Chapter 8: Cold Sheets, Warmer Lies
1168 Words
—“She married the wrong brother to save her world… but her heart was starting to betray her.”
Sophia awoke to the quiet buzz of the metropolis beyond the glass walls.
Her eyelids fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the faint morning light coming into the flat. The bed was vacant beside her—untouched. Mason hadn’t returned last night.
Her hand brushed along the cool side of the pillow.
It felt like a metaphor.
She sat up, putting a hand to her stomach.
Good morning, little one, she whispered tenderly to the baby growing inside her. One day, I’ll tell you everything. Even the parts I wish I could forget.
She stood, pulling on the silk robe Mason had placed in the closet for her. It still had the tags. Like everything else in this marriage—new, spotless, untainted by true feeling.
Sophia padded down the hallway, past the marble bathroom and private library, toward the kitchen.
To her amazement, he was there.
Mason stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, already dressed in a charcoal suit, his tie unfastened, black coffee steaming in one hand.
He didn’t glance at her when she entered.
"Good morning," she replied quietly, wondering if she was allowed to greet him as a wife or merely an obligation.
He didn’t turn around. “I’ve asked my assistant to schedule your first media shoot.”
Sophia blinked. “Media shoot? ”
“Photos. Interviews. A perfectly organized tale. They’ll paint you as my exquisite, devoted, gorgeous wife—who fell in love with me despite the chances. It will help settle the board.”
Her throat clenched. “So, it’s all still just a business transaction to you? ”
Mason finally looked at her, those gray eyes cooler than the skyline beyond. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know what this was from the start.”
“Things are changing,” she muttered. “Whether we want them to or not.”
He didn’t move. “Only if you let them.”
She gazed at him. “I didn’t ask to fall in love with your brother.”
“And yet you did.”
Her heart cracked.
“And now? ” she inquired softly.
He looked at her long and hard. “Now I own the story.”
Before she could speak, he turned and walked out—leaving behind a quiet thick enough to choke on.
Later that day, Sophia stood in the middle of a private studio, camera lights blinding her, as artists swarmed like bees.
“Smile, Mrs. Davis,” the photographer cried out.
She tried.
But it seemed hollow.
Her smile had once been sincere. Back when she was only a girl dreaming of becoming a designer. Back when she believed in fairy tales and first loves.
Back when Lucas was just Lucas—not the guy who ruined her, or the phantom that still plagued her.
Suddenly, the doors burst open.
Gasps. Murmurs.
Lucas.
In a black leather jacket and dark jeans, he strode in like he owned the place.
“Sophia,” he yelled, voice loud enough to echo off the glossy walls.
The room froze.
Sophia’s heart stopped.
“What are you doing here? ” she muttered as he approached.
“I told you I wouldn’t give up.”
“You shouldn’t be here. This is Mason’s—”
“Let him come,” Lucas urged passionately. “Let him see what he’s afraid of.”
“Lucas—”
He stepped closer. “You’re not a pawn. And I won’t let him treat you like one.”
“I chose this.”
“No, you chose survival. You choose to save your father. You didn’t choose him.”
Tears burned in her eyes. “Stop, please.”
“Tell me you don’t feel anything when you look at me,” he urged, voice trembling. “Tell me what we had is completely gone.”
She opened her mouth.
But nothing came out.
Because it wasn’t.
And that scared her.
“I can’t do this,” she muttered. “I have a baby to protect. I can’t be reckless.”
“I would never hurt you,” Lucas said.
But the harm was already done.
Mason came fifteen minutes later.
The cameras packed away in dread. The air got ice-cold.
“Out,” Mason said to everyone.
Even Lucas halted.
“You crossed a line,” Mason said, striding toward his brother. “This is my wife. You think you can walk into my building and claim her like we’re still kids fighting over toys? ”
“I’m not fighting for a toy,” Lucas replied. “I’m fighting for someone I love.”
Mason’s voice sank. “She made her choice.”
“No,” Lucas answered. “You bought her.”
Mason punched him.
One strong, vicious swing that blasted through the room like thunder.
Sophia shouted.
Lucas fell back, blood flowing from his nose. But he didn’t answer.
“I deserved that,” he continued, voice trembling. “But it doesn’t change anything. I’m not going anywhere.”
He turned to Sophia, eyes gentle. “You don’t owe me love. But you owe yourself the truth.”
Then he walked out.
Leaving chaos in his wake.
That night, the flat was silent again.
Mason poured himself a drink. Sophia sat on the edge of the couch, knees pulled up.
“I told him to stay away,” Mason stated ultimately.
“I didn’t invite him.”
“Do you still love him? ” His voice was calm. Too quiet.
Sophia glanced into her hands. “I don’t know what I feel anymore.”
He downed the drink and headed to the window.
“I’ve never shared anything I care about, Sophia. Not even with my own brother.”
She turned to him. “You care about me? ”
He gazed at her, face unreadable. “I don’t like things being taken from me.”
“I’m not a thing.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s the problem.”
She stood.
Walked to him.
Stopped only a breath away.
“Mason…”
He peered down at her, gray eyes dark with something between desire and wrath.
And when he kissed her, it wasn’t soft.
It was a claim.
It was war.
It was everything he’d been holding back.
His hand knotted in her hair, his mouth devouring hers, and for one perilous, fleeting moment—she let herself kiss him back.
She let herself fall.
But when he pulled away, something cracked.
“We can’t do this,” she muttered, gasping.
“You’re my wife.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to own my heart.”
He touched her face tenderly. “Then what do I get, Sophia? ”
She didn’t have an answer.
Because for the first time… she didn’t know what she wanted more:
The man who had her past.
Or the man who could ruin her future.
- Writer
