back in New York, if I wasn’t working, I was…” I trail off, not wanting to mention Ethan.
“With him,” Lucas finishes, no judgment in his voice. “You don’t have to avoid
saying his name, Sophie. I’m not threatened by your past.”
The confidence in his tone isn’t arrogance—it’s simply certainty. I find it intoxicating after years of walking on eggshells around Ethan’s insecurities. “How about I show you my Geneva?” Lucas suggests. “No pressure, no expectations. Just two people getting to know each other before they commit their lives to one another.” His mouth quirks in a half–smile. “Although I admit, we’ve
done things a bit out of order.”
I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. “I’d like that.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re in his vintage Aston Martin, the top down, wind in my
hair as we drive along Lake Geneva. Lucas handles the car with the same confident
precision he seems to apply to everything.
“So tell me something I don’t know about you,” he says over the purr of the engine.
“Like what?”
“Anything. What makes you laugh? What makes you cry? Who broke your heart
before him?”
I consider the questions. “I laugh at terrible puns. I cry at dog food commercials. And no one broke my heart before Ethan–he was my first serious relationship.” Lucas nods, processing this. “Your turn to ask me something.”
“Why did you agree to this arranged marriage?” The question slips out before I can stop it–the one thing I’ve been wondering since I arrived.
He doesn’t answer immediately, navigating a turn with concentration. When he finally speaks, his voice is thoughtful.
“I could give you the practical answer–that it solves problems for both our
families. My grandfather gets the succession plan he wants, your father’s company gets the
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cash injection it needs.” He glances at me. “But that’s not the whole truth.” “What is the whole truth?” I press.
“The truth is, I saw your photo and was intrigued. Then I heard about your talent as a designer, your independence, how you built your own career despite your family’s wealth. I respected that.” His grip tightens slightly on the steering wheel. “And I was tired of the women who wanted me for my name or my money. I thought perhaps an arrangement where both parties enter with eyes open might be more honest than the games people usually play.”
His answer surprises me. “So you’ve never been in love?”
A shadow crosses his face. “Once. It ended badly.”
“What happened?”
“She was using me to get to my cousin–the same one who drugged me, ironically. A family tradition of betrayal.” His tone is light, but I can hear the old pain beneath
- it. “Let’s just say I learned to be more careful about who I trust.”
We drive in silence for a moment, the implications of his words hanging between
- us.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I finally say.
“Don’t be.” He reaches over and takes my hand. “It led me here, to you.”
We spend the day exploring hidden corners of Geneva that tourists never see. Lucas takes me to a tiny patisserie tucked away on a side street, where the owner greets him by name and insists we try his latest creation. We walk through gardens
and along lakeside paths, talking about everything and nothing.
By late afternoon, I realize I haven’t thought about Ethan in hours.
“Are you hungry?” Lucas asks as the sun begins to dip lower in the sky.
“Starving,” I admit.
“Good. I know just the place.”
He drives us up winding mountain roads until we reach what looks like a simple chalet. When we enter, however, I realize it’s an exclusive restaurant with just five tables, each offering a spectacular view of the mountains and lake below. “Lucas!” The chef emerges from the kitchen, embracing him warmly. They
converse
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rapidly in French, too quick for my high school language skills to follow.
“André says he’ll prepare something special for us,” Lucas translates as we’re led to the best table. “I hope you don’t mind letting him choose.”
“Not at all,” I reply, charmed by the intimate setting.
Wine appears, followed by course after course of exquisite food. As we eat, Lucas tells me stories about growing up between Switzerland and America, about
summers in the Alps and winters in New York.
“What about you?” he asks, refilling my wine glass. “What was little Sophie like?” “Stubborn,” I laugh. “Always drawing, always making things. I used to take apart my mother’s jewelry and reassemble it in new ways. She’d be furious until she saw the results, then she’d wear my creations to charity events.”
“So your talent showed early,” he observes.
“I guess so. I always knew I wanted to design, to create things with my hands.” “May I see your work sometime?”
The genuine interest in his voice touches me. Ethan always treated my career as a cute hobby, never taking it seriously.
“I’d like that,” I say, “I actually have my portfolio on my iPad.”
“Tomorrow,” he promises. “I want to give it my full attention.”
As dessert arrives, our conversation turns more personal.
“Can I ask you something that might sound strange?” I venture, the wine making me bold.
“Anything,” he says, eyes intent on mine.
“Last night, when Jake was taking you home–what exactly did you tell him that
made him back off?”
