After Divorce

Sophia's POV

The cake box burned against my palms as I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. I'd been standing here for minutes, wondering if coming unannounced to my boyfriend's place was a good idea.

The last week had been rocky-he was always busy, always with an excuse, cancelled dates at the last minute and showed up late when he did come. It felt like we were slowly drifting apart, so I came here to mend what we once had.

Jean and I had been together for more than a year.

I'd attended his concert several times, but when we crossed paths again at a random cafe, he recognized me as a fan. The memory still made me smile. It made me believe maybe foolishly that we could fix whatever this was.

I finally pressed the doorbell.

Someone opened the door almost immediately, holding a glass of champagne in her hands. Her smile was blinding, loud music pulsing through my veins as small cackles of laughter filled my ears.

"Well, come on in," she urged, opening the door wider. "You're just in time for the toast."

The cake box trembled in my hands. "A toast?"

"Yeah, the couple. Jean and Marie?" She tilted her head and watched me curiously, almost like I was in the wrong room at a certainly wrong time. Then she pointed at a banner above our heads. Happy third anniversary, Marie and Jean!

Three years? I stumbled backwards with a little sway. My brain tried to make sense of whatever was going on. Perhaps it was another Jean, but I was sure I didn't walk into the wrong home. I'd been here dozens of times for house dates.

It definitely was my Jean.

I stared at the banner again and smiled. "I'm sure they just have the same name," I said under my breath. "I'm here to meet Jean Beaufort."

"He is Jean Beaufort. Today is his wedding anniversary with Marie," she explained rather calmly, and I took another step back. A strange ringing started in my ears as my pulse jumped. "No," I said with a laugh. "I...you..."

The woman was still watching me, her brows forming a deep V. "Are you okay?"

I nodded too quickly, then shook my head, blinking back the burn in my eyes as my fingers started to tremble. "I need to see him," I mumbled, pushing past her as I rushed in. A small part of me believed there had to be an explanation for whatever this was.

I didn't want to believe Jean would do this to me.

The apartment felt different from what I'd been used to. Bodies were moving against each other like this was something worth celebrating, like this was normal, but I could barely feel my legs as I moved past them.

The cake box felt heavier now, and perhaps my hands were just weaker. I scanned the room filled with sweaty bodies and finally saw him. Jean. He stood in the center of the room, one arm wrapped loosely around a woman in a silk dress the color of ivory. She leaned into him like she'd done it a thousand times, like she belonged there.

And my heart sank.

Her hand was resting against his chest, fingers splayed like she had every right to touch him, like she owned him, and it felt like I was living a nightmare.

My stomach dropped so suddenly I thought I might actually collapse right here between strangers. Then someone raised a glass. "Alright, everyone. Let the lovebirds have their moment."

Everyone turned their attention toward them. I watched as Jean pulled Marie a little closer, his hand settling at her waist as a small smile curved his lips. I couldn't breathe. I was literally gasping for air, still holding onto the cake like a pathetic fool.

"Three years," someone said loudly, voice like a sharp knife digging into my chest. "That's not easy these days."

Jean lifted his glass, smiling down at her. "Marie made it easy," he said, his voice steady and warm. It was familiar in a way that made my heart clench. "Loving her is like breathing."

That one landed like a slap.

Marie laughed too, her head tipping toward his shoulder. "You say that like we don't argue at all."

"And that's another sign of love," Jean murmured loud enough for those closest to hear, and everyone erupted in a fit of laughter.

Something inside me snapped. I stepped forward before I could think better of it. "Jean." My voice cut through the moment sharper than I expected, interrupting their sweet moment, and everything stilled.

The silence felt heavy and uncomfortable, but I didn't care. I deserved an explanation. I wanted to scream, to shout, to wreck this damn anniversary party, but I felt too weak to even form a word.

Jean's head turned slowly. For a second, he didn't react. His expression stayed exactly the same, like my presence hadn't fully registered yet. Then panic flashed through his eyes. "Sophia?" he said, my name sounding awkwardly in his throat.

Marie's gaze shifted between us, her smile faltering just slightly. "You know her?"

I parted my lips, about to introduce myself as his girlfriend and ruin this happy moment, but Jean moved fast.

