Chapter 2 2

Days passed in a blur of cold formality.

I was processing. The betrayal. My own foolishness.

Eleanor was right. I had to sever it all.

My lawyer was already drafting the necessary documents.

Untangling four years of financial support wouldn't be clean, but it would be final.

I kept my distance from Sophia. The vast penthouse felt like a mausoleum.

She tried to talk to me a few times.

"Ethan, we need to discuss this," she'd say.

"There's nothing to discuss," I'd reply, not looking at her.

She'd retreat, confused, perhaps a little scared. Good.

I wanted her to feel a fraction of the chill I felt.

One afternoon, my driver, David, who was discreet and loyal, reported Sophia's movements.

A habit I'd developed, keeping tabs. Control.

"Ms. Evans is at a cafe in the West Village, sir," he said. "With Mr. Miller."

I told him to wait. I drove myself.

I parked across the street, watching.

There she was, with Jake.

They were sitting outside, under an awning.

She was animated. Laughing.

A laugh I rarely heard. With me, she was usually reserved, almost dutiful.

He said something, and she threw her head back, a genuine, unrestrained sound.

Then, Jake pointed to a display in a shop window next to the cafe. An expensive watch.

He admired it, a covetous look on his face.

Sophia smiled, stood up, and walked into the shop.

She emerged a few minutes later with a small, branded bag.

She handed it to Jake. He opened it, his eyes widening.

He strapped the watch on, grinning.

She paid with a credit card. My credit card. The one I provided for her "expenses."

She even reached over and helped him adjust his collar, a small, intimate gesture.

This Sophia, the one with Jake, was vibrant. Engaged. Alive.

A stark contrast to the woman who shared my penthouse.

This, I thought with a cold certainty, was her true self.

Happy with Jake.

The scene confirmed everything. My decision hardened.

She wasn't forced. She was choosing.

And she was using my money to do it.

The charade was deeper, uglier than I'd even allowed myself to believe.

The following week, the annual "Children's Hope Gala" was scheduled.

A major charity event. Sophia and I were supposed to co-chair.

Another public performance.

I had no intention of going with her.

But I knew she'd be there. She wouldn't miss an opportunity to be seen.

Or, perhaps, she planned to use it to try and talk to me again.

I arrived late, alone. Marc, my business partner and best friend, was already there, holding a table.

"You okay?" he asked, his expression concerned.

"Never better," I lied.

Sophia was across the room, a vision in a glittering gown.

She saw me, her eyes searching. She started to move towards me.

Then, chaos.

Jake Miller, looking dishevelled and out of place in his cheap suit, burst into the ballroom.

"Sophia!" he yelled, his voice echoing.

Security guards immediately moved towards him.

"Ethan Reed!" he shouted, pointing at me. "He stole her! He's a monster!"

He was creating a scene, a massive one. Cameras flashed.

People gasped.

Security tried to grab him. A scuffle broke out.

Jake thrashed, trying to get to Sophia, who stood frozen.

In the melee, one of the guards stumbled, shoving me.

I lost my balance, hit my head against a marble pillar.

Not hard, but enough to daze me for a second.

I saw Sophia. She didn't look at me.

She rushed to Jake's side.

"Stop it! Leave him alone!" she cried at the security guards.

She helped Jake up, fussing over him, shielding him.

I was on the floor, momentarily ignored, a throbbing in my temple.

Marc was by my side instantly. "Ethan, you alright?"

I watched Sophia defending Jake, her back to me.

That single image. Her rushing to him, not me.

It was the final nail.

My resolve, already firm, became absolute.

There was no going back. Not ever.