Chapter 4 4

The Fine Line Between Lies and Love

Sophia's POV

The hospital had become my second home.

The antiseptic no longer bothered me. The beeping monitors of nurses down the corridors had become familiar. I knew the shift patterns, the rhythm of the place. But most of all-I knew Williams.

More than I should.

Every day I visited my father, still lying unconscious in his private room on the upper floor. And every day after, I stopped by Room 409-the room where Williams resided, broken in body but fiercely silent in spirit.

Then a nurse had mentioned to me how he had no one-no visitors, no family, nothing but money and a file full of betrayal.

That had been enough for me to stay.

Maybe I saw a reflection of my own pain in him. Maybe I wanted to heal someone else because I couldn't heal my father. Maybe it was foolish sympathy.

But now it was far more than that.

He didn't know my name, not really. I introduced myself as Sophia, a volunteer. I'd hidden behind a pair of old reading glasses, wore my hair differently and changed my posture.

I buried my true identity-the daughter of Gregory, one of the most powerful business moguls in the country. The girl whose father now lay silently between life and death on another floor of this very building.

I wasn't ready to tell him who I was, not yet.

Williams was still suspicious, still guarded. But something had shifted. He let me feed him now. He let me sit beside him without scowling. And once-just once-he laughed.

I had said something ridiculous about hospital food. It caught him off guard, that brief curl of his lips had undone something in me.

But he was still a storm wrapped in silence. A man who had been abandoned, who trusted no one.

And here I was-falling in love with a lie I had told.

"You're early," he said without turning.

I smiled, placing a bouquet of fresh white lilies in the vase on his table. "And you're awake before noon. That's progress."

"Didn't sleep," he muttered.

I sat beside him, folding my hands over my lap. "Bad dreams?"

"Bad memories," he replied after a pause.

We didn't speak for a while, silence with him was different. It didn't feel empty-it felt... thoughtful and tense, but not painful. Like standing in the eye of a hurricane.

He finally spoke. "Why do you want to come close?"

The question made my heart race.

I had prepared for this moment. The moment he would ask again and again. But no rehearsed answer came out, just the truth.

"Because you matter. Even if you don't believe it right now."

His eyes- full of loss-turned to me. "Everyone left when I became useless. So why are you still here?" You are a stranger.

"Maybe because I've been left behind before, too."

I didn't tell him that I was born into wealth and privilege. That the world saw me as untouchable. Because none of that mattered when your father no longer recognized your face.

My entire life had been built on control, on precision and on knowing the rules of every room I entered.

But this-being with him-felt like walking without a map.

It scared me.

Later that week, I walked into his room and found a file sitting on the table beside him.

"Legal documents?" I asked casually.

He nodded. "Contracts, Estate planning, useless now. But I have to get my affairs in order."

I didn't reply, the idea of him thinking of death-of giving up-was so real.

"I need someone to help manage my assets," he added slowly. "Someone I can trust."

I raised a brow. "And you trust me?" I'm a stranger to you Williams, you didn't know me.

"No," he said honestly. "But I'm beginning to."

The words hung between us like a fragile string.

He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit. He commanded. I want to ask you something."

I obeyed, but very nervous.

"What if," he began, "I told you I wanted to make a proposal, not romantic but strategic."

My heart skipped a little, but I kept my composure. "Go on."

"I need a partner," he said. "Not in business-in life. Someone who can help me rebuild what I've lost. At least until I'm strong enough to return."

He turned his head slightly. "I want a contract marriage."

My breath caught. "You want to marry... me?"

"Not for love," he added quickly. "I'm not ready for that. I don't even believe in it anymore."

I couldn't speak.

Williams continued, "But you've been here. You're loyal. I need someone who can hold the media wolves back, someone with a good reputation, a clean background... You fit the profile."

He didn't know how ironic that was. My background was anything but clean. I was Sophia. Headlines had followed me since I was sixteen.

My family name was built on money, yes, but it was also built on scandals, bloodlines and ruthless empire building.

He didn't know I could probably buy his entire company and name it after my dog.

But none of that mattered right now.

"I'll give you time," he said, seeing my silence. "It's not a romantic gesture. It's an offer."

He slid a slim folder toward me. "Terms. Conditions. Read them and get back to me."

I picked up the folder, my hands trembling.

This was everything I thought I wanted.

To be close to him. To support him. To be his.

But the way he was offering it... clinical and transactional-made it feel like my love had been reduced to a business agreement.

"I'll think about it," I said after checking the papers.

I returned to my father's room after.

His monitors steadily beeped. He was stable, but still unmoving. The machines breathed for him. His world was silent, but I poured mine out into the space between us.

"He wants to marry me," I whispered, brushing a curl from my father's forehead. "But not for love, not because he knows me."

"What would I do, Papa?"

The machines did not answer. But in my heart, I knew what he would say.

To love someone truly is to want what's best for them-even if it hurts.

Two days later, I returned to Room 409. Williams looked surprised when I walked in holding the folder.

"I've read it," I said calmly. "It's fair, thorough."

He tilted his head. "And?"

I smiled sadly. "I'll sign it. But I have terms of my own."

His brow lifted. "Go on."

"One: I want my identity to remain private. You don't ask about my past, and I won't ask about yours."

"Fair."

"Two: This stays between us. No media, no press. If the story leaks, I walk away."

He nodded.

"Three: I'll be your wife on paper. But I want to live in the same space. I want us to know each other better. If we're doing this, I won't be a stranger beside you in a mansion."

Williams was quiet for a moment, then finally said, "Agreed."

As I took the pen and signed my name-Sophie-my heart ached with both triumph and sorrow.

Because even though I had just become the future Mrs. Williams King...

He still didn't know that the woman sitting across from him...

Was already his equal in every way. Just not in name.

Yet.