My Perfect Marriage

Chapter 17

Sophia feels like she's coming apart as time goes on. It's getting harder to add it all to the box in her soul where feelings go to be covered up, ignored, deemed unimportant. It's getting full to bursting.

She blindly walks through the house and gets to the bedroom on autopilot, finding herself standing in the dark room alone with her briefcase in hand and doesn't know how she got here. It feels like she was getting up from the table only seconds ago. She shakes it off because she's fatigued and throws the case down on the bed, mentally chastising herself for becoming absentminded.

The room's lit by the full moon, shining in the window as the housekeeper hasn't ventured in to draw the drapes or turn down the bed yet. It feels suddenly incredibly lonely in here, as though she's standing in some dark prison on day one of a life sentence. She stands and stares at the luxurious furnishing and impeccable décor in this shadowy, unreal atmosphere, and it makes her cold inside. Bubbling and rising of conflicting feelings inside that gnaw at her guts, and she turns to stare at the immaculate bed where her husband never sleeps.

A life some dream of. Wealth, success, marriage in a picture-perfect family with a romance book backstory as childhood sweethearts. It's all a facade. Her whole existence is a facade. Her life is a facade. Her marriage is a facade. She's so sick of it all.

She stalks to the window and yanks the curtain closed, not wanting the moon to highlight anymore of this empty place and push it all back deep down into that place where all her feelings go to die, knowing tomorrow the mask will be back in place, and she'll get through another week, month, the year just like before. Sometimes she wobbles, but it's no use crying over spilled milk.

What's the point in obsessing, thinking? It's not going to change a damn thing, and it can't alter who she is or what's expected of her. This is her life, and she needs to suck it up and face it like she always does. Crying over what's broken is for the weak.

"Here, Vice President Hale. These are all the current files needing a signature." Sophia sits back and lets her new assistant Veronica lay them out for her. Two days ago, she finally cut loose the girl of five years in a fit of rage for a missed document and a lax attitude to timekeeping. She has no patience for people who waste her precious time and make mistakes, and this one has all the new and shiny enthusiasm to do a good job. Sophia knows it won't last.

"Did you archive all last month's?" Sophia lifts a brow and pulls the first black folder on top over, flicking it open.

"Yes, Ma'am. I sorted through, copied, and saved digital files to the central server and then organized the paper copies in the building file room.

"Why is this missing President Hale's signature?" Sophia pauses her pen over the budget request for one of their sub-companies. The very first one she opens, and it's not even completed. Irritated for the oversight.

"He must have missed it, Ma'am. It came from his secretary only moments ago. I'll take it back." Her face pales, and her voice fades, showing the same fear most of the employees in the building have for Sophia. She throws down her pen on top of it with a harsh thrush and slams it shut, locking the pen inside. Already in a foul mood this morning, like most days, she wakes up, and she blows out her air violently.

Inwardly she's coiled tight, and although this isn't a significant oversight, she can't hold in the anger. This last week or so, she feels like he's let so many tiny things like this slide, and she has no idea what's wrong with him. His focus is elsewhere, and he's been distracted in meetings to the point he's had to have things repeated. Yesterday he missed a digit on a payment account and almost lost a substantial amount in an overpay if she hadn't caught it. These are not Leon mistakes, ever.

"I'll do it. He'll be quicker if I take it to him myself. Don't let this happen again. Check paperwork before letting it be handed over." Sophia snaps at her. Pushing her chair back and stands briskly, catches the pen as it slides out from the file and shoves it in her jacket pocket.

Sophia is in a whirlwind of emotions today, a result of sleep deprivation and an overload of stress from the past few weeks. Veronica should steer clear if she values her well-being. Sophia doesn't hesitate to stride out and down the hallway, shooting a stern look at Leon's secretary to signal that today is not the day to cross her. The secretary shrinks back in her chair, immediately submissive and silent as Sophia strides into Leon's office.

His chair is vacant, his desk is unusually neat, and there's no trace of him. Sophia scans the room for him, certain that he hasn't left. An intuition tells her he's still here. The secretary would have informed her if he had left, even in the face of Sophia's intimidating glare.

"Leon?" Sophia calls out, noticing that his dressing room door is slightly open in the far corner, beyond his lounge area. He doesn't respond, so Sophia approaches and pushes the door open fully, finding him in front of his full-length mirror, changing his shirt. He's already wearing a fresh one, yet unbuttoned as he adjusts it around his neck and fixes the cuffs. He's aware of Sophia's presence but chooses to ignore her, unfazed by her seeing him half-dressed. It's not a new sight for her.

"I need your signature on this. It needs to be processed, and you overlooked it." Sophia extends the file towards him, her tone sharp and irritated at the oversight, trying not to appreciate his well-maintained physique. He's always been tall and athletic, with a well-defined body. Dressed in trousers and an unbuttoned white shirt, it's a struggle to suppress her attraction to him. Sophia could never criticize his appearance or his fashion sense. If we were to judge men based on looks, Leon would be the ideal man.

He turns towards Sophia and reaches for the file, his shirt falling open further, revealing fading bruises on his left rib cage. Sophia's anger instantly dissolves into concern at the sight of his injuries.

"You said you were okay." Sophia's demeanor and voice shift dramatically. She rushes towards him, fingers reaching out to touch the visible bruises, all other thoughts pushed aside, replaced by a desire to comfort him. Sophia wants to weep at the sight of these ugly blue and purple marks on his perfect tan skin, but he swats her hand away, reminding her of her place and bringing her back to reality.

"I am okay. Don't touch me." His frosty tone halts Sophia, and she flinches at the chill. It feels like a physical blow, yet she can't tear her eyes away from the bruises. "Did you at least get checked out? At the hospital, I mean." Sophia manages to stutter out, her heart melting for him because she knows these are the result of him defending her that day.

"They're just bruises, Sophia. Not life-threatening. I've had worse from playing racketball with Bernard. Hand me a pen." He doesn't glance her way but instead flips through the papers, extending his hand expectantly. He's shutting Sophia out, rejecting her concern, and setting boundaries. The usual pattern of their relationship.

Sophia rummages in her pocket and hands him the fountain pen, careful not to touch his fingers as he takes it. Any hint of tenderness or care from Leon is usually followed by weeks of him distancing himself, ensuring Sophia doesn't misinterpret his momentary lapse of judgment. How could she ever forget that?