Morning of Consequences

Sophie groaned as sunlight pierced through the blinds, slicing stripes across her bedroom floor. Her head throbbed in rhythm with the residual beats from last night’s music, each pulse hammering mercilessly at her temples. Alcohol still lingered in her system, dragging a fog through her thoughts and making even sitting up feel like a monumental effort.

“Ugh… why did I do that?” she muttered, pressing her hands to her aching forehead. The memory surged—chaos, music, neon lights, the crowd pressing in all around her. And him. The stranger with black, slightly tousled hair and sunglasses, the small silver horse pendant glinting faintly in the club lights.

Her lips tingled at the memory. The kiss—impulsive, daring, reckless. It had been her idea, yet his warmth had anchored her in that brief moment. She had never felt anything like it.

Sophie’s green eyes widened as her heartbeat quickened. She didn’t know his name, didn’t know who he was, yet something about him had planted itself stubbornly in her memory. She tried to shake it off, telling herself it was just one night, one impulsive moment fueled by music, alcohol, and adrenaline. But every detail lingered—the way his lips had felt, the heat of the moment, the subtle tingle when their hands brushed.

“Ugh… today… Dad…” she groaned, dragging herself upright. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, loose strands framing her face. Her hand brushed against the edge of her wig lying on the floor—a nearly blond disguise she had worn to avoid recognition.

Swinging her legs over the bed, she muttered, “Come on, Sophie… you can do this. Coffee… water… try not to pass out in front of him.” Each step toward the bathroom felt like an obstacle course, her head threatening to explode with every movement.

She glanced at her closet, debating what to wear. In the end, she settled for her familiar grey tracksuit and sneakers—casual, comfortable, and unassuming. Her mother had always encouraged independence, raising Sophie to be self-sufficient, to live alone, and to handle the world on her own terms. Sophie liked feeling free, unburdened by expectations.

Her phone buzzed. Her father. She groaned again.

“Coffee, water, survive,” she muttered, grabbing the device with shaky fingers.

The intercom buzzed. “Miss Sophie, your transport is ready,” came the familiar voice.

Transport. Right. Father’s bodyguards. Even at nineteen, she wasn’t used to being accompanied everywhere, but she was used to managing herself. Today, however, the visit to her father’s office was inevitable.

“Coming!” she called weakly, pulling on her hood and shuffling toward the door. Two bodyguards flanked her, stoic and silent.

“Easy there,” one murmured, hand on her elbow, guiding her toward the car.

Sophie’s green eyes flicked toward the street as they walked. She imagined her father’s reaction when he saw her casual attire. It would be sharp, disappointed, perhaps even a little angry—but she didn’t care. Comfort and freedom were worth more than anyone’s approval.

The car ride was quiet, the city rushing past in streaks of color. Sophie tried to sip some water, hoping it would soothe her pounding head, but each swallow reminded her of last night—the club, the chaos, the adrenaline, and most of all… him. The stranger. The kiss. The warmth. The silver horse pendant. She closed her eyes and imagined it again, trying to push the lingering thrill down, telling herself it had no place in the structured reality of her life.

The car stopped outside the towering office building, its glass facade reflecting the morning sun in blinding streaks. Sophie groaned softly, pressing a hand to her temple.

Two bodyguards opened the doors, eyes scanning the street. “Thanks,” she muttered weakly, letting them guide her out.

The lobby was sleek and sterile, polished marble reflecting the harsh morning light. Every step echoed; her pulse quickened—not just from the hangover, but from the looming confrontation ahead.

Her father, a figure of authority and control, waited behind the imposing mahogany desk, eyes sharp. The moment he saw her casual tracksuit, he couldn’t hide a sharp roll of his eyes.

“Sophie,” he said, his voice tight with irritation. “Do you really have to dress like that?”

Sophie lifted her chin, green eyes defiant. “I like feeling free, Dad. Comfortable. I don’t need to wear something uncomfortable to prove anything.”

He exhaled sharply, frustration evident, but pushed forward. “Fine. But you must understand—appearances matter. Always.”

Sophie nodded politely but inwardly smiled. Comfort mattered more to her than approval.

“Now, before we get into the day’s schedule, there’s something you should know. You’ve been cast in a new film—a big project, high-profile. And you won’t be working alone.”

Sophie blinked. “Oh? Who else?”

“Liam,” her father said casually, as if the name carried no weight. “He’s a rising musician, a guitarist and singer. He’ll be co-starring with you in the lead role. You’ll be playing a girl who wants to learn to ride, and Liam will be your trainer… and yes, he’ll be playing guitar on screen too. He’s literally the only person who can do both. He’s never acted before, but he’s perfect for the part.”

Sophie tilted her head slightly. “Liam… okay,” she said, voice calm.

Her father’s gaze sharpened. “I need you to understand something. You must keep this strictly professional. I know your type—attractive co-stars, rising musicians—it’s easy to get distracted. Any chemistry you two have must exist only on camera. Off-screen, you focus on work, on the role, on professionalism. Clear?”

“Crystal clear,” Sophie said, hiding the flutter of excitement in her chest.

“Good. The schedule will be demanding. Discipline. Don’t let impulses interfere,” he added.

Sophie nodded, determined. Professional. That was all it had to be.

Across town, Liam strummed his guitar lazily, the apartment scattered with sheet music, empty coffee cups, and the lingering scent of coffee from last night’s rehearsal. His mind flickered to the girl who had kissed him—an unexpected, electric moment he tried to brush off. It was nothing. Just the alcohol, he told himself, forcing his fingers to focus on the strings.

His band, Grey Meadow, was at its peak—tour dates sold out, singles climbing the charts, fans desperate for attention.

A sharp knock at the door pulled him from his reverie.

“Liam, got a minute?” Max, his manager, stepped in without invitation.

“Depends,” Liam muttered, still half-focused on his guitar.

Max held up a folder. “You’re being offered a lead role in a new film. Big budget. Co-star… Sophie.”

Liam blinked as he scrolled through the folders. Usual files everyone submitted: headshots, resumes, reels. He didn’t recognize any of the names—just a stack of professional co-stars he would meet on set.

“Me?” Liam asked, raising an eyebrow, a mix of disbelief and nervous excitement in his voice. “I’ve never acted before.”

Max nodded. “Exactly. But this project is perfect for you. The story is set on a ranch, with horses involved—you know your way around them. And your character plays guitar on screen. Fans will love it, and your skill set makes you ideal. Chemistry with Sophie will be important—but strictly professional. No personal distractions.”

Liam ran a hand over the silver horse pendant at his chest, the familiar weight grounding him. “Horses… and guitar. I can do that. But acting?”

“You’ll manage,” Max said. “Look, cameras need your chemistry with Sophie—but off-camera, it’s just business. Music first, film second. You’ll survive.”

“Professional,” Liam muttered, letting the reality sink in. “Work only. Got it.”

Once Max left, Liam sat back, letting the news settle. A co-star he hadn’t met yet, a film he’d never acted in before, set on a ranch where he was at home with horses, and a guitar in hand. Professional. That was all it had to be. Yet a spark of curiosity lingered—how would this Sophie be?