My idea was that, while writing Sofia's POV, she also told Luke some things about her feelings and everything else. That way, it avoids unnecessary repetition.
.....
(POV Luke)
Sofia was still sitting on my lap. The weight of her body contrasted with the rigidity of the chair and the tight ropes around my arms, and that closeness made everything harder to process. Her warmth, her breathing—far too calm for the situation—the way she seemed comfortable there… all of it made me uneasy.
A thick silence settled between us after she finished talking, as if the air had become too heavy for any words to pass through. Throughout all those years, I had never imagined that her feelings had grown that way. Silent. Obsessive. Distorted by time and absence.
Back in high school, everything seemed simple. She drifted away, I drifted away. Two immature teenagers pretending that distance was a solution. I never thought that beneath all of that, something so deep was rotting in silence.
I didn't hate Sofia. That was a strange certainty, firm even in that absurd situation. What I felt for her was an old affection, a fondness that survived time, stored alongside good memories—meaningless conversations, laughter that no longer existed. The love I had felt when I was younger had faded over the years, dissolved by choices, by lack of courage, by life moving forward.
I didn't love the Sofia who was in front of me now.
But she loved me.
And that love—even frightening, even sick—was too real to be ignored.
Maybe it was guilt for never having noticed her suffering when we were younger. Maybe fear of hurting her even more. Or maybe the uncomfortable, unavoidable attraction that insisted on existing despite everything. I knew I didn't love her, but I also couldn't deny how beautiful she was, how that body so close awakened thoughts I immediately forced myself to repress.
I shook my head, trying to push those thoughts away.
It wouldn't be fair.
It wouldn't be right to use her feelings just to satisfy my own desires.
"Luke. You're being quiet."
Sofia's voice pulled me back. Soft, but filled with expectation.
"I'm just… trying to absorb all of this," I replied, choosing my words carefully. "You told me a lot of things."
She seemed more withdrawn now. Her gaze slightly lowered, a shadow crossing her delicate face. The ropes around my arms started to truly hurt, the constant pressure awakening a dull ache that reminded me, once again, where I was.
That's when an idea began to form. Slow. Calculated.
"Do you think I'm strange?"
The question came out almost like a plea. Sweet, but with fear hidden underneath.
"A little," I answered honestly, watching her reaction. Sofia bit her lip, her gaze darkening, unstable. "But… I want to accept you the way you are," I added, letting my voice sound sincere, careful.
"You… you'll accept me?"
The whisper came out surprised, her eyes widening as if that possibility had never existed for her.
I didn't intend to run away. Not this time. Sofia wasn't guilty for loving me, and the idea of completely rejecting her caused a strange weight in my chest—a guilt I knew would follow me for a long time.
Besides, there was something I understood clearly now: Sofia had dangerous traits. Traits that went far beyond love. Just remembering everything she had done to keep me there was enough.
And precisely because of that, I needed to be careful.
From the fragments she herself had revealed, I knew one thing for certain: Sofia would do anything not to be hated by me. And that would be the key point. If I could use that feeling to keep her under control, maybe I could prevent her from hurting herself… or other people.
If she had the courage to kidnap me, I didn't want to imagine how far she would go out of jealousy.
"I'll accept you, Sofia," I finally said, keeping my tone calm. "But you'll need to do some things for me. Can you do that?"
"Anything," she replied without hesitation. Her voice firm. Fervent. "I'll do everything you ask."
She suddenly stood up from my lap, full of energy, and for a moment my eyes betrayed my concentration, following the movement of her body, the pink pajama riding up more than it should have. I forced myself to look away, taking a deep breath.
"First," I said, trying to maintain composure, "untie me."
"Impossible."
The answer came dry. Without emotion.
"What… didn't you say you'd do anything for me?" I asked, genuinely surprised.
"I did. But not that."
"So you intend to keep me tied up forever?"
She tilted her head, thoughtful.
"I haven't thought about that yet."
The incoherence of the answer almost made me laugh—if it weren't for the situation. I sighed deeply and looked at her, gathering everything I had. When I spoke again, I let my voice drop, heavy with sadness.
"That way, you'll end up making me sad."
The reaction was immediate.
"No, no, no," she said quickly, her eyes wide. "Don't be sad. I… I'll untie you. I don't want to see you sad."
Exactly as I imagined. It worked.
She was still standing in front of me, her hands restless, eyes far too attentive, as if any word from me could decide everything. When she started undoing the knots in the ropes, her movements were fast, almost trembling, as if she were trying to compensate for something.
The pressure around my arms slowly eased. Circulation returned with an uncomfortable pain, but I didn't complain. My attention was entirely on her.
When I was free, I didn't stand up immediately. I remained seated, rubbing my marked wrists, breathing deeply, organizing my thoughts. Sofia watched every movement, every expression, as if she were analyzing invisible signs.
"Sofia," I finally said, lifting my gaze. "Before anything else… I need to be honest with you."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was heavy. Dense. Sofia kept her eyes fixed on me, as if any word I said had the power to sustain—or destroy—everything she had built inside her own mind.
"Sofia," I repeated, carefully, like someone stepping on unstable ground. "Like I said… I'm willing to accept you. But that doesn't mean we're going to have a relationship right away."
The reaction came instantly. Her face hardened, sweetness giving way to something darker, more defensive. This time, I didn't retreat. Now I was free, and what truly mattered wasn't physical strength, but the weight of words.
I stood up from the chair and faced her. The difference in height made Sofia lift her gaze to look at me, and for a moment I realized how that made her vulnerable in a different way.
"Why not?"
Her voice came out filled with something too dense to be just sadness. "Am I not good enough? Is it my fault?" The words began to spill out too quickly. "I'm sorry… please. I'll do anything."
