Married to a billionaire's son: the switch

Chapter 4

I woke up with a pounding headache, my body protesting against the restless rotation of sleep and waking. Last night was a blur of tears and overwhelming pain. I wasn’t sure if I had cried this way even when my parents died.

A faint sound drew me from my thoughts. I glanced at the clock—past 9 a.m. I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. All I craved was solitude.

As I sat up, debating whether to check on the noise, a soft knock echoed from the door.

I froze. David hasn’t left for work?

Panic set in. Was he angry because I walked past him without a word last night? I didn’t want him involved in my life.

Dragging myself up, I walked to the door and opened it cautiously.

There he stood, as still as a statue, holding a tray of breakfast.

“Hi, good morning,” I managed, my voice hesitant. Almost immediately, I added, “Sorry about yesterday. I wasn’t myself, I—”

He interrupted gently, “Can I come in?”

“Oh, sure. Yeah,” I replied quickly, stepping aside.

As he entered, his calm presence filled the room.

“I don’t know what happened to you,” he began, his voice soft but firm. “And I know we don’t know much about each other yet. But it’s fine.”

He set the tray down, his brown eyes steady on mine.

“I thought I’d make you breakfast. Maybe it’ll help you feel better. And remember, you said we could start as friends. Friends look out for each other.”

His words were kind, disarming.

“If there’s anything bothering you, don’t hesitate to tell me,” he added.

We were both standing, a small but meaningful distance between us. Yet his words broke down the wall I had built around myself. Tears welled up, and I couldn’t hold them back.

The moment he noticed, he dropped the tray and gently guided me to sit on the bed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “It’s okay. You can talk to me.”

For a moment, I considered telling him the truth. About my sister. About why I married him. But what good would it do?

He didn’t even know I had a sister. Neither did Mr. Maxwell.

Still, part of me longed to trust him. His kindness stirred something in me—hope, maybe. Or the wish for this marriage to work.

After my parents’ death, no one aside from my sister had cared for me. This simple gesture felt monumental, even if it was just humane decency.

“Sophia,” he called softly, pulling me from my thoughts. “You can talk to me. If you’re not ready, that’s okay too.”

The vulnerability in his voice made me blurt out, “Can I get a hug?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

He wrapped his strong arms around me, his warmth enveloping me. For the first time in forever, I felt protected. Safe.

I wished the moment could last forever.

But reality hit me like a wave. What am I thinking? He doesn’t love me.

Still, a part of me—a growing part—wanted him to. From the day I met him, I’d harbored a crush, a flicker of admiration for the man beneath the reputation. And now, I liked him even more.

I gently pulled away, wiping my tears. “Thank you,” I said softly.

“You’re welcome,” he replied with a small, reassuring smile.

“Enjoy your meal,” he added, standing up. “I’ll be off to work soon, and I might be late today.”

“Have a nice day,” I murmured, watching him leave.

As the door clicked shut, I stared at the tray of breakfast he left behind. The warmth from his embrace lingered, a faint hope blooming in the quiet of my heart.

_____

Later that day, I went to finalize the arrangements for my sister’s burial.

I didn’t have the money, but then I remembered the diamond necklace Mr. Maxwell had given me as a wedding gift. Selling it wasn’t an easy decision—it was worth far more than what I received—but I had no other choice. Desperation leaves no room for sentimentality.

Since my last visit to my uncle’s house, I hadn’t heard a word from him. Not a call, not even a message. Did Isabella fail to deliver what I said? Or worse—did she not care enough to try?

The hurt lingered like a weight on my chest. My sister was dead because of him, because of his greed and indifference. How could someone harbor such hatred for their own blood?

I replayed the moments in my mind, wondering how to make him pay for what he’d done. But how? The only leverage I had was the truth—the truth about how he deceived the Anthonys into forcing me into this marriage. I wasn’t a vengeful person; I didn’t wish harm on anyone. But Gabriel had crossed a line I couldn’t ignore, and this time, I couldn’t let him get away with it.

With the money from the necklace, I cleared the hospital bills and arranged my sister’s burial for the next day. The thought of laying her to rest brought me little solace, but I prayed she had found peace—peace in a place far better than this cruel world.

“Rest well, my dear sister,” I whispered to myself as I signed the final papers. “I hope you’re safe in the bosom of the Lord now.”

When I returned home, the house felt unbearably quiet. I decided to make dinner, even though David had said he’d be late. Something about cooking calmed my nerves, giving me a sense of purpose amidst the chaos of my emotions.

I also knew I had to tell him the truth. If we were ever going to coexist—even as friends—I needed to start on a clean slate. This marriage might not have been born out of love, but honesty was the least I could offer him.

What if he saw me as a liar? An imposter? Someone who had willingly played a role in deceiving him?

The thought made my chest tighten. I liked the little chemistry that was starting to spark between us, no matter how small it was. For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel so alone. But if he knew the truth, would that change? Would he see me differently?

I sighed heavily, the weight of my dilemma pressing down on me. I wasn’t even sure what I was hoping for—a chance at understanding? Forgiveness? Or maybe something deeper that I was to

o afraid to name.

But one thing was certain: whatever happened next would determine everything