Doman’s POV

I wasn’t expecting company. I had barely dropped my jacket on the couch when a knock echoed through the apartment, three sharp raps that already screamed trouble.

When I opened the door, Sophia was there. Standing on my porch with boxes stacked at her feet and that familiar lost look painted across her face.

“What the hell is this?” I asked, voice sharp.

She forced a weak smile. “Can I come in first?”

“No,” I snapped. “Start talking.”

Her shoulders dropped. ...