Sophia’s POV

Both our heads turn at the same time to the staircase. A woman appears on the landing, covered in a regal dress, and her hair perfectly curled all around her. 

“Mom, do you know her?”

Mom?

“Sophia Wells,” she murmurs casually, reaching the base of the stairs. “I have been expecting you. The police called to tell me you were on your way.”

I rush towards her and fall on my knees at once. “Please, Mrs. Blackwood, there has to be some mistake. My father didn’t steal anything. He didn’t even step out today until they came to get him.”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes, and I sniff them away. But there is little I can do about the squeeze in my heart. The hot liquid touches my face, and Mrs. Blackwood frowns. 

“Stop crying,” she snaps, walking around me and heading for the couch. “I hate it when people cry around me.”

I swallow hard and drag the back of my hands across my face. Still, it does nothing to soothe the trembling in my chest. I pull myself off and head in her direction, my face still damp.

Her son lets out a low scoff, crossing his arms against his chest. "So this is why you barged in? To beg?" His tone is cold and merciless. "You cannot be any more pathetic."

His words slice through me like needles, but I keep my eyes trained on his mother. “Please,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “My father is sick. Another night in that cell will kill him. Please, help us.”

Silence hovers around us as Mrs. Blackwood crosses one foot over the other. I can tell that she is enjoying this grovelling with the light in her eyes. She studies me, with her head tilted slightly, like she is examining a piece of art she isn’t sure she wants to buy.

After what feels like forever, a sigh escapes her lips. 

"You are desperate, honey," she says softly, as if talking to a child. "That's good. I love desperation. It means you are honest."

Her son releases a breath behind me. I can tell that he is rolling his eyes even without looking around. The awareness stuns me. “Not this again, Mother,” he mutters under his breath.

My attention is quipped. What are they talking about?

“This is for your own good, Jullian,” she says, her voice getting a tad soft when talking to him. Then, her eyes return to me. “Your father is in trouble because he stole from me, Miss Wells. There is no mistake about that, and Mr. Wells knows that as well.”

A mischievous glint appears in her eyes as she pushes further into the couch. “But what you don’t know is that this is…negotiable.”

“Negotiable?” I can’t place my fingers on it, but there seems to be something going on. Something that everyone else knows apart from me. “What does that mean?”

A chilling smile curls on her lips, slow and deliberate. "It means that there is a way out for your father. A way for you to buy back his freedom." Her eyes filter through me. "And at least, he was right about something. You are pretty. The perfect arm candy."

I freeze. Every nerve in me knows that the next words will tear my whole life apart. But I can’t stop now. Not when I know there is a chance to get my father back home tonight. 

“What do you want?”

Julian appears from behind me, stalking to the couch at the other end of the room with his fingers tightly clutching a half-filled glass. He drops into it and turns to look at his mother. "Really? I told you I was handling it by myself."

"You seem not to understand how urgent this is, Julian."

“Understand what?”

He looks at me. “Don’t ask questions you are not ready for. I’ll advise that you get up and walk out now that you still have the chance. Get a lawyer. If your father dies in prison while waiting, trust me when I say the hurt you will feel will be much better than remaining here.”

Julian says it so casually, like he is talking about the change in the weather. I hate him instantly, his infuriating smirk reaching out to me. Yet, there is something hidden beneath it. Something restless, nestled in the tightness of his jaw.

Something that still keeps me rooted to the spot, waiting. 

Mrs. Blackwood folds her hands in her lap. “My son.”

“What?” My eyes widen in confusion, looking from Julian to her. 

She leans forward slightly, the rich wave of her perfume intoxicating and soothing at the same time.

"You will marry Jillian. Today, tomorrow…it doesn't matter. All I need are your words. And of course, the contract will be drawn right now. The moment you sign, your father walks free. You will live here, under our name as Mrs. Blackwood. And in return, not only will your father become a free man. Your family's debts will vanish."

It feels like the wind has been knocked out of me. I grip the edge of the couch, my nails digging into the leather. A bout of dizziness washes through me, and I find it hard to breathe. 

“I learned you are a struggling artist,” Mrs. Blackwood continues, seemingly oblivious to all the emotions passing through me. “Imagine all the doors that are bound to open for you just because you are Julian’s wife.”

“I don’t want to be Julian’s wife.” My voice comes out in a whisper. A disbelieving one. 

“You must be joking, Mother.” Julian straightens, his glass of whisky glinting in the light. “She” —His gaze lands on me, dark and judgmental– “She’s nobody.”

"Think about this carefully, Sophia," Mrs. Blackwood says, ignoring Julian. "Refuse, and your father rots in that cell. Accept, and he walks out a richer man. It's as simple as that."

Tears well again, but this time, they don’t fall. Rage pushes them back. My heart races with the options before me. My father’s heart, my mother’s cries, the way his hands quivered last night when he held his glass of water.

He won’t survive prison. He won’t.

.

Just then, the shrill of my phone pierces through the silence. I mutter a silent apology as I press the phone against my ears. 

“Sophia,” my mother wails. “Your father….the police won’t let me anywhere near him, but he has just been taken out.”

“What?”

“Another heart attack.”