Chapter 2:The Lie
1121 Words
Sophia’s breath tangles in her throat as the flashes escalate, exploding like rockets in vision. The cameras continue to capture every angle of Henry's hand resting with so much control against her waist. His warm palm burned through her uniform, branding her in a way that made her heart race.
She tried to step back, to break free, but Henry’s grip became so tight almost so unobtrusively—a warning. His smile was practiced, cool and calculated, the kind of smile that belonged to a man conversant with forcing reality to his will.
“This is her.”
The word still rang in her ears like a curse.
His fiancée?
She wanted to laugh. Or just scream. Or rather maybe both. She was nobody. A broke waitress wearing a borrowed uniform and shoes that tweak her toes. How on earth had she become the centerpiece of an engagement controversy?
“Mr. Blackwood! How long have you been seeing her?” one reporter shouted.
“Is this why you’ve been so low-key private lately another pressed.
“Could you tell us all about the wedding—when’s the big day coming up”?
Questions ran all over her like a tornado. Sophia opened her mouth to object, to set the record straight, but Henry's mouth cut across hers with seamless authority.
“All in good time,” he said, his tone dismissive yet teasing enough to feed the commotion. “For now we would like to enjoy her evening without interruptions.
The crowd started again, more flashes, more opinions. Sophia's vision grew so blurry, she could feel tension in her chest. He was lying so badly and the world was eating it all up.
She pushed closer, her voice a fierce whisper only he could hear. “What exactly are you doing right now?"
Henry couldn't care less about looking at her, he didn't even hesitate. His smile was calm and smooth. “Saving myself,” he muttered.
“By destroying me? She hissed.
His eyes finally turned to hers—sharp, cutting, but with something she couldn’t unravel. “Trust me, sweetheart, you don't need to panic, you'll survive this.”
Sweetheart. The word dripped with despise though it rolled off his tongue far too easily.
Before she could snap back, security moved in, expertly diverting the press. Henry held her away with a soft hand, not giving her an option in the matter. His steps were long and confident, and Sophia found herself half-running to keep up.
“Let go of me,” she screams, pulling against his hold.
“No way miss,” he said, leading her towards a quieter corridor away from the mess. His tone was low but adamant, a voice used to commanding boardrooms and entire empires.
They stopped near a side exit, where the noise of the gala vanishes into the background. Only then did he release her, though his presence was still here large and suffocating.
Sophia’s chest rose and fell swiftly as she balanced her shoulders. “You can’t just drag me into whatever business you've got going on. Do you have the closest clue of what you’ve done?”
Henry dipped a hand into his pocket, looking frustratedly composed for a man with champagne stains on his thousand-dollar suit. “I know exactly what I’ve done. You, however, don’t seem to comprehend the situation.”
Her laugh was sharp, dry. “Oh, I understand it. You lied. To the press. About me.”
“I didn’t lie,” he corrected slowly, “I improvised.”
She stared at him. “Improvised? You just announced to the world that I’m your fiancée!”
His eyes squinted, the silence in them hardening.
“And you'd prefer I let them devour you? Because, trust me that’s exactly what would have happened if I hadn’t acted. You had a glass of wine splashed at me in front of half the city’s elite. The gossip magazines would’ve destroyed you by morning—embarrassed, unemployed, ruined. My way protected you.”
Sophia blinked, her anger clashing with disbelief. Protected her? That was his version of protection?
“You're insane,” she murmured, holding her hands against her waist. Completely insane.”
Henry's lips arched, but there was no warmth in them. “Perhaps. But insanity has its uses.”
She breathed out almost shakily, trying to retrieve her thoughts. This couldn't be real.
This was all a nightmare, a strange dream she would wake up from soon only to find herself still struggling to balance trays in some jam-packed ballroom.
But no—the smell of champagne held to her uniform, the flashlight directly into her eyes, and Henry Blackwood was very much serious, standing tall and adamant before her.
“What happens now?” she asked quietly, worrying about the answer.
Henry looked at her, his eyes unnervingly intense. “Now you play along.”
Sophia looked up slowly. “Excuse me?”
“You will act the part,” he said, his tone calm but certain. “Smile when the cameras are near.
Pretend when people ask a question. This will pass in a few weeks, maybe a month. Then I'll announce that things ended mutually, and you'll return to your little life without anyone remembering your name.”
She looked at him, shocked by the coldness in his voice. “Do you hear yourself? You think you can just...use me? Like some puppet in your game?”
His jaw tightened ever so barely. “This isn't a game.”
“Oh wow,” she fired back.
For the first time, something looked disturbing in his expression—a shadow of unease, maybe even weariness—but it disappeared almost immediately.
“You owe me,” Henry said clearly.
Sophia's mouth fell open. “Owe you? You're kidding right what for?”
“For not letting them destroy you silly,” he replied. “For giving you a way tonight.”
She shook her head in rejection. “You're absurd.”
“Get used to it” he replied.
Their eyes clashed, in the air between them popping like a charge neither of them wanted to admit. Sophia wanted to scream, to fling the tray still gripped in her hands at his perfectly figure face. But another part of her—treacherous and terrifying—couldn’t tear away from the power of his presence.
Henry Blackwood was dangerous. Not in the way of fists and knives, but in the way he could play reality with a word, make lies sound like truth, and pull any girl into a world where she didn't belong.
And Sophia, with God helping her, was already caught in his storm.
- Writer