Lucas’s expression turns serious. “I told him the truth. That I’d been drugged by my cousin at my aunt’s orchestration. That they’re trying to sabotage our marriage because it threatens their access to my grandfather’s money.”
“So all that was real? Not just an excuse?”
He sighs, setting down his fork. “Unfortunately, yes. My family… there’s a reason I
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prefer to keep my distance from most of them.” His expression darkens. “My aunt Karen is particularly determined. This wasn’t her first attempt to derail things, just
the most direct.”
“What were the others?”
“Rumors spread to your father about my supposed gambling problem. A
fabricated scandal involving me and a married socialite. Having my brake lines checked would be prudent at this point.” He says the last part casually, but I feel a
chill.
“That’s terrifying.”
“It’s business,” he replies with a shrug. “Hundreds of millions of dollars are at stake. People have done worse for less.”
The callous practicality in his tone reminds me again that Lucas isn’t just the charming, attentive man across the table. He’s also the heir to a banking empire,
raised in a world where power struggles are the norm.
“Does that scare you?” he asks, studying my reaction.
“A little,” I admit.
“Good.” He reaches across the table to take my hand. “You should be cautious. But
know this–I will never let anyone hurt you, Sophie. Not my family, not your ex, not
anyone.”
There’s something dangerous in his voice, a hint of the same cold fury I glimpsed when he spoke to Ethan on the phone. It should frighten me, but instead, I find it
oddly comforting.
“I believe you,” I say, and realize I mean it.
The drive back down the mountain is quiet, both of us lost in thought. When we
reach my parents‘ house, Lucas walks me to the door.
“Thank you for today,” I say, suddenly shy.
“Thank you for giving me a chance.” He steps closer, his fingers tracing my jawline. “I know this isn’t how either of us imagined finding a partner, but I’m beginning to think we got lucky despite ourselves.”
His kiss is gentler than before, a question rather than a demand. I answer by
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wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing myself against him.
When we break apart, both breathless, he rests his forehead against mine. “Two weeks is going to feel like a very long time.”
“It does,” I agree, surprised by how much I mean it.
“Dinner tomorrow?” he asks.
“I’d love that.”
He kisses me once more, briefly, then steps back. “Sweet dreams, Sophie Winters.”
I watch him drive away, my body humming with a new awareness. For the first
time in years, I feel like I might be exactly where I’m supposed to be.
The next week passes in a blur of moments with Lucas–dinners, walks, long conversations by the lake. He shows genuine interest in my designs, offering insights that are actually helpful rather than condescending. He introduces me to
his grandfather, a formidable man whose approval is clear in the way he includes
me in discussions about the future of their business.
Lucas never pushes for more physical intimacy, though the tension between us
builds with every touch, every look. He’s letting me set the pace, I realize—giving
me space to heal from Ethan’s betrayal.
Ten days after our first real date, we’re sitting in the garden behind my parents‘
house, a bottle of wine between us, watching the sunset.
“Tell me something,” Lucas says, his fingers idly stroking my palm. “If none of this had happened—if your family didn’t need this merger, if we’d met some other way -would you still be here with me?”
The question takes me by surprise. “Honestly? I don’t know. I might still be in New York, believing Ethan’s lies, waiting for him to finally acknowledge me publicly.” Lucas nods, accepting this truth without offense.
“But,” I continue, turning to face him fully, “I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad I found out who Ethan really is, and…” I take a deep breath. “I’m glad I met you.”
His eyes darken with emotion. “Sophie—”
Before he can finish, my phone buzzes. I’ve only turned it back on recently, after
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finally feeling secure enough to face the world again.
“Sorry,” I murmur, silencing it without checking.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Lucas asks, his expression unreadable.
“I don’t know. Could be work.” I set the phone face–down. “It doesn’t matter.” Lucas studies me for a moment, then nods. “You’re right. It doesn’t.” He pulls me
onto his lap in one smooth motion. “Now, where were we?”
His kiss is more demanding this time, and I respond in kind, weeks of built–up tension finally breaking. His hands slip under my shirt, warm against my skin, and
I press closer, wanting more.
“Sophie,” he groans against my neck. “We should stop.”
“Why?” I whisper, dizzy with desire.
“Because if we don’t, I’m going to take you right here in your parents‘ garden, and
I don’t think that’s how you want our first time to be.”
The image his words conjure makes me shiver, but I know he’s right. “Rain check?”
“Absolutely.” He kisses me again, softer this time. “Four more days until the wedding. Then we have the rest of our lives.”