"Hey, hey...can we just-" He was already crossing the room, already reaching for my arm. "Sophia, can we talk? Just for a second?"

His grip was gentle, but there was urgency in it, like I was a freaking problem he needed to manage. I didn't even know why I let him pull me. Maybe I was still trying to wrap my head around everything, about how I had been a fool, about how naive I had been while this man toyed with my emotions.

And as much as I hated it, a part of me wanted to hear what he would say. I wanted him to fix it. To fix this. I held cake tightly like a symbol of hope as he dragged me into the hallway, far away from the eyes that started to follow us.

The moment the door slammed shut behind us, his expression changed. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, running a hand through his hair. "You weren't supposed to-"

"I wasn't supposed to do what?" My voice came out shaky. "Find out?"

"Sophia, please...just keep your voice down."

And that was it. It made everything snap inside of me. I let out a hollow laugh, feeling something bitter settle at the back of my throat. "You're worried about my voice right now?"

"I'm worried about you causing a scene," he said quickly. "This isn't the time."

"The time?" I repeated, staring at him. "Jean, when exactly was the right time to tell me you have a wife?!"

He flinched, and for some reason, that hurt more than anything else. "I was going to tell you," he said too fast, like he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. "I just... I didn't know how."

"You didn't know how?!" My loud voice rattled the windows as a tear slid down my cheeks. "Jean, we've been dating for more than a year!"

"We can't do this right now, Sophie." He couldn't even stare at me. He dragged a hand through his hair. "Please," he whispered. "Please don't ruin this for me."

The words landed like a slap. "I shouldn't....ruin..this for you?"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice even further, like that would make it better. "She doesn't know, okay? And she can't find out like this. I love my wife, Sophia. I can't-"

I couldn't hear the rest.

Everything after I love my wife made no more sense. I looked down at the cake box still in my hands, and it suddenly felt ridiculous. I had picked his favorite carefully, hoping we could sit at the lounge and enjoy a movie together and bond our usual way, but I was the delusional one.

Jean was still talking-I could see his mouth moving, see the tension in his face-but it didn't matter anymore. Nothing he said mattered.

I shifted my grip on the box and opened it.

He frowned slightly, confused. "Sophia, what are you-"

I didn't let him finish.

The cake hit his face with a soft thud, frost smeared across his cheek, his mouth, and his shirt. He stood there, blinking through sugar and cream as he stared at me. "Fuck, Soph-"

"Happy anniversary," I said quietly, cutting him off. Wiping off the single tear, I walked out of his home without glancing back at anyone.

The moment I stepped outside, my breath hitched painfully. I'd thought I could keep it in until I got home, but a loud sob tore through me as I walked down the streets. Tears blurred my vision as I forced myself to keep walking, but I didn't even make it far.

I collapsed against the wall as the weight of everything crashed down at once. "God, Sophia...you're so stupid," I whispered to myself.

And maybe I was.

Because I'd believed him.

Because I loved him.

Because I'd built a whole future on a lie.

I wiped my face with shaking hands, trying-and failing-to steady my breathing. I knew staying one more day in Los Angeles would destroy me, which meant there was only one place left to go.

The place I'd spent years running from home..

Sophia's POV

The moment I booked the flight, I only had one question sitting in my mind. Was this a mistake?

Ever since I landed and gave the driver my mother's address, I couldn't control the uneasiness I felt under my skin. Heading back home might be the moment a lot of people have been dreaming for, but not for me.

Because it didn't feel like home anymore.

Not since the wedding.

I didn't even attend the freaking wedding because I wasn't ready to meet my stepfather.

I exhaled slowly, closing my eyes for a brief moment as I wondered if I had truly made a mistake. But coming here was way better than remaining where my memories with Jean would continuously haunt me.

"Miss, we're here." The driver's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I blinked, straightening slightly as I looked up.

The house stood exactly where it always had. I didn't change one bit, and the fact that something still felt familiar about this place warmed my heart a bit.

"Thank you," I murmured, pushing the door open. I pulled my suitcase out after me and moved in.

