Chapter 12
Sophia’s P.O.V
That evening, as I stepped into the house with the kids, I felt a strange, bubbling happiness that I hadn’t experienced in a long time.
It felt odd, almost unfamiliar, to feel lighthearted after everything that had happened. But tonight had been different. Spending time with Nathaniel had been… easy. Enjoyable, even. He had this way of making me forget, at least for a while, the weight of the past pressing down on my shoulders.
And then there was his offer–his unexpected, heartfelt offer. It lingered in my mind like an unanswered question, twisting and turning inside me, making me wonder if maybe, just maybe, I could say yes.
For days, I’d gone back and forth, unsure whether this was a good idea to keep trusting Tristan, skeptical about how it might unfold with Gabriella now in the picture. But earlier that afternoon, something clicked. It wasn’t just about giving Nathaniel a shot; it was about realizing that, deep down, I actually wanted to save my marriage with Tristan.
But knowing that someone was genuinely interested in me, someone out there was ready to listen, ready to care, it filled me with a kind of strength, a kind of energy that I didn’t know I lacked till now.
But my joy fizzled as soon as I walked into the dining room and spotted Gabriella and Tristan sitting on the couch, locked in an embrace. Gabriella looked hesitant, her eyes darting between me and the kids, while Tristan–oh, Tristan–was practically vibrating with anger. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought he might crack a tooth, and his arms were crossed in that way that always screamed trouble.
I froze for a moment, caught off guard by the tension in the air.
“Upstairs,” I said, turning to the Sara and Tara. My tone was firm, leaving no room for debate. “Now.”
They hesitated, their small faces reflecting confusion, even a little hurt, but I knew what was to come next wasn’t something that they wanted to witness. I softened my expression just a touch, hoping that it would help them ease up a bit.
“Go on. Marissa will look after you,” I added, glancing at the maid who had just appeared in the hallway. She nodded and ushered them away, their small footsteps fading up the stairs.
The moment Sara and Tara disappeared through the door, their excited chatter fading into the distance, Tristan stormed forward with a fury I hadn’t seen in years. His eyes–usually warm, were now blazing with an intensity that made me take an involuntary step back, but it didn’t stop him. Before I can even process what’s happening, his hands grip my shoulders, fingers digging in just enough to send a shiver of pain down my
arms.
“Sophia,” he spat my name like it burned his tongue, “why did you do it? Why did you humiliate Gabriella like that in front of everyone?”
I blinked, stunned, my mouth parting to form words that refused to come. Humiliate? What on earth was he talking about? My gaze darted past his shoulder to where Gabriella stood, a picture–perfect damsel in distress.
Her face was angled just right, her wide, tear–filled eyes glistening like she was auditioning for a tragic role in a play. She dabbed at her cheek with a handkerchief–one of those embroidered ones that looked too delicate to be useful–as if drying invisible tears.
“What?” I finally managed to choke out. “Tristan, I didn’t-”
“Don’t lie to me!” he cut in, his grip tightening enough to make my shoulders throb. “She told me everything, Sophia! Everything. How could you do something so cruel?”
“I didn’t do anything!” I insisted, my voice rising in desperation. My hands rose, feebly trying to push him away, but he didn’t budge. “Tristan, you’re not even listening to me! What is she saying I did?”
“Are you seriously asking me that? Fine! She said you mocked her art in front of the entire class! That you-” He broke off, his voice cracking slightly. “You told everyone her work was lewd and immoral and that she should be thrown out of class. Why? All because she drew a nude painting?”
I stared at him, my heart sinking. Gabriella was good–really good. She knew exactly how to spin a story, how to twist the truth just enough to make herself the victim. I shook my head, glancing at her again, hoping for even a flicker of guilt in her expression. But all I saw was triumph, poorly disguised as misery.
“Tristan, that’s not what happened,” I said, my voice softer now, pleading. “I didn’t say anything like that. I wouldn’t-”
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Chapter 12
“Enough!” His roar echoed through the room, cutting me off. “Stop lying to me!”
“I’m not, Tristan!” I shouted, unable to keep my emotions in control any longer. “I didn’t humiliate her. I swear. That’s not what happened—*
But he didn’t hear me. He didn’t even want to hear me.
“You’re lying!” he spat out, his grip tightening before he suddenly let go, as if touching me was unbearable for him. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You did this so she would leave me and you’d secure your position once again! How could you be so shallow, Sophia? You can’t stand the fact that she’s talented, that people actually respect her-*
let out a sharp breath, shaking my head furiously. “That’s not true! Tristan, please, listen to me. I—”
Suddenly, a sharp, stinging pain exploded across my cheek, a force so sudden and unexpected that it sent me stumbling a step backward. The sound of it echoed through the living room, a deafening crack in the heavy silence that followed. My skin burned where his palm had connected, but the pain in my chest–deep, suffocating–was far worse.
I lifted my gaze, meeting his eyes again, but they were still filled with nothing but anger, betrayal–disgust. As if I’m the worst person he’s ever known. My breath hitches, my hands trembling at my sides, my fingers curling into fists.
The world tilted on it axis as a searing pain radiated from my cheek and left me breathless. I reached up, my hand trembling as I touched my cheek, disbelief flooding through me.
“Did you just… hit me?” My voice is barely above a whisper, but each word feels like a scream inside my head.
Tristan doesn’t answer. He just ran a frustrated hand through his hair, exhaling heavily, as if I’m the one exhausting him.
For a moment, there was silence. Even Gabriella seemed frozen, her performance momentarily forgotten. Tristan’s chest heaved, his jaw tight, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes–doubt, maybe? Regret? But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the same anger that had
fueled his actions.
“I can’t believe you’d stoop this low,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less venomous. “I thought I knew you, Sophia. I thought you were better than this. But you’re just a jealous woman who can’t stand seeing me happy, can you?”
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