Chapter 31 Sophia
Sophia
Ihadn’t slept. Not really. Every time I closed my eyes, the gala waited on the other side—crowded rooms, strange faces, the weight of all their stares. What they’d see when they looked at me. What they’d whisper when I turned away.
The hours dragged, heavy and restless. It didn’t help that Gabriel was snoring.
By eight in the morning, I had given up on sleep entirely. My mind was too loud, running through everything I couldn’t control. How I’d stand. How I’d speak. How much of me would belong to Gabriel—and how much would belong to the room watching us.
When I finally accepted sleep wouldn’t come, I got up. My body felt wired, my chest tight like I’d been bracing all night.
The red dress I wore my first day here waited on a mannequin in the corner, tailored perfectly to match my figure. I trailed my fingers over it, following the way the fabric caught the light. Cool to the touch—elegant, smooth.
The dress slipped on easily. No resistance. It settled against my figure perfectly.
I turned toward the mirror.
My hands smoothed down my ribs, across my hips.
The dress held its shape with quiet confidence.
It didn’t need help. My reflection stared back with sharper eyes, a tighter mouth.
I looked like someone who had been polished.
Prepared. Someone meant to be seen. It made me look like the woman I was starting to feel like—the woman I had become.
A muffled, frustrated voice cracked through the wall. I stepped into the hallway, caught the sound again—coming from Caroline’s room, the door half open.
Here we go again.
She stood with her back to me, arms twisted behind her, struggling with the zipper. Her green satin dress clung tight around her hips and gaped open across her bare back. A faint breeze drifted in from the open window, lifting the curtains just slightly.
“Need help?” I asked.
She huffed. “I can’t get the stupid thing.”
I stepped closer. “Hold still.”
She did, jaw clenched, arms thrown down at her sides. I zipped the dress slowly, guiding the zipper up along the curve of her spine.
“There,” I said.
She crossed her arms the second I let go. “It’s too tight.”
“It fits.” I gently guided her toward the mirror. “And it looks great.”
“That’s not what I said.”
She didn’t meet her own gaze. Her eyes hovered somewhere near her collarbone, fixed and distant. Her shoulders were drawn up, her mouth unreadable.
“I hate it.” She said.
A soft knock at the door drew my attention.
Gabriel stepped inside, shirtless. His gaze passed over both of us, pausing on Caroline.
“Good morning.” He said, she refused to meet his eyes, but her bottom lip pushed out slightly. Her arms stayed locked across her stomach, like she was holding herself together.
Then, without warning, he crossed the room and scooped her up.
She yelped, legs kicking, laughter bubbling out against her will.
He spun her once, then tossed her onto the bed.
“Put me down,” she growled, even though she was already scrambling upright, smoothing out her dress.
“You’re so annoying,” she muttered.
Gabriel grinned and reached out to ruffle her hair.
“Stop!” she snapped, batting his hand away. Her swing missed, but it was enough to make her scowl shift into something lighter.
“You’re alright,” he said. “Isabelle called me. She’s downstairs somewhere and wants the two of you to help her, and something tells me she isn’t in the mood to be kept waiting.”
“She’ll have to,” I said, stepping closer to Caroline. I reached for her hair, smoothing it gently where he’d messed it up. “If she’s upset, I’ll just blame you.”
Gabriel raised his hands in surrender, then backed out of the room, smirking. “I accept full responsibility.”
Caroline stayed still while I worked through the tangled section of her hair, my fingers combing gently through strands. Her hair was soft but already frizzing slightly at the ends.
“You ok?” I asked.
She tilted her head just slightly. “I’m standing still while someone grooms me like a cat. So. Living the dream.”
I smiled, faintly. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant.” Her tone was even. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t answer either.
I kept going, slow and steady. “You don’t have to wear a mask for me.”
“I’m not,” she said, too quickly.
I said nothing. Let the silence settle.
After a beat, she added, “I just don’t see the point in talking about my feelings when all anyone does is try to get around them.”
Her voice was quieter now, but firm. Not angry. Just done with the subject.
“I get it,” I said. And I did.
We didn’t speak for a while. I finished taming the last stubborn section of her hair and stepped back.
“There,” I said. “You look perfect.”
She gave me a look in the mirror, skeptical but not combative.
“I still hate this dress,” she said.
I shrugged. “Everyone else will love it.”
Her shoulders relaxed just a little. Not a smile, but something close. The sharpness in her eyes dulled for a moment.
We lingered there, both of us staring at our reflections—neither of us saying what we really wanted to.
“Ready?” I asked.
She crossed the room and absently shoved the window closed with one hand. It thudded into place but didn’t quite catch. She didn’t care.
“I guess. Let’s see what my sister wants.”
We stepped into the hall and headed down the main staircase.
At the base of the stairs, Isabelle had two men cornered near an archway. Both were built like security—broad-shouldered and clearly uncomfortable. She wasn’t yelling. Just talking low and fast, arms folded, chin tilted. Whatever she was saying made one of them nod too much, the other not at all.
