My Billionaire Husband Wants an Open Marriage
Chapter 18
Sophia’s P.O.V
I let the tears come then. I didn’t sob. I just sat there, silent, as they streamed down my face. It felt like mourning a death I hadn’t prepared for- the death of a love 1 had protected with everything I had.
“Please,” she whispered. “Divorce him. Sue his ass if you have to. But don’t stay because of fear disguised as loyalty.”
My heart cracked all over again. I was terrified. Not of him hurting me again–I knew how to hide the bruises–but of the hollow that would come after. The silence of a house without him. The guilt in my daughters‘ eyes. The ache of saying goodbye to a man who once made my world feel
safe.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Sophia,” Veronica said quietly, her hands trembling slightly as she clasped the edges of the folder she was holding, “I just- I needed to make you see what you’ve been refusing to do.”
I sniffled, shaking my head. “It’s not that, V…it’s just…I need some time. I need to figure out where we stand, Tristan and I. On Monday, after he returns…I will talk to him, I promise. But please, don’t rush me into anything right now, okay? I just…I’m not ready yet.”
Veronica didn’t answer right away. She looked at me–really looked at me–with that unbearable expression that made me feel like a child caught with a secret I hadn’t realized I was hiding.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I understand. I supported you till now, didn’t I? And no matter what happens, you know I will always be here for you. But please don’t be blind to his shortcomings. You know how I was against the whole open marriage thing in the first place, and now that he’s taking his mistress’s side more than yours…I can’t help but wonder if it was all planned out or not. But…I’ll trust your judgment and keep supporting you in whatever way I can.”
Her words stung. Not like a slap. No, worse–like a slow, seeping ache that started in my chest and spread through my limbs. I opened my mouth to argue, to deny, but nothing came out. Because deep down, somewhere I hadn’t dared to look for months, I knew she was right.
Tristan had started going out right after I had agreed to the open marriage, while I always held back. I had twisted myself into something unrecognizable, desperately trying to hold on to Tristan, to the version of us I had imagined, while sacrificing pieces of myself one by one.
My art had lost its soul. My smile had become a mask. And now, standing here in front of Veronica, I felt that mirror shatter.
I looked away, blinking rapidly. “I… I don’t want to talk about Tristan right now,” I whispered, almost ashamed of the way my voice cracked. “Please.”
Veronica gave a small nod, the tension in her shoulders softening slightly. She turned and rummaged through her file before placing the folder down and flipping it open.
“Okay. That’s not why I called you here, anyway,” she said, her tone shifting to something more business–like, but her eyes still holding concern. “There’s something you need to see.”
I leaned forward cautiously as she slid a sheet of paper across the table. Sales data. My eyes scanned the numbers, my name printed across the top of one of the documents. Then she placed a second page down–an email from an agent. And then I saw it.
“Wait… Paris?” I looked up sharply. “This is about the exhibition in Paris?”
Veronica nodded. “Yes. Your painting–the one we submitted for the international showcase. It was displayed last weekend. And someone saw it. An elderly man. He spoke to the agent handling the show and said he wanted to purchase it.”
I blinked. “Okay… that’s great, but… why is this urgent? I mean, it’s not unusual for someone to want to buy-”
“He offered twenty million, Sophia.”
My breath caught. “Twenty million?” I echoed, voice barely above a whisper. “That has to be a mistake. No one offers that much–not for one painting.”
Veronica’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s not a mistake. He was very clear. He told the agent it wasn’t just about the art–it was personal. He said it reminded him of his late wife. When he stood in front of it, he felt like he could hear her voice again. That expression in her eyes–your brushstrokes, the way you captured grief and hope and longing–it brought her back to him, even if just for a moment.”