My gaze flickered toward the driveway and I almost laughed. She wasn't home as always. I didn't know why I expected anything different. For a woman like my mom, work always came before family.

I adjusted my grip on my suitcase and stepped up to the door, pressing the buzzer. For a second, nothing happened, then I heard some footsteps coming closer.

Something in my chest tightened as I suddenly became aware of the way I looked. I pressed my lips together, and the second the door opened, I forgot how to breathe.

He wasn't what I expected.

Not even close.

My lips parted open as my brain tried to place what I was seeing into something that made sense. Was this really my stepfather? He looked young. Not young exactly, but he was younger than the image I'd built in my head.

His dark hair was slightly tousled like he'd run a hand through it too many times, and his strong build filled the doorway without even trying. His eyes. God, his grey eyes..they were warm in a way that caught me completely off guard.

He looked at me like he was actually seeing me, not the way my mom stared like I didn't really matter.

"You must be Sophia." He gave me a half smile, his voice low and steady. He had a look in his eyes that explained that he had caught me staring, and heat flooded my face instantly.

"Oh," I blinked quickly, forcing myself to move.

"Uh...yes."

Nervous as hell, I tucked a few strands of my hair behind my ear. "I'm sorry, I didn't-my mom, she didn't say if-" I cringed inwardly at how silly I sounded.

"She once mentioned you might come by," he said, stepping aside. "Come in."

My heart started beating a little too fast as I reached for my suitcase.

"That must be heavy," he added, nodding toward my bag. "I can help with that."

"No, no, no..." I rushed out quickly. "I can handle this myself."

He stared at me for a moment, gave me a curt nod, then stepped away. I pulled my suitcase further into the house and shut the door behind me. A lot hadn't changed in the house too, but it wasn't the same place I remembered.

It was...different.

"Well," he said after a moment, his voice pulling my attention back to him, "I was just about to make dinner."

Dinner? That caught me off guard.

"Oh." I blinked. "Someone like you can...cook?"

It slipped out before I could stop it, and I almost felt like spanking myself.

His brow lifted slightly. "Sometimes."

Heat crept up my neck. "I didn't mean it like that." I muttered softly, rubbing the back of my neck as I wished for the ground to swallow me. I almost couldn't control the words flying out of my mouth these days.

"I know exactly what you meant," he cut in easily, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You don't have to defend yourself every five seconds."

I pressed my lips together. "I'm not defending myself."

"You are," he said, already turning toward the kitchen like he'd decided that was the end of it, and it made me relax a bit. Keeping my suitcase near the foot of the stairs, I followed him into the kitchen.

He moved around it like he belonged there, and I hovered near the counter, unsure of where to stand or what to even do with my hands.

"You can sit," he said, glancing over his shoulder as he reached for something in the fridge. "You don't have to just stand there."

"Right." I let out a small breath and slid onto one of the stools by the island, setting my hands on my lap as I watched him move.

He rolled his sleeves, pushing them up his forearms as he started to mix something in a bowl. I couldn't even tell what it was, but it smelled like ginger and something else I'd certainly die for. It smelled so good, my stomach started grumbling. And it was loud.

He looked over his shoulder again, and this time, I looked down to stare at my shoes. Sophia, this isn't you. This wasn't the first impression I had planned to give my stepfather.

"You don't have to look so nervous," he said suddenly.

My head snapped up. "I'm not nervous."

His lips twitched like he didn't believe me. I exhaled, glancing down at my hands. My fingers were curled tightly together without me realizing, then I forced them to relax. "It's just..." I trailed off, then shook my head. "This is a little weird."

"Fair enough," he said simply, and that made me look at him again. "You've never met me," he added, glancing up briefly before returning his attention to what he was chopping. "And now you're back in a house you've not been in for a while."

Something in my chest shifted slightly. "Yeah," I said quietly. "What about you?" I asked after a moment. "Is this weird for you?"

He paused for a second, then he nodded. "A little," he admitted, and that surprised me.

I tilted my head slightly. "Really?"

"Yeah." He glanced at me again, something thoughtful in his expression. "I feel like I'm meeting someone I've heard a lot about... but never actually met."

I frowned slightly. "My mom talked about me?"