Then her eyes slid past them and landed on us.
She threw her hands up, “There you are.”
No smile. No welcome. Just a mild kind of relief, like we were pieces she’d accounted for but hadn’t had time to fetch.
She started walking and we fell in step beside her.
The estate didn’t look like itself. Lights shined brighter, washing the halls in gold. Furniture had been shifted out of place, men carried boxes through the corridors, voices low as they worked. The house felt less like a home and more like a stage being built around us.
We reached the double doors that led outside. They stood open, spilling daylight across the floor.
Isabelle froze. Her gaze cut toward the doors, a flick of her eyes and a single beat of silence.
“What is this?”
A crew was already setting up lights and potted trees in tight rows. One of them was halfway through mounting a speaker on an outer column.
The man on the ladder looked down. Blinked. “Ma’am?”
Her voice didn’t rise. “No one is setting foot outside. The courtyard isn’t part of the event.” She paused. “The only way people get in or out is through the front door. Don’s orders.”
He nodded quickly and scrambled down, already reaching for his radio.
“Move everything inside.” She shouted into the courtyard.
A faint silence stretched as we kept walking. The sound of our heels tapped low across the floor, echoing more than it should have. She was angry, and I did not want to end up on the receiving end of that.
Caroline glanced sideways at me. “Are you scared?”
I slowed slightly. “Why would I be scared?”
She shrugged, arms crossed again. “You’re going to be paraded around. Everyone will want to meet you. You’re kind of… central to this whole thing.”
I frowned. “How so?”
She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze drifted to a pair of workers carrying gold-rimmed platters into the main hall. She waited until they passed.
“Gabriel’s bringing you. It’s a show of strength. He’s next in line, and having a wife makes things look stable. You’re not just some girl on his arm. You. And everyone who matters knows what you did.”
I stared ahead. The hallway bent in the distance, and I focused on the floor like it could anchor me.
“I’m not his wife, I—”
She giggled. “All the old men will probably bow or kiss your hand or some dramatic shit.”
I gave her a look.
“I’m serious,” she said. “Half of them are old money. You have no idea how weird they are.”
I didn’t answer. The air had shifted—warmer, heavier. I adjusted the strap of my dress even though it hadn’t moved. Isabelle was ten steps ahead now, still moving briskly down the hall, and I still didn’t even know what she wanted us for.
Caroline’s hand brushed mine. Then she grabbed it and tugged. Hard.
“Hey—”
She didn’t slow, just pulled me into an adjoining hall.
We slipped down the narrow hall unnoticed; the staff were too busy to care, not that it was their place to question. She pushed open a small door that led into a side pantry—cooler, darker, lined with shelves of glassware and sealed boxes.
She crouched low, reached behind a box, and pulled out a half-full bottle of something amber.
“What is that?” I asked.
She shrugged.
I raised an eyebrow. “You sure this is a good idea?”
“We’re dressed up like dolls about to be judged by every powerful person in the city. You tell me.”
Can’t argue with that.
She scrunched up her face as she tugged at the bulging cork. It popped off, and she drank from the bottle, closing her eyes softly.
She passed me the bottle after wiping her lipstick off it.
The first sip burned. The second didn’t.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Just the sound of distant movement from the ballroom and the low hum of some vent overhead.
“What did you see in Ivan?”
I found I had asked, feeling the alcohol already.
She took the bottle again, turning it slowly in her hands. “What do I see in him, you mean? He has a few issues, I admit it. But the side you saw—I’ve only seen it a few times. And it wasn’t nearly that bad.”
She shrugged, almost to herself. “Everyone assumes that’s the part I loved. But it’s not. That’s just the worst of him. He doesn’t hide himself, even when he’s desperate. That’s more than I can say for most people.”
She drank again. “He never lied to me. Not once. Not about who he is. Not about what he’s capable of. Everyone else dresses it up. Calls it duty, or sacrifice, or family.”
“That’s not better,” I said.
“I didn’t say it was better. I said it was real.”
She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.
“He talked to me like I mattered. Not like something to trade. Not like a pawn. He didn’t care what I could offer his family. He cared that I saw him. And I did.” Her voice softened. “I still do.”
I let the silence settle. From somewhere above, a burst of music flared, then cut out again.
“You know what he almost did to me.”
“I know.”
“And you still—”
“I don’t excuse it,” she said, cutting me off. “But I also don’t overlook the fact that he didn’t actually do it. He has good in him. And I bring it out.”
She turned to look at me. “You think our family’s any different?”
I wasn’t about to have that conversation again, so I didn’t answer.
She passed the bottle back. “Just saying.”
I drank. It tasted smoother now.
She looked down.
“Or maybe everyone is right, I’m an idiot and he’s evil, I’m tired of pretending to care even if that were true.”
I set the bottle down.
“We should go,” I said.
“Okay, but only if you agree to help me avoid Isabelle until the Gala starts,”
“Deal.”
My head felt light, but not fuzzy. Just aware. Calm.
We stepped back into the hall together, the noise of the house folding around us again.