Chapter 6 Let's Have Fun, Shopia
“Mr. Alex, here are the documents you requested,” his assistant, Amelia, said as she placed a thick folder on his desk.
Alex barely lifted his eyes from the window. London stretched beneath him.
“And, sir,” Amelia continued, clearing her throat when he didn’t respond, “the day after tomorrow you must fly to Paris for the expansion meeting.”
Alex blinked, finally turning toward her. There was a sharpness to his expression but unfocused, like his mind was somewhere else entirely.
“Paris, right,” he repeated slowly.
“Yes, sir. By the way, is everything alright?” She hesitated.
Everything wasn’t alright. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t slept. His morning coffee sat untouched, untouched coffee, for God’s sake. He always finished his coffee.
“I’m fine,” he lied.
“You may go.”
Amelia bowed her head and left, closing the office door softly behind her.
His jaw tightened. He rubbed his temples, then let out a rough breath, frustration, regret, something raw scraping his chest.
Why did I say that? Why the hell did I panic like that?
He wasn’t a careless man. He wasn’t impulsive. He built companies, not emotional chaos.
But the moment Shopia said it was her first time, something inside him cracked. All the women who have slept with him have had sex before.
He looked toward his phone on the desk. He’d typed her name twice.
Should I call her? Would she even pick up?
His fingers drummed against the desk.
Damn it.
He stood abruptly, pacing toward the balcony doors. He pressed both palms against the cold glass.
London looked endless and indifferent. A city for conquerors, not men who woke up missing a stranger's warmth.
“She wasn’t supposed to matter.”He muttered under his breath
“It’s my first time. I don’t think I can forget it that easily.” He shut his eyes tightly.
He reached for his jacket. He needed to breath, to move, to stop seeing her every time he closed his eyes.
And then he grabbed his keys. He didn’t know where he was going.
“It’s important to me. I want to forget it.”
He clenched the keys in his fist, jaw tightening.
“I won’t let that be the end,” he whispered to himself.
And for the first time in years, Alexander Maxwell, a billionaire, tycoon, man who controlled everything had absolutely no idea how to win something he suddenly, desperately wanted.
“Shopia, let’s hang out tonight. There’s a new club in Brixton,” Emilia, her friend chirped as she fell into step beside her.
“Tonight?” Shopia repeated, blinking out of her thoughts.
“Yeah. Tonight. What’s wrong? You look I don’t know, like someone stole your soul.”
Emilia paused, studying her face.
“I’m fine. Just tired.” Shopia forced a laugh, though it came out thin and unsteady.
“Tired? Sweetheart, tired is when you do an all-nighter studying. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Emilia raised a brow.
Shopia stopped walking. Her breath trembled. Not a ghost, it just a mistake. A man with storm grey eyes and a touch that had made her feel seen for the first time in months destroyed it all within a sentence.
“I just had a weird night.” She swallowed hard.
“Weird like emotional weird or…” Emilia’s eyes narrowed instantly
“Oh my God! you slept with someone.” Emilia gasped softly. Heat rushed up Shopia’s neck.
“Emilia, just shut your mouth!”
“And it wasn’t cute or romantic judging by your face. Hey. Look at me…” Shopia looked.
“Men are stupid, especially the ones who look like Greek gods or talk like they own the universe.” Emilia announced, like it was a universal truth.
“That is oddly specific.” Shopia’s lips twitched despite herself.
“So? Club tonight. Dance, music, cute guys who don’t say dumb things. You need this.”
Shopia hesitated. Her mind still replayed it. But drowning alone in guilt and heartbreak wouldn’t fix anything. Maybe being lost in noise and lights for a few hours would keep her from thinking.
“Okay, tonight.” she exhaled.
“That’s my girl! We’ll make memories so good you forget whatever jerk hurt you.” Emilia beamed.
Shopia smiled a fragile, stitched-together smile. She hoped it would hold.
Meanwhile at Maxwell Mansion
Alex stood in his silent living room, glass of untouched whiskey in his hand. He hated whiskey in the morning, yet here he was. Her voice wouldn’t stop echoing.
“I just want to forget this ever happened.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, pacing. He had closed billion dollar deals. Negotiated governments.But he had no idea how to fix the look she gave him before walking out.
A notification buzzed on his phone a business updates and investor reports. He ignored them.
Then another alert flashed, a social photo tag from the art world, a gallery account.
Yups, Shopia’s profile.
His pulse kicked. She posted nothing but a cup of coffee and a quiet bench on campus.
But it was today. His chest tightened unexpectedly.
Instead of deleting the notification, he saved the photo to his private folder. Then cursed at himself for doing it. She wasn’t fading. Not like she was supposed to.
“Paris in two days,” he whispered to himself.
**
The bedroom looked like a battlefield of clothes and perfume bottles. Glittering tops. Black dresses. Red lipstick on the vanity. Emilia tossed a black mini dress at Shopia.
“Try this. You need unbothered goddess energy tonight.”
Shopia caught it, sighing.
“I don’t feel like a goddess. I feel like a confused idiot.” Emilia crossed her arms.
“Nope. Not allowed. Tonight you’re beautiful, mysterious, untouchable. Whoever hurt you doesn’t get to own your thoughts.”
Shopia hesitated, fingers brushing the soft fabric. He shouldn’t matter. He was just one night. A mistake she swore she’d forget.
Still, his face flickered in her mind, Shake it off. She changed and stepped out.
“Oh. My. God.” Emilia’s jaw dropped.
“What?” Shopia muttered, smoothing her dress.
“You look like heartbreak and danger wrapped in silk. If your mystery man saw you right now, he’d choke.” Emilia grinned.
Shopia looked in the mirror. Soft curls, dark eyeliner. A dress that hugged the shape she always underestimated. She didn’t recognize herself for a moment. Emilia grabbed her hand.
“Tonight, we dance until the world disappears.” Shopia exhaled, nodding.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
