Chapter 27 Sophia
Sophia
Caroline’s door loomed at the end of the hall, its edges glowing faintly in the dim light.
Her muffled sobs leaked through the cracks—soft, but unmistakable.
My fingertips brushed the doorframe as I paused, listening.
It felt wrong to intrude, but I couldn’t just walk away. I raised my hand and knocked gently.
The crying stopped, leaving an uncomfortable stillness in the air.
I waited, then knocked again. The door creaked open just a crack, revealing part of her face—tear-streaked and framed by messy strands of dark hair.
Her mascara had run in uneven smudges beneath her eyes, giving her a ghostly, haunted look.
“Can I come in?” I asked softly.
She sniffled, swiping at her nose with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She stepped back, letting the door swing open.
I hesitated before stepping inside. Her room was smaller than I expected but cozy in its own way.
An old armchair sat in the corner, books piled haphazardly on the nightstand.
An open suitcase lay by her closet, packed so high it couldn’t possibly zip.
Lavender-scented candles flickered on the dresser.
Her bed was chaos—a tangle of crumpled tissues, blankets, and pillows that seemed to swallow her as she climbed back into it.
I sat beside her. She turned her face away, brushing at her cheeks.
“I just wanted to check on you. I know you must feel… overwhelmed,” I began, keeping my voice low.
She let out a bitter laugh—sharp, humorless.
“Everyone thinks they know what I’m feeling. They talk about me like I’m some fragile doll, broken beyond repair.”
I frowned. “They’re just trying to help. They care about you.”
“They’re hypocrites,” she snapped, turning to face me.
Her eyes, red and puffy, blazed. “I know you don’t understand why I love him.
I barely know you—actually, I don’t know you at all—but I know your story.
You were living a normal life a few months ago, and now you’re with Gabriel.
So tell me, how can you love someone like him and look at me like I’m crazy for loving Ivan? ”
“I’m not looking at you like you’re crazy, it’s just—”
“Imagine someone dragged you away from Gabriel,” she continued, her voice rising. “If they told you he was a monster, that his heart was evil—would you stop loving him because of what they said? Even if it were true?”
I held her gaze, heart tightening. “No,” I whispered. “I wouldn’t.”
Her shoulders slumped. She exhaled, shaky. “Exactly. So why do they expect me to move on like Ivan means nothing?”
Her voice broke on the last word. She buried her face in her hands. I placed my hand on her back, rubbing slow, soothing circles. I scooted closer, giving myself a few seconds to think.
“I don’t think anyone wants to take your love away,” I said gently. “It’s just that your family values your safety more than your feelings.”
“They’re all killers. Gabriel loves killing people just like Ivan does. How is it any different?”
“…Gabriel doesn’t love killing people.”
Her laugh was sharp and hollow. “Oh, please. You think Ivan is evil, but Gabriel isn’t? Damien isn’t? They’re all the same, even Isabelle.”
“Your brothers and sister aren’t evil,” I said.
She rolled her eyes.
“I guess the problem is how Ivan treated you. How he treated me.”
She blinked. “You were his prisoner. I am his wife.”
I shook my head. “On paper, yes, but—”
“No. I am, and always will be, his wife.”
She looked unhinged.
“Do you think it’s right for a husband and wife to be separated?”
“No, but it isn’t that—”
“Yes or no.” She interrupted.
I hesitated. “No.”
“Would you stop two people who love each other from being together?”
“Caroline.”
“Yes or no?” she pressed.
“No.”
A faint smirk appeared—then faded. The sadness in her eyes vanished, replaced by something else. Something intense.
“Do you promise that’s how you feel?”
“I promise,” I said, the word sinking cold in my chest. As if answering her in yes or no stripped everything down to a single truth—as if she could make me to accept her entire perspective by forcing me to answer through the narrow frame she’d built.
Her smirk returned, darker. “Good.”
She rose as if none of this just happened, and an empty wine bottle clattered to the floor when her knee brushed the nightstand.
“Whoopsie.” She staggered to the vanity, nearly falling over, fingers closing around a pack of makeup wipes. Maybe that was all this was—a desperate need to be understood, to make someone else agree she wasn’t wrong to be in love.
She glanced at me through the mirror after drunkenly cleaning her face with a daring glint in her eye, as she pinned her hair into a bun and started applying foundation.
“What are you putting makeup on for?” I asked lightly, stepping closer. “It’s pretty late.”
She ignored me as she padded her face with a beauty blender that should have been replaced a year ago, then finally spoke.
“Ivan called me a couple hours ago. He wants to see me. And you’re going to help make that happen.”
I couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. Her defiance filled the room.
“No. That is not happening.”
I stepped backward, nearly tripping over the overstuffed suitcase.
“What’s the suitcase for?” I didn’t need to ask. But I had to hear her say it.
She didn’t flinch. Her eyes locked on mine. “If you won’t help me, I’m leaving.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I’ve had plenty of time to think, Sophia. You think I just sat in here crying for days, waiting for someone to save me? No. I’ve been saving myself. And I will—with or without you.”
“Then go,” I said, folding my arms. “See how far you get before someone stops you. You’re not getting past the guards. You can’t even walk straight.”
Her face faltered. But she didn’t back down. “If I stay, I’ll lose my mind.”
“Then talk to your family. But I’m not helping you sneak off to meet the one person who already hurt you.”
She turned back to the mirror.
I watched her, unsure if I’d just made things worse—or done the only thing I could. The weight of her choices hung in the room. I wasn’t going to carry it for her.
“I have to tell Gabriel what just happened,” I said, turning toward the door.
Her hand shot out, curling around my wrist. She yanked me back. We both went down—arms tangled, rug sliding beneath us. I landed on top of her.
My hands braced against her shoulders. Her breath came in sharp bursts. Eyes wide.
“You promised,” she hissed, voice raw.
She writhed beneath me. I didn’t let her up. “I didn’t promise shit.”
Her knee pressed into my thigh. One hand clawed at my shirt.
I gripped her wrists and shoved them above her head. “Stop it,” I snapped, breath close to her cheek. “You’re acting insane.”
She didn’t answer. Just stared—glassy-eyed, breathing fast. I felt her heartbeat against mine.
“I’m not going to be a prisoner here while he’s out there waiting for me.”
I pushed off her, standing.
“God, Caroline. You aren’t a prisoner here. You were his prisoner.”
She stayed on the floor, breathing hard. Face turned away. Hair falling in her eyes.
Then she looked up—quiet. Almost sheepish.
“You’re right. I’m sorry for being so dumb.”
She climbed into bed, brushing aside tissues and pillows, curling up under the covers.
“Will you blow out the candle?” she asked softly.
I walked over and did as she asked.
“Please don’t tell anyone about this.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. She was definitely planning something—but it didn’t matter. The guards would catch her before she got anywhere.
“Just try to process your feelings, and don’t shut people out. I won’t tell Gabriel.”
As soon as I closed the door behind me, I heard her moving around her room. Moments later came the soft pop of a cork from a new bottle of wine. I sighed and walked away.