Four days. Just four days until I become Mrs. Lucas Bennett. The thought no longer
fills me with resignation, but with anticipation.
My phone buzzes again, breaking the moment. This time it’s a call, not a text.
“For f**k’s sake,” I mutter, reaching for it, ready to decline the call.
But it’s not Ethan’s name on the screen.
It’s Miranda from New York, my former boss.
“I should take this,” I tell Lucas, sliding reluctantly from his lap. “It’s my old boss.”
He nods, and I answer the call.
“Miranda? Is everything okay?”
Her voice comes through, tense and urgent. “Sophie, I’m so sorry to bother you, but there’s something you need to know. Ethan was here today, asking all kinds of questions about your flight, when you left exactly… it was creepy as h*II.”
My blood runs cold. “What did you tell him?”
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“Nothing! I told him to get the f**k out of my office. But Sophie… he didn’t look
right. He had this weird intensity. I’m worried he might—”
Lucas notices my expression and moves closer, concern evident on his face.
“Might what?” I prompt Miranda.
“I don’t know. Do something stupid? Show up there? I just thought you should
know.”
“Thanks for calling, Miranda. I appreciate the warning.”
After we hang up, I explain the situation to Lucas. His expression hardens with
each word.
“I’ll increase security at the house,” he says immediately, pulling out his phone.
“We can’t be too careful.”
“You think he’d actually come here?” The thought of Ethan showing up in Switzerland seems absurd, yet Miranda’s warning feels genuine.
Lucas’s eyes meet mine, deadly serious. “Men like Ethan can’t stand losing. Especially not to another man. Yes, I think he might come here, especially if he thinks there’s any chance of changing your mind.”
A coldness settles in my stomach. “What should we do?”
“Nothing changes,” Lucas says firmly. “We proceed with the wedding as planned. But we take precautions.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle despite the tension in his jaw. “I won’t let him anywhere near you.”
I lean into his touch, finding comfort in his protective instinct. It’s different from Ethan’s controlling behavior–Lucas wants to protect me, not possess me.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “For taking this seriously.”
“Always,” he promises, pulling me close and pressing a kiss to my forehead. “No one’s going to ruin this for us. I promise.”
As I lean into his embrace, I realize that in just ten days, Lucas has become more important to me than I ever expected. The arrangement that began as a business transaction has evolved into something much more complex–and much more
valuable.
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What I don’t know yet is just how far Lucas will go to keep that promise. The next few days pass without incident. The final wedding preparations keep us busy, and I start to think Miranda’s warning was overblown. Lucas spends most of his time with me, only leaving for a few hours each day to attend to urgent
business matters.
A week passes with no sign of Ethan, and I find myself getting genuinely excited.
for the ceremony.
Then, one morning at breakfast, our family conversation is interrupted when
Greta, our housekeeper, appears with a troubled expression.
“Miss Sophie,” she says hesitantly, “there is a gentleman at the door asking for
you. He says his name is Ethan Walton and that it’s urgent.”
My fork clatters against my plate. Jake half–rises from his chair, but my father.
places a restraining hand on his arm.
“Tell him Sophie is unavailable,” my father says firmly.
“I already tried, sir,” Greta replies. “He says he won’t leave until he speaks with her. He looks… quite distressed.”
My mother reaches for my hand. “You don’t have to see him, sweetheart.”
I take a deep breath, squeezing her fingers. “No, I should. Dad, please call Lucas.”
I consider for a moment, then shake my head. “No, I think I need to face him. For
closure.” I meet my father’s concerned gaze. “But please call Lucas anyway.” Dad nods, pulling out his phone as I stand, smoothing my dress with suddenly trembling hands.
“I’m coming with you,” Jake insists, but I stop him with a look.
“Let me do this alone. Stay close if you want, but let me handle it.”
He reluctantly agrees, and I follow Greta to the foyer. Through the frosted glass. panels of our front door, I can make out a figure pacing back and forth. My heart hammers in my chest, but I straighten my spine, reminding myself that Ethan no
longer has any power over me.
When I open the door, I’m shocked by what I see. Ethan looks terrible–unshaven,
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dark circles under his eyes, clothes wrinkled like he slept in them. He stops pacing when he sees me, and wearing that practiced smile that used to make my knees
weak.
“Sophie,” he breathes, my name on his lips like a prayer.
I feel… nothing. No longing, no anger, just emptiness. “What are you doing here, Ethan?”
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