The contract marriage with a billionaire

Chapter 2

Sofia's POV

My father's clock's soft, relentless ticking filled every space between us, marking out the silences like small, accusing heartbeats. I sat opposite my parents in their immaculate living room, my palms were folded on my lap to keep from trembling. I had come seeking some comfort, maybe, or a sliver of sympathy, but as I stared at their composed faces, I realised I didn’t even know what I expected. A single unguarded look, perhaps, or the faintest warmth that would tell me I still mattered to them.

My father, however, only sighed as if my presence were an inconvenience interrupting his day. His hands were folded in that practised way of his, the fingers interlaced and polite, the posture of a man who’d been taught how to appear dispassionate. My mother’s mouth was a hard line, lips pressed so tight that the skin around them creased; her eyes flicked between her coffee cup and me with an expression that said she was more irritated than concerned. I forced myself to breathe slowly, to keep my voice steady, even though inside my chest something raw and furious kept clawing at the seams.

Finally, my mother looked up, arching one brow in that familiar way she did when she wanted to sound measured but was really impatient,” Sofia she began, her tone thin with reproach, “this…situation with Daniel. I don’t understand why you brought it here. Haven’t we told you, repeatedly, to manage things with dignity?”

“With dignity?” The word scraped against the rawness in me. I felt incredulous laughter wanting to burst out of me, but I held it down. “You don’t get it. I lost everything because of him. He betrayed me. He humiliated me. And I” The words came out jagged, each one opening the wound I’d been trying to keep wrapped. “I lost the baby, Mother. Because of him.”

My mother’s face didn’t change. If anything, it hardened. “It’s regrettable,” she said, as if saying those two words absolved everyone of guilt, “but Daniel is with Daniella now. He has chosen her. Wouldn’t it be better for all of us if you simply accepted that and moved on?”

Her voice did something to me; it didn't cut, it merely crushed. It felt like a verdict being handed down on the spot. “Accepted it?” My hands curled into fists in my lap despite myself. “You want me to accept being discarded? To accept that he used me and lied? To accept that I carried his child and now I have nothing?”

My father cleared his throat and exchanged a look with my mother, the kind of look that silently agreed to be merciless together. “Sofia,” he said, trying a conciliatory tone that didn’t reach his eyes, “Daniella is delicate. She has…sensitivities. You know how difficult it is for her when things are complicated. She loves Daniel, and he brings her happiness. Think of that.”

The sentence landed like another slap. I blinked as if to clear my head. “And what about me?” I asked, my voice small and incredulous. “When did my happiness stop mattering?”

My mother’s answer came cold and polished, the words chosen and sharpened. “Let’s remember,” she said slowly, as if recounting facts, “we took you in when you had nothing. Daniella is our blood. She has been through enough. You always seem to crave attention. She felt like she was competing with you for what is rightfully hers. It’s time you focus on your own life and stop involving her.”

I felt something in me, hope, maybe, or the last fragile bit of faith I’d carried splintered into a thousand tiny pieces. The unfairness of it all was not new; I’d been the outsider for as long as I could remember, the adopted girl who tried too hard to belong. I had spent years measuring myself against Daniella's effortless ease, fighting for scraps of approval that never came. To be blamed, once again, for being present, for wanting to be loved, was a cruelty I’d learned to expect but never stopped resenting.

I opened my mouth to argue, to explain that I hadn’t asked for sympathy because I wanted pity; I had come because I needed someone to stand with me. But the hall light was going dim with the shadow of approaching footsteps, cutting my words off. My heart stuttered as Daniel walked into the room, as if he’d been summoned by the tension itself.

He drifted into the space like someone who belonged there, hands jammed into his pockets, wearing that smug, careless smirk that used to seem adorable until I realised what it hid. He glanced at my parents as if they were old friends sharing a private joke, then let his eyes rest on me with an expression that made my skin crawl.

“Sofia,” he said, his voice smooth and faintly mocking, “you’re still here? I thought you’d get the hint.”

Every inch of me tightened. “What are you doing here?” I asked, refusing to let him see how threatened I felt.

He shrugged, the movement lazy, dismissive. “I’m here to visit my future in-laws,” he said, and the words were sweet poison. “Daniella and I thought everyone should be aligned, now that we’re past... all that unpleasantness.”

“Unpleasantness?” Heat flared in my chest, equal parts anger and wounded disbelief. “You call what you did unpleasant? You betrayed me. You humiliated me.” My voice rose involuntarily, each word edged with pain. “Do you even realise what you took from me?”

Daniel stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. His whisper was contemptuous, laced with the arrogance I’d once mistaken for confidence. “You really thought it was anything serious? Come on, Sofia. You were convenient. Fun for a while, but never meant to be permanent.”

It was like being hit with a cold wave. I staggered internally, trying to reconcile the man who had once made promises with the one who stood before me like a judge. “You told me you loved me,” I said, the memory of that confession now tasting like betrayal. “You proposed. I trusted you.”

Daniellal's laughter fluttered from the doorway like a cruel soundtrack, and my mother’s lips tightened into the smallest, most contemptuous smile. Daniel shrugged as if shrugging off responsibility were an art form. “It was never love, Sofia. Not for me. You should be grateful; truly, you had a phase. I simply recognised what I wanted and moved on.”

My throat closed. The words he used grateful, phase, moved on were casual, thoughtless, and they skewered me deeper than any profanity. “Do you have any remorse?” I demanded the question be more of a plea than an accusation.

He arched an eyebrow and gave the world an infuriatingly bored shrug. “Why would I? It was all inevitable. You should accept it.” Then, as if he wanted an audience for the next cruelty, he added, “In fact, I think you should step aside gracefully. We’re building a life, and you don’t belong in it.”

I felt a rush of heat and cold at once. The house seemed to tilt. The indignity of being dismissed, again, by people I had loved enough to give everything to, crystallised into a new, harder emotion, something like fury with an undertone of resolve. How many times had I swallowed hurt so they could keep their perfect family portrait? How many times had I let their disdain teach me to shrink?

“Goodbye then,” Daniel said, turning as if the conversation ended. “You’ll find someone else eventually.” His last sentence was a careless, final exhale.

My parents watched him go, neither one lifting a hand as if I were invisible. The betrayal burned differently now, laid bare in their passive acceptance. For a moment all I could do was stand there, every part of me aching, the remains of the life I thought I knew lying in ashes at my feet.

But the pain shifted. It hardened into something else: a cold, steely determination. The grief that had hollowed me out began to fill with something potent and purposeful. Why should I be the one to collapse while they remained unscathed? Why should their indifference dictate the terms of my life?

No. I refused to vanish. I refused to be the discarded one forced to fade quietly into the background. They had taken my dignity, my trust, the baby I’d carried and expected me to disappear with a polite nod. Not anymore.

I inhaled like a person surfacing after being held under water too long, and I felt the first, fierce stirrings of a plan coalesce. If they wanted me gone, they would be rid of me only when I chose to leave. Until then, I would gather what they had scattered and rebuild it, brick by resolute brick. I would reclaim my life, louder, harder, better than it had been before.

My jaw tightened. The sense of being done with grieving, done with second-class status, settled into my bones like armour. I would make them see me. I would make them feel the consequences of their cruelty, starting with Daniella and then Daniel.

The room, with its polished surfaces and polite smiles, suddenly felt like the ring of a cage. I rose from my chair, the movement decisive. If they had expected me to wilt, to beg, to disappear, they were about to learn how wrong they were. I would not be a memory relegated to the margins. I was changing the rules now. And when the time came,” I would make sure they paid for everything”