That came as a bit of a surprise for me. My mom barely has time for me. If she wasn't busy at her company, she was having dinner with a business man. Most times she just didn't like reaching out. It was just once in a while, and I was slowly getting used to the empty void.

"Yeah, she did," he said, and I couldn't help the smile on my face.

"Did she say good things?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"She said you were stubborn."

I let out a small laugh. "That sounds like her."

"And talented."

That one hit differently. I blinked, glancing back up at him, but he was too focused on what he was doing. I pressed my lips together.

"Thanks," I said quietly, and he simply nodded.

I'd just met this man some minutes ago, but his presence wasn't as uncomfortable as I assumed it would be.

~~~

My mom arrived during dinner. Marcus and I had already set the table before she arrived, so all she had to do was sit and eat. She munched on the meal carefully, then finally raised her head to stare at me. "I didn't know you were coming today. You should have called."

Something inside me twisted.

I should have called to come home? Does she even care about my wellbeing at all? I lifted a bite to my mouth, chewing slowly before answering. "Would calling have made any difference?"

Her voice was cold. "Yes.

"You're being ridiculous." I laughed. "I didn't know I had to take permission to return home now."

"I'm being serious," she continued, making the smile on my face falter. "You can't just show up the way you want and expect everything to adjust around you, I taught you better."

"So you don't want me here?"

"I never said that."

"But that's what you mean!" I slammed my palm on the table, pushing the chair back as I rose to my feet. I'd come home for a moment of peace, to heal from my heartbreak with Jean, but the idea that my mom didn't want me around was like another stab to my fragile heart. "You know, I actually thought you've changed." I mumbled shakily. "But you're still the cold, busy statue I grew up with."

Before I could say something else, her palm connected against my cheek in seconds, making my eyes burn. "I am still your mother, young woman."

Sophia's POV

"I am still your mother, young woman." I nearly laughed at the words, pressing my palm against my cheeks as I fought the tears burning the back of my eyelids.

This woman didn't care about me. Why did I ever think she'd change?

I felt Marcus' gaze burning through me, and it made it harder to even keep myself together. We were just meeting for the first time, and he could already see the sour relationship I had with my mother. He could see that we weren't on good terms-never have been. He could see that I was merely a visitor here because this would never be my home anymore.

I swallowed hard, my vision blurring slightly before I forced myself to blink it away. I wasn't going to cry here, especially not in front of her.

I pushed my chair back so fast it scraped loudly against the floor and walked fast until I was almost running up the stairs.

My vision blurred halfway through, and by the time I reached my room, I couldn't hold it in anymore. Everything I'd been holding in-from Jean, the flight, this house, and my mom-it all crashed down at the same time.

I sank onto the floor, my back against the door as my hands covered my face. I should have known this was a mistake. I had come home for peace, and somehow I ended up breaking even more.

I didn't know how long I remained on the floor for. I felt so weak, I could barely feel anything. Dragging myself to the bed, I fell face first and closed my eyes.

~~~~

Sunlight slipped through the curtains and I almost wanted to plead for darkness again. Exhausted without doing a single thing, I rolled until I was staring at the ceiling, then decided I wasn't going to allow my mother and Jean ruin my happiness.

My head ached slightly, and my eyes were still heavy, but I pushed through it. After a quick shower and a fresh set of clothes, I stepped out of my room.

The smell of coffee pulled me toward the kitchen, and the moment I stepped in, It felt like my brain stopped functioning. Marcus stood by the counter, completely shirtless, muscles shifting slightly as he reached for a mug. I nearly wanted to gouge my eyes out for gawking at my stepfather this way.

This...this was insane.

I cleared my throat softly, forcing myself to move to make my own coffee. It seemed that I just announced my presence because his grey eyes were on me again.

"You want coffee?" he asked softly, like last night hadn't happened. He even had a small look of pity in his eyes, but I hated it. I didn't want anyone's pity.

"I can make it myself," I said quickly. "You don't have to be nice to me because of yesterday."

His brow lifted slightly. "I didn't say you couldn't make it."

I crossed my arms slightly. "Then why ask?"

"Because I want to," he replied simply, already turning back to the counter. Before I could argue again, he poured the coffee, then he walked over and handed it to me. "Here."

