Sophia’s POV

The ceremony is over before I know it.

It was a no-brainer. Not after the news I received. 

The civil office smelled like paper and ink. There are no flowers, no written vows, the way I have always imagined it. Just a ring exchanged and the scrape of Julian's chair as he gets up, showing his impatience.

And just like that, I am no longer Sophia Wells. I am now Mrs. Sophia Blackwood. 

The car ride back is suffocating. Julian doesn’t speak to me. His hands curl into fists on his thighs as he stares out the tinted window. It feels like just like me, he has been forced into this arrangement as well. 

I notice when his hands finally release themselves. His fingers drum against his knee, as if a rack of nerves is threatening to pull him under.

But it is strange. The CEO of Saint Clair is never nervous. 

The realization pulls at me. Maybe he isn’t exactly cruel by nature. Maybe it’s his mother, pulling every string.

I hate this marriage and how I have been roped into it. And there is still one question lurking at the back of my mind. Why did they desperately need this to happen? And why me?

Against the rationality in my head screaming at me to keep my distance, I push closer to him. “Do you hate this as much as I do?”

For a second, his eyes flick towards me. Just as second. And I swear, I see it. The exhaustion mirrored in his gaze. The resentment. The hate. But I can’t tell who it is directed against. It makes my chest ache in a way I don’t want. 

But then, everything disappears when he laughs, the sharp sound travelling round the car. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sophia. The only thing I hate is that my mother made me settle for you.” And then, he gives me a once-over. “But you would have to do.”

The ache I feel in my chest changes into fury. I bite my tongue and turn to look out the window. The driver makes a sharp turn, and the mansion comes into view.

The mansion that feels like a prison.

I remember the last time I was here. It was a whole different situation. I was on my hands and knees, pleading that my father be released from jail. The doctors are saying it is a miracle he survived yet another heart attack, but something about it doesn’t feel right.

And now, my mother isn’t even talking to me. 

When we step inside, the staff lines the hall, bowing low with their heads almost reaching the ground. I want to shrink and return to the car, to run away from this life I have just been plunged into.

Instead, Julian’s hand closes around my elbow like iron, his nails digging into me as he pulls me forward. A light whimper falls from my lips, but Julian doesn’t seem to have heard it.

Either that, or he really doesn’t care.

And then, I see her. 

A woman dressed in red leans against the banister, her lips painted a bright shade of red jumpsuit and a pair of gold high heels on her feet. When she takes a slow step down, I cringe at the possibility of her toppling down the stairs.

But she seems to float in those heels, her blonde hair flowing all around her. She is flawless, and she knows it. The kind of beauty that owns every room she enters. Her gaze locks on Julian first, and then, she winks at him.

But her expression changes to one of disdain the minute it slides to me. 

“Well,” she purrs, walking over to us. “It’s true. You finally got married. And to a nobody at that. How delightful.”

Heat rushes to my face, and I look away sharply. I am a nobody. I have always known that. But something about the way she says it leaves me feeling empty. 

I release a sigh when Julian's grip on me loosens, before he releases me altogether. "You don't have to sound so jealous, Isabella." His tone is casual, almost bored. "Our marriage means nothing, and you know that."

It feels like I am not in the room with them, because Julian doesn’t as much as bother with a second look in my direction. He waltzes over to her and wraps a hand around her waist, pulling her flush against him. 

Her laughter sounds like birds on a bright morning. She leans into him like she belongs here, with him,

Maybe she does. 

Isabella presses a kiss to his cheek, while I just stand there. "Don't worry, darling," she says in a condescending tone, returning her eyes to me. "I'll make sure he doesn't get too bored with you. You don't want to get tossed out when your marriage has only just started."

The staff are still around, but they stare at the marble floor, not risking one look at the scene playing out in front of them. 

My cheeks burn from the red patches clinging to them, and I feel the urge to do a lot of things at the same time. To scream, to claw the smug look from her face, to run. But I remember my father's words clearly.

“The fact that you have signed the contract doesn’t mean you can run away, Sophia. You have to see it through. For me.”

For him. 

“Enough with the introductions,” Mrs. Blackwood’s voice floats around the living area. She ignores her son and the lady beside him. I wonder if she lives here perpetually. If I have to bump into her every waking moment. “Dinner is ready. Let’s eat.”

We enter the dining room, and I am glad that the staff can disperse. The endless table is filled with Blackwoods that I have never met before. Their chatter halts when I appear. 

No introduction is made.

None is needed.

Jillian pulls out a chair for Isabella, and I am left standing like a fool, heat burning my cheeks. Mrs. Blackwood points to a seat at the far end of the table. 

“There, Sophia.”

The farthest seat. I do not matter on this table or in the family as a whole. So why am I here, and why do they want me?

I toy with the wedding band on my finger, and suddenly, I feel a pair of eyes watching me. When I look up, my gaze falls on the last person I expect to see here.

My mouth drops open.

“Ava?”