"Calm down."
I placed my hands on her face, my thumbs slowly sliding over her cheeks. Feeling my touch, Sofia's body trembled—a reflex—but she didn't pull away. On the contrary, one of her hands rose and rested over mine, as if that contact were necessary to keep her anchored there, with me.
"I'll be honest with you," I continued, keeping my voice low and firm. "I don't love you… yet." I made sure to emphasize the last word. "But that can change someday."
Sofia remained silent. Even so, I could clearly see the conflict in her eyes—a tension that went far beyond simple fear of rejection. It was as if two voices were fighting inside her head: one more rational, trying to cling to what I was saying, and another, more intense and uncontrolled, fueled by the obsessive love she felt for me. I knew I couldn't leave any openings; any ambiguity would be dangerous.
"What I'm proposing is to build something," I explained, gathering as much sincerity as I could. "With time. We can spend time together here, at your place, at mine, have lunch together, go out together… without rushing. The right way." I tilted my head slightly, watching her reaction. "That would make you happy, wouldn't it?"
She listened carefully and nodded slowly. A smile appeared on her lips—not that trained, social smile she used as a mask. It was different. Genuine. From her expression, I knew Sofia was already imagining each of those scenes, as if they were promises etched into the future.
But I needed to be clear.
"For that to happen," I added, now with less caution than before, "you're going to have to control yourself. I don't want you freaking out if you see me talking to another woman."
The change was immediate.
"Do you have someone else?"
The question came out cold. Sharp. Darkness took over her eyes, and the gentle expression was replaced by contained, barely disguised anger.
"I don't have anyone, Sofia," I replied without hesitation. "But I don't want to stop getting involved with other people either."
I wasn't lying. I wasn't committed to anyone. What I had with Vanessa was something physical, without promises, mixed with a genuine desire to help her with her father's problems. With Bianca, I didn't even know how to define what we were. Olivia was a friend, despite the kiss. And now there was Sofia. No formal relationship. No assumed bond.
Even so, the idea of hurting any of them bothered me deeply. If any of those ties deepened in the future, I truly didn't know how I would deal with it.
"Sofia," I called, softening my voice. "Do you love me?"
"Very much," she answered, and this time her expression was calmer, almost vulnerable.
"Do you want to see me sad?"
"No."
"Then do this for me," I asked, holding her gaze. "Control yourself. Don't hurt anyone because of me."
Silence settled between us again. Sofia didn't respond immediately. Her gaze drifted away once more, distant, as if she were submerged in that internal discussion I was already beginning to recognize. I knew exactly what I was doing—using her love as a limit, as a restraint.
And even without pride, I also knew that, in that moment, it was the only way to keep everything under control.
"I'll try… but I can't guarantee I'll be able to control myself," Sofia finally said, her voice lower, less firm than before.
"That's already something," I replied honestly. "I'll try too, Sofia."
And I knew it would have to be true. From that moment on, every gesture would need to be measured, every word calculated. Sofia wasn't predictable. What had happened that night made that clear. Any slip could push her back into that unstable state I had just managed to contain with so much effort.
"You're going to spend the night with me," she suddenly said.
It didn't sound like a request. It was a simple, direct demand.
I sighed, feeling the weight of exhaustion finally reach me. My body ached, my mind was drained, and I didn't have the strength for another confrontation. Besides, there was a cruel logic to it: between spending the night free beside her or risking waking up tied up again, the choice was obvious.
"Alright, Sofia," I agreed.
She smiled immediately, satisfied.
"But I'll have to wear the same clothes," I added, almost to myself, thoughtful.
"Don't worry," she replied too quickly. "I bought clothes your size."
Her eyes shone in a way that made something freeze in the pit of my stomach. Still, after everything that had happened that night, it didn't surprise me anymore. I simply accepted it.
I took the clothes she handed me and went to the bathroom, guided by her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Under the shower, I let the hot water fall over my body, trying to relax muscles and thoughts. For the first time since the karaoke, I managed to breathe with a little less tension.
The pajamas fit perfectly. Blue, with small bears scattered across the fabric. Too childish. I blushed slightly when I looked at myself in the mirror—until I noticed the detail that made everything click in an unsettling way. Sofia's pink pajamas also had little bears.
She had thought of that.
I left the bathroom in silence, walking back to the bedroom with slow steps, my mind heavy with worries about what would come next. When I entered, I found Sofia leaning over the bed, arranging the sheets, her body curved in a way that made me pause for a second longer than I should have.
"I made our love nest," she said cheerfully, as if it were obvious.
"Sofia… I don't think we should," I said, still trying to keep some control over the situation.
"Why not?" She turned to me, confused. "You said you'd do things that would make me happy. And I want to become one with you."
There was no logic there. Only desire, expectation, and a need too intense to be discussed rationally. Before I could say anything else, she grabbed my hand and pushed me onto the bed. The mattress gave under my weight, and within seconds Sofia was on top of me.
Her body was warm, too present. The closeness erased the little distance that still existed between reason and impulse. All the caution I had promised myself began to dissolve, replaced by deep exhaustion and an attraction I had been pretending didn't exist.
Maybe I really was a hypocrite.
I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of the choice I was about to make. I knew that by not pushing her away, I was crossing an important line—not just with Sofia, but with myself.
When I opened them again, there was no room left to retreat.
....
I don't know if this chapter turned out well. It was hard to write and to try to give the story some logic. My idea was to use Sofia's love as a weapon to control her actions, while at the same time trying to find a way to move the story forward without being so dependent on Sofia.
Next chapter: spicy scenes with Sofia.