Age is Just a Number

2.

Chapter 2: Tangled Bonds and Hidden Eyes

The air in the estate’s grand study feels like it’s choking me. Dad’s behind his mahogany desk, his face a slab of granite, those blue eyes slicing through me like I’m a blueprint he wants to scrap. Sophia stands a few feet away, her arms crossed, her jaw tight, but I catch the slight tremble in her fingers. She’s trying to hide it, but she’s rattled. I’m not doing much better—my pulse is still hammering from that kiss in the rose garden, from the shadow I saw lurking beyond the roses. Who was that? And why did Sophia’s face go pale when she saw them?

“Sit,” Dad says, his voice low, the kind of low that means he’s about to lay down the law. I don’t move. Neither does Sophia. We’re both stubborn like that, and I can tell it’s pissing him off.

“I said sit,” he repeats, leaning forward, his hands gripping the desk’s edge.

“I’m good,” I say, leaning against the wall, arms crossed to match Sophia’s stance. “What’s this about, Dad? You gonna lecture me on family etiquette?”

His eyes narrow, but before he can snap back, Sophia cuts in, her voice sharp but steady. “Richard, let’s not play games. You saw us. Say what you need to say.”

I glance at her, impressed. She’s not backing down, even with Dad’s glare boring into her. But there’s something in her eyes—a flicker of fear, like she’s bracing for more than just a scolding.

Dad stands, towering over the desk, his 6’2” frame filling the room. “You’re Elena’s sister,” he says to Sophia, each word deliberate. “You’re family now. And you—” He turns to me, his voice dropping to a growl. “You’re my son. This… whatever this is, ends tonight.”

My jaw clenches. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“Oh, I do,” he says, stepping around the desk, closing the distance between us. “You think you can disrespect me in my own house? Sneaking around like teenagers?”

“It wasn’t sneaking,” I shoot back, my temper flaring. “It was a moment. And it’s none of your business.”

Sophia steps forward, her voice cutting through the tension. “Richard, I’m not your daughter. You don’t control me. Or Mark.”

Dad’s eyes flick to her, and there’s something in his stare that makes my skin crawl—not just anger, but knowledge. Like he’s holding a card he hasn’t played yet. “You sure about that, Sophia?” he says, his voice soft, dangerous. “You want to test me?”

Her face tightens, and for a split second, I see it again—that fear. What does he know about her? I want to ask, but the air’s too thick, the room too small for secrets to spill without collateral damage.

The door creaks open, and Elena steps in, her blonde hair catching the lamplight. She looks fragile, her green eyes darting between us. “What’s going on?” she asks, her voice soft but strained. “Richard, you said this was urgent.”

“It is,” Dad says, not taking his eyes off Sophia. “Your sister and my son seem to think they can play house under our noses.”

Elena’s gaze snaps to Sophia, hurt flashing across her face. “Sophia, is this true?”

Sophia’s shoulders sag, just a fraction. “Elena, it’s not what you think—”

“Not what I think?” Elena cuts in, her voice rising. “You’re kissing my stepson at my wedding? How is that not what I think?”

I step forward, trying to diffuse this. “Elena, it was just a moment. We didn’t plan it.”

But Elena’s not listening. She’s staring at Sophia, her eyes glistening with betrayal. “You always do this,” she says, her voice breaking. “You push boundaries, you take risks, and I’m the one left cleaning up your mess.”

Sophia flinches, like Elena’s words are a slap. “That’s not fair,” she says, her voice quieter now. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Then why?” Elena demands, stepping closer. “Why Mark? Why now?”

I want to jump in, to defend Sophia, but she beats me to it. “Because I felt something,” she says, her voice raw, her eyes locking on mine for a heartbeat before turning back to Elena. “And for once, I didn’t want to run from it.”

The room goes silent, the weight of her words hanging between us. My chest tightens—she felt it too, that spark, that pull. But before I can say anything, Dad laughs, a cold, bitter sound.

“Feelings,” he says, like it’s a dirty word. “You think feelings justify this? You’re not just reckless, Sophia. You’re dangerous.”

