Chapter 3

Sophia carried the small urn back to the Sterling mansion.

When she walked through the door, she saw them in the living room. Adrian—a man who scrubbed himself with disinfectant if another woman so much as touched him—knelt before Bella. He was putting stockings on her feet. Carefully. Like she was something precious.

The air in the room reeked of intimacy. Then Bella saw Sophia at the door. She didn’t flinch. She smiled—just a flicker—before schooling her face into something innocent.

“Mrs. Sterling.”

Adrian went still. He stood and walked quickly to Sophia. “The maid said you weren’t feeling well this morning. I had something urgent. Are you all right now?”

The concern in his eyes did not look fake. Those dark pupils held nothing but her reflection, as though she were the only thing in his world.

“What were you busy with?” Sophia’s voice was dry.

A flicker of something crossed his face. Not quite guilt. Closer to annoyance.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Sterling,” Bella cut in. “I was hurt. Mr. Sterling cares about his employees — he took me to the hospital himself. That's why he couldn't make it home."

She tilted her calf forward. Beneath the dark stocking, faint bruising bloomed across her skin — the unmistakable shape of a man's fingers, gripping hard.

"I hope you don't mind, Mrs. Sterling."

“Sophia isn’t petty like that.” Adrian slid an arm around Sophia’s waist. “Right, My love?”

His hand brushed the bag tucked against her side and met something hard. He frowned. "What's in there?"

“It’s your—”

His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and the apology was already on his lips before she had finished speaking. “Sorry, honey. There’s an emergency at the office.”

He shot Bella a quick look, then walked out.

Bella rose smoothly to her feet. She lifted her phone, screen tilted just enough for Sophia to see the conversation thread with Adrian still open. A photo of her in bunny lingerie. She sent him a photograph — herself in a barely-there bunny costume — and a single line of text.

*Sir, are you in the mood for a little bunny tonight?*

Then she walked toward Sophia. “I feel sorry for you. Holding onto old memories while men always crave something fresh.”

She stepped closer. “Tell me, Mrs. Sterling. Who matters more to him? You… or me?”

Her heels clicked away across the marble floor.

Sophia walked to the window and stood there.

In the driveway below, Adrian's Maybach sat with its engine running, the chassis swaying in a slow, unmistakable rhythm. It went on for nearly an hour before the car finally pulled away from the estate.

Her heart was too numb to hurt anymore.

She remembered the second time Adrian proposed. A terrible accident. A massive pileup had torn through midtown New York. Adrian had thrown himself over her body, shielding her with his back. A length of rebar had punched clean through his shoulder. He hadn't seemed to feel it. He had simply reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a ring, and held it up to her with blood on his teeth.

“Sophia, I will be as brave as this every day for the rest of my life. I will protect you forever. Will you marry me?”

“No,” she answered now, ten years later. “Adrian. I will not marry you.”

She drove out to the cliffside highway alone.

She stood at the guardrail and dropped the second proposal ring over the edge. It bounced once on the asphalt, rolled, and disappeared into the brush below.

*Adrian. The life I owed you — I just gave it back.*

The wind came up from the valley, and for an instant it sounded like a seventeen-year-old boy whispering *I love you*.

Sophia stood at the top of the cliff. Her phone rang again and again. Until the battery died and the screen went black.

Two hours later, Adrian found her.

Two hours later, Adrian appeared at the top of the road — disheveled, breathing hard, his shirt damp through.

“Sophia. My love. Why didn’t you answer? Do you know I almost went insane? You are my life.”

Once, she had been kidnapped. The trauma never left him. He couldn’t bear to lose contact with her for even ten minutes.

"I tore this whole damn city apart looking for you. Thank God I found you."

He was trembling. She watched him and felt nothing but disgust.

How could a man love her with his whole heart while sleeping with someone else?

“Let’s go home, baby.”

He drove her down the mountain himself, his right hand never leaving hers.

“Your hands are so cold. You know you can't be out in the wind like this. How about I make you soup when we get home?”

Back at the mansion, the man who never cooked for anyone put on an apron. He made her soup.

She watched his back from the doorway and felt nothing.

Then she turned and looked around the mansion.

Their love was everywhere—their photos, the little ceramic figures he had brought her back from Provence, the first love letter he had ever written her, framed and hung in the hall.

Once, every one of these things had been precious.

Now they hurt to look at.

She pulled them down, one by one, and dropped them into a black trash bag. Frames cracked. Glass splintered. She did not stop.

The maids stared with worry written across her face. But Adrian didn’t notice. He was looking at his phone while he stirred the pot.

When he came out with the soup, he blinked. "Did you throw something out? The room looks empty."

"Just a few things that didn't matter."

"A lot of those pieces were getting old anyway," he said easily. "Good time to refresh."

He never realized that the *old things* he was speaking of were the entirety of what they had been.