Chapter Text
Sophie hears Hazel screaming more than she sees her.
The night is dark and humid; the cold bites into her skin, she feels the storm coming in the air.
Its after closing time, around 2:00 AM, and Sophie knows for a fact she was working in the private rooms tonight. She doesn't need much more information to deduce what is going on.
Philip Cavender had reserved the VIP Lounge for another of his drug and alcohol debaucheries, and it was Hazel’s time to serve them. He wasn't the only one of their high-class patrons that got handsy when drunk, but he was one of the worst offenders.
She can hear his drunk speech coming from an alley on the side of the empty road.
Sophie looks ahead, the subway station appearing like a lighthouse between the banks of fog.
She barely has time to make it.
The bus doesn't travel this far into the outer city, and the train service won't start until 6 AM; if she loses the last train, she’ll be stuck in the cold dark night.
She hears Hazel’s voice again, the unease dripping from it.
Sighing, she turns to the alley and opens her water bottle. It's still half full, filled with stagnant warm water she hadn't drunk on her break. Hopefully that’ll be enough to scare Cavender away.
As she approaches the voices, she realizes there are more people.
Of course his cronies are with him.
The alley is fairly short, probably meant for delivery to the high-end stores and it's fairly well lit.
She can see the nervousness on Hazel’s face. No one notices her arrival.
“Hey” She screams at Cavender, "eave her alone”.
He whips around at the sound, slowly, clearly intoxicated; she sees how his grasp on Hazel loosens.
She throws what’s left of her water at him and turns to Hazel.
“Run” she whispers “dont look back and get on the train ”.
Hazel doesn’t need to be told twice, she immediately bolts, her steps echoing against the cobblestones.
And just as Sophie prepares to follow her, an iron grip stops her.
“You bitch” he spits at her, his breath rancid, his blurry eyes filled with fury.
“I’ll scream if you touch me” she snaps, voice surprisingly steady, even as she feels tears begin to form in her eyes.
She knows where this is going.
She knows how this will end.
This drunk, detestable men will leave her broken, and no matter what she does, they’ll always win.
He smiles, coming to the same conclusion as her.
“Oh” he slurs “we do love it when they scream”.
Suddenly light fills the alley, as well as the loud roar of an engine.
It blinds her and the men.
She pushes free from Cavender, tripping in her haste to get away from him. Her ankle twists, a sudden sharp pain and she falls to her hands.
A man emerges from the light, dark and tall and pushes into Cavender.
“What’s wrong Cavender?” He asks, "don't you wanna play any longer?”
Why did it have to be him?
Benedict Bridgerton; artist, socialite, history of art professor, and the last person she wants to see, comes to her aid.
“Relax Bridgerton” Cavender answers him “she’s a waitress, it’s what she wants”.
Benedict answers him with a punch.
Men.
He then grabs Cavender and hauls him to the wall, neck under his forearm.
“If I get even the rumor that you are treating women like this again, I will personally make sure you will never be allowed to show your face in society again“ he threatens, voice filled with fury “understood?”
She sees Cavander splutter, hands grasping at Benedict, who presses harder.
He finally nods, and Benedict lets him fall. He gets up with the help of one of his men and the three of them run away without looking back.
Benedict doesn't even look at them; instead, he turns to Sophie.
“Are you well?” he asks her. His eyes are clear and warm, earnest and filled with kindness.
She sees his lips move and can almost feel them against her own again.
Don't do this to me, please.
Not again.
She can't look at him.
Instead, she prepares to get up, gearing up for the pain. She feels him approach her, feels his warm touch through her clothes.
“You are hurt," he observes.
"It's just a sprain," he tells him, "I'm quite alright."
He eyes her, clearly not believing her.
"Thank you for your help, Mr. Bridgerton," she tries to ease him, “but if you excuse me, I really need to get going."
“How do you know my name?” he asks her, surprise all over his face.
Shit.
“I heard them calling you by your name at the party tonight," she lies.
He seems to buy it and smiles sheepishly.
“I think it's fair to say I won't be invited again," he tells her "but, to be honest, it wasn't really my scene" .
Right.
“As I was saying, thank you for the help, really, but I must go now ”.
"Allow me to take you home " he asks her "it's cold, you are hurt, and the last train already left ".
He´s close, hand on her forearm from when he helped steady her.
She swears she feels his whisper against her skin again.
"No" she answers him quickly "don´t worry, I can handle myself".
"Please," he insists "they could be out there still".
True, but still, she won´t go anywhere near the student housing on the back Benedict Bridgerton´s bike.
She shakes her head "I`ll just wait for the train".
"Then allow me to give you some tea at my apartment" he proposes "I live near and I´ll keep you company till the trains re start".
She can tell he won´t budge.
"Fine" she answers "but only till 6 AM and then I`ll go".
Benedict smiles.
He looks at her, his eyes searching.
"Have we met before? " Benedict asks her.
Yes.
"No" she lies, voice unwavering.