There it is again—that word, dangerous. My eyes flick to Sophia, searching for answers, but she’s staring at the floor, her hands balled into fists. What the hell is going on?

“Enough,” I say, stepping between them. “Dad, back off. You don’t get to judge her.”

“You don’t know her, Mark,” he says, his voice icy. “You don’t know what she’s capable of.”

“Stop it!” Elena snaps, her voice cutting through the room. “Both of you, just stop. This is my wedding day. Can’t we have one night without drama?”

Dad softens, just a fraction, and puts a hand on Elena’s shoulder. “You’re right,” he says, but his eyes stay on me, hard and unyielding. “This conversation isn’t over. Mark, Sophia—stay away from each other. That’s not a request.”

He leads Elena out, leaving Sophia and me alone in the study. The silence is heavy, charged with everything unsaid. I turn to her, my voice low. “What was that about? What does he know?”

She shakes her head, her eyes avoiding mine. “It’s nothing. Just Richard being Richard.”

“Bullshit,” I say, stepping closer. “You went white as a sheet out there. And that shadow in the garden—who was that?”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, I think she’s going to tell me. But then she forces a smile, the kind that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You’re paranoid, Mark. It was probably just a guest.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I say, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “I saw your face. You know who it was.”

She steps back, her expression closing off. “You don’t trust me?”

“I want to,” I say, my voice softer now. “But you’re not making it easy.”

She looks at me, her eyes searching, and for a second, I think she’s going to crack, to let me in. But then she turns away, her voice barely a whisper. “I need to go.”

“Sophia, wait—” I reach for her, but she’s already at the door, her hand on the knob.

“I’m sorry,” she says, not looking back. “This was a mistake.”

She’s gone before I can stop her, her footsteps echoing down the hall. I stand there, my heart pounding, my mind racing. That kiss, her words, Dad’s cryptic threats—it’s all a tangle I can’t unravel. But that shadow in the garden? That wasn’t my imagination. Someone was watching us, and Sophia knows who.

I head back to the reception, the music and laughter jarring against the storm in my head. Lily’s at the bar, nursing a drink, her eyes widening when she sees me. “Mark, what happened? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Maybe I did,” I mutter, grabbing a whiskey from the bartender. “Dad caught us. He’s pissed.”

Lily’s jaw drops. “Caught you? Oh my God, Mark, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” I admit, taking a swig. The burn feels good, grounding. “But there’s something else. Someone was out there, in the garden. Watching.”

Lily frowns, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean, watching? Like a creep?”

“I don’t know,” I say, glancing around the room. The crowd’s a blur of tuxes and gowns, but I’m scanning for anything out of place. “Sophia saw them too. She froze.”

Lily leans closer, her voice dropping. “You think it’s about her? She’s… I don’t know, Mark. She’s always been a little off. Elena says she’s got a past.”

I stiffen, the whiskey souring in my mouth. “What kind of past?”

Lily hesitates, like she’s not sure she should say. “I don’t know details. Just… Elena’s always covering for her. Like she’s protecting her from something.”

My gut twists. Dad’s words—dangerous—echo in my head. I want to trust Sophia, but the pieces aren’t adding up. “I need to find her,” I say, setting the glass down.

“Mark, don’t,” Lily says, grabbing my arm. “Dad’s already on the warpath. You’re just gonna make it worse.”

“I don’t care,” I say, pulling free. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

I weave through the crowd, my eyes searching for that emerald dress. She’s not in the ballroom, not on the terrace. I head back to the garden, the roses looming in the moonlight like silent witnesses. The air’s cooler now, the shadows deeper. I’m about to call her name when I see it—a flash of movement near the hedge, a figure slipping into the darkness.

“Hey!” I call, my voice sharp. I sprint toward the spot, my heart pounding. The figure’s gone, but there’s something on the ground—a small, folded piece of paper. I pick it up, my fingers trembling as I unfold it. The handwriting’s sharp, scrawled in black ink: “You can’t hide forever, Sophia.”

My blood runs cold. This isn’t a guest. This isn’t random. Someone’s after her, and I’m caught in the crosshairs. I clutch the note, my eyes scanning the shadows, knowing I need to find her—before whoever wrote this does.