Sophia woke before her alarm, the early sun already creeping through the thin curtains. She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the hum of the city below steady her breath. Tonight, the world would watch her pretend to be the woman on Nathan Sterling’s arm. But right now, in this quiet slice of morning, she was just Sophia Dawson — ex-marketer, loyal daughter, Jazz’s best friend, and a woman trying to hold her heart together.
She swung her legs off the bed and padded barefoot to the kitchen, flipping the kettle on for tea. While it boiled, she did what she always did when nerves threatened to eat her alive: cleaned. She scrubbed the counter spotless, sorted the stack of mail by the door, even polished the glass vase that held the single wilting rose Nate had sent her e
