MASKS AND MIRRORS
1170 Words
The morning sun peeped through the curtains as Sophie woke up in her new penthouse suite. The flash back of the previous day, Myers’ parents, the contract she signed, the money transfer played like flickers in her mind. She had become a wife on paper. A rich one. But still just a placeholder or just a mannequin used only for appearances.
She rose slowly, letting her bare feet press into the soft rug. The quiet around her felt unnatural, sterile. Even when she had nothing, life had been loud.
Now, she was rich and silent.
A knock on her door disrupted the stillness.
“Come in,” she said.
Myers stepped in, dressed in black slacks and a crisp white shirt. Casual for him, regal to anyone else.
“There is a schedule,” he said. “You will need a full day to prepare for tonight’s gala, hair, dress, makeup, a short walkthrough of introductions.”
She blinked at him. “You act like you’ve done this a thousand times.”
“I have.”
“Right,” she muttered, standing. “Any particular reason I’m being paraded like a trophy?”
He stepped closer. “Because this is our first public appearance together and it has to be more than perfect.”
She tilted her head and looked at him straight in the eyes. “What happens if I trip?”
“You won’t.”
“And if I do?”
He smiled faintly. “Then I will make it look intentional.”
By noon, stylists had invaded the penthouse. Sophie was pinned, powdered, curled, and zipped. She wasn’t used to this much attention, It felt like preparation for a masquerade ball, a transformation into someone she didn’t recognize.
She stood in front of a standing mirror in her room, she studied herself from head to toe, she looked different, gorgeous.
The dress Myers had chosen was sapphire blue, sleek and bold. It hugged her curves without apology, her lips were painted a rich wine shade and her eyes were lined with precision.
She looked... untouchable.
When she stepped out into the main hall, Myers was waiting in a fitted tuxedo. He looked at her for a beat longer than necessary.
“You’ll do,” he said simply, refusing to admit that she looks gorgeous.
Sophie rolled her eyes, but her heart fluttered.
The gala was held at an elite art museum downtown. Limousines lined the block, paparazzi buzzing like flies.
Inside, the space shimmered with crystal chandeliers, soft classical music, and people too rich to care.
"Are you ready"?
"Yes", she replied softly
Myers held her hand as they entered and the room turned to look.
Whispers floated through the air like perfume.
“Who’s she?”
“That can’t be his fiancée.”
“I heard he was still seeing Bianca.”
“Bianca's going to lose her mind.”
Sophie smiled through it all, gripping Myers’ arm tighter. “They’re lovely,” she whispered.
“Pretend they’re statues,” he murmured back. “Pretty. Harmless.”
But she noticed the woman before he did.
Tall, blonde, dripping in emeralds and staring at Sophie like she’d just walked off with a crown.
“Bianca,” Myers said curtly.
She slinked forward, confidence oozing with every step. “Myers. I didn’t realize you’d be bringing... someone.”
Sophie extended her hand. “I’m Sophie, his fiancée and wife to be.”
Bianca took her hand slowly, then leaned in with a venom-laced smile. “I hope you know what you’re doing darling, being a Donovan’s wife is not for the faint-hearted.”
Sophie returned the smile, darker. “Good thing I’m not faint-hearted.”
Bianca's eyes narrowed. “Enjoy it while it lasts. They always get bored.”
Sophie stepped a little closer. “Funny. He didn’t look bored last night.”
Myers coughed lightly, clearly amused.
Bianca stiffened. “You’ll regret crossing me.”
Sophie’s expression turned icy. “You’ll regret assuming I’m afraid of you or your silly threats.”
Before Bianca could retort, Myers leaned in and kissed Sophie on the cheek—lingering just enough to make it sting.
“Shall we sweetheart?” he asked her.
“With pleasure my love.”
They walked off together, leaving Bianca frozen, her smile cracking at the edges.
Hatred twisted in Bianca's chest like a knot. She watched Sophie glide away, wrapped in luxury and love—false or not—and swore silently: This isn’t over.
Sophie observed someone watching her intently from the far end of the room. A woman striking in an elegant wine gown, holding a flute of champagne and flowing with the music, Their eyes came in contact with each other briefly, curiosity there, but not envy.
Later, in the restroom, the woman approached her.
"Hello, I'm Layla,” she said. “And don’t worry, I’m not one of the Bianca fan club.”
Sophie laughed, caught off guard. “Well, that’s refreshing.”
“I’m an event coordinator and a fashion designer, I work a lot with the Donovans. You’re… braver than most who’ve stood next to him.”
Sophie tilted her head. “Should I be scared?”
“Depends. Can you swim in shark-infested waters?”
The two women laughed softly, and Sophie felt the weight of the night lift a little. Maybe she didn’t have to face it all alone.
Back at their table, Myers was speaking with two men in suits—business partners, Sophie assumed. One of them turned toward her.
“You must be the mystery woman,” he said with a gleam in his eye. “I’m Elijah, nice to meet you"
Elijah was handsome, but he looked at her with the kind of curiosity reserved for questions.
“Pleasure,” Sophie said politely, sitting down.
“You’ve stirred quite the buzz,” Grant added. “We thought Myers would never bring someone to a public event again.”
“First time for everything,” she replied, lifting her glass.
Myers smirked.
Later that night, as the gala wound down, Sophie leaned against the balcony railing, sipping champagne.
Myers joined her in silence.
“She hates me,” Sophie said.
“She hates everyone I’ve ever smiled at.”
Sophie chuckled softly. “You sure know how to pick 'em.”
He glanced at her. “Tonight, you did well. Elara won’t underestimate you again.”
“Was that the goal?”
“One of many.”
She looked out at the skyline. “So what now?”
“Now, we keep playing the game.”
“And what happens when someone wants to change the rules?”
He hesitated. “Then things get complicated.”
Sophie met his eyes. “We’re already complicated.”
The music from inside echoed through the night. Beneath it, the tension between them pulsed quietly.
They weren’t just pretending anymore.
They were becoming something else.
And neither of them could name it yet.
To be continued...
- Writer