I hesitated for half a second before taking it.

"Thank you," I muttered, taking a sip as his eyes lingered on me.

"She regrets it." He nearly made me choke on my coffee.

"What?"

He leaned back against the counter, watching me with a certain kind of interest. "Your mom," he said. "She regrets what happened last night."

I let out a quiet breath, followed by a small shake of my head. "No, she doesn't."

His expression didn't change. "She does."

I looked up at him then, tracing my eyes over the small tattoos on his toned body and his firm jawline. I took another sip of my coffee and something clicked. "You're covering for her, right?"

"I'm not covering for her."

"Yes, you are." I exhaled, looking down at my cup. "Just like last night. You said she talked about me... that she thought I'd come around." I sucked in a breath. "She didn't say that, did she?"

He went quiet for the first time today, and that was my answer. "You don't have to fix this," I added quietly. "You can't fix us."

"I'm not trying to fix it," he said.

"Then what are you doing?"

"To help you feel better."

I swallowed, tightening my grip slightly on the mug. "I'm fine," I muttered. Did he really take note of how miserable I looked last night? Could he tell I was going through a heartbreak?

"You're not a very good liar." His voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "It's written all over you that you're not okay."

I let out a short breath, shaking my head. "I don't want to do this right now."

"Then don't," he said calmly. "But whatever happened in Los Angeles...it followed you here."

My fingers stilled. "You don't know anything about that."

"No," he agreed. "But I know what it looks like when someone's trying to outrun something that's already caught up to them. Sometimes pouring it out is the first step to healing."

My mom didn't even notice I was dealing with something. She never even asked about my life there, but a man I met yesterday was so concerned about my healing process? A part of me didn't want to tell him, but what Jean did was eating me alive.

"It was a relationship," I said slowly, and he didn't try to interrupt. "Or at least... I thought it was, and then I found out he had a wife."

I could feel the tears again, but I tried to keep them in. "I found out about her at their anniversary party," I continued, my voice filled with tears. "And I even brought a cake."

"You brought a cake," he repeated quietly.

"Yeah." I nodded. "stupid, right?"

Marcus shook his head. "You're not stupid for loving, he is an idiot."

I blinked, glancing up at him. "What?"

"The asshole you just told me about," he said simply. "He's an idiot."

I stared at him, and for the first time since yesterday, a real smile tugged at my lips.

"He lost something rare," Marcus added, his voice steady. "Not everyone gets someone who shows up the way you did."

I looked down quickly, hiding the way my smile softened. "Thank you."

"There's something I make," he said after a moment, pushing off the counter. "Whenever I need to feel better."

I glanced at him. "Yeah?"

He nodded toward the kitchen. "That delicacy works every time."

I hesitated, then asked politely. "Can you make it for me?" it came out softer than I intended, then I added quickly. "Just for today."

His gaze lingered on me for a second before he nodded, urging me to sit while he moved around the kitchen again.

A sweet aroma filled my nostrils, wrapping around me in a way that brought comfort to my weary soul.

By the time he placed the plate in front of me, I didn't hesitate. I took a bite and moaned, my eyes widening slightly. "This is... really good."

A small smile pulled at his lips. "Told you."

I grabbed a spoon this time, taking another bite, then another. "Okay, no, this is insane," I said, shaking my head slightly. "How are you this good?"

"Practice," he said simply.

I huffed softly. "That's not a real answer."

"It is," he replied, stepping closer to the kitchen island. "You just don't like it."

I rolled my eyes, taking another bite, slower this time. "No, I just think you're hiding some secret."

"Maybe I am."

I glanced up at him, narrowing my eyes slightly. "Are you going to tell me?"

"No."

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head as I looked back down at the plate. "You're unbelievable."

I took another bite, but this time I was more aware of how close he was standing, of the way his presence seemed to fill the space without trying.

"You've got something," he said suddenly, leaning toward me.

I frowned slightly. "What?"

He didn't answer immediately. He leaned even closer, and my breath caught before I could stop it. "Wait...what are you.."

His thumb brushed softly against the corner of my lips and my heart skipped a beat.