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The scholarship student the Sinclair family had sponsored through college. Elliot was head over heels for her, ready to go against his whole family to be with her. But Phoebe was proud, stubborn–she refused to accept a love that came with so much family drama, so she broke up with him and moved to Paris.
The Sinclairs were thrilled and immediately arranged his marriage.
The reality was worse than Sophie had imagined.
Elliot’s study was covered with Phoebe’s photos. He flew to Paris every week just to catch glimpses of her. Meanwhile, Sophie–his actual wife–wasn’t even allowed in the master bedroom. She slept in a guest room at the end of the hall.
Sophie walked on eggshells, perfectly playing Isabelle’s role. To protect the business deal, she spent three years being ridiculously good to Elliot.
When he worked late, she’d leave the front light on all night waiting for him. When his stomach acted up, she’d wake up at 5 AM to make him special porridge. He liked quiet, so she made herself invisible in their own home.
Gradually, people started saying Mrs. Sinclair was crazy about her husband. And the way Elliot looked at her seemed to shift, just a
little.
Phoebe’s photos disappeared from his study. The weekly Paris trips stopped. He started remembering her birthday, coming home early when she was sick, and eventually… they even have sex.
For a moment, Sophie almost believed something real had grown between them.
Then three months ago, Phoebe came back.
Everything snapped back to square one.
Elliot’s heart belonged to Phoebe again. He started staying out all night, filled his study with her photos again. Everyone whispered about what a joke Sophie was, but she just smiled quietly and never made a scene.
Because she’d never loved Elliot anyway.
She’d stayed for the money and freedom her parents promised. His love would’ve made things easier, sure, but if he didn’t love her? She really didn’t care.
Nobody knew that Sophie and Isabelle, despite being twins, had completely different lives.
Their mother nearly died giving birth to Sophie. Ever since, she’d looked at Sophie with disgust, and their father–who supposedly adored his wife–treated Sophie like she was cursed.
When Sophie turned five, they shipped her off to live with a nanny’s family in that small coastal town.
She remembered that winter when the heater broke. She shivered in the cold with nothing but thin clothes, while Isabelle was warm in their mansion, wearing expensive cashmere, completely spoiled by their parents.
Eighteen years of that treatment had killed any hope Sophie had for family love.
Now, just one more month and she’d get her thirty million for playing Isabelle these three years. Then she could leave this city and finally live her own life.
Just as she was feeling hopeful, her phone buzzed.
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Elliot.
She took a deep breath and answered. “Hello?”
“Get some tampons to Nightfall Club in twenty minutes.” His voice was ice cold. “The kind for heavy flow.”
He hung up abruptly. Sophie stared at her phone, instantly knowing who they were for.
Elliot knew Phoebe’s cycle better than his own company’s quarterly reports.
Rain was pouring outside. From the Sinclair estate to Nightfall Club was at least a forty–minute drive on a good day.
But Sophie grabbed her umbrella anyway.
Halfway there, traffic came to a complete stop. She checked her watch–twelve minutes left. Gritting her teeth, she abandoned the car
and ran into the rain.
The rain soaked through her clothes instantly. Her heels kept slipping on the wet pavement. She stumbled hard, crashing into a puddle. Her knee screamed with pain.
But she got up and kept running, finally reaching the club with one minute to spare.
Outside the private room, she was about to knock when she heard laughter inside.
“Dude, in this crazy rain, you’re really making your wife deliver that stuff? It’s gotta be at least forty minutes from your place.”
“Phoebe’s in a lot of pain.” Elliot’s voice was casual. “She’ll figure out how to get here.”
“True. Everyone knows your wife is crazy about you. Three years of you being in love with someone else, and she’s still devoted.”
O
Someone else chimed in: “But seriously, Elliot–having a gorgeous woman that devoted to you for three years… didn’t it affect you at
all?”
The room went quiet.
Sophie held her breath and heard Elliot pause for a few seconds before saying:
“No matter what, between Phoebe and her, I’ll always choose Phoebe.”
Those brutal words should have hurt, but Sophie actually felt relieved. She waited for them to finish talking, then knocked.
When she walked in, everyone stared in shock.
“Holy shit, right on time!”
“Sophie, what happened to you? You’re soaked!”
Elliot stood up, frowning. “Why do you look like hell?”
Sophie handed over the carefully protected package. “You said twenty minutes, right? I didn’t want to keep you waiting, so I ditched the car and ran over.”
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She didn’t mention falling or that her knee was throbbing.
Something flickered in Elliot’s eyes. He suddenly took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her. “Put this on.”
Then he pointed to the tampoo in her hand. “Take those to the ladies‘ room.”
Sophie nodded and walked toward the restroom.
When she knocked, she heard Phoebe’s soft voice: “Who is it?”
“Delivery.”
After a few seconds of silence, the door cracked open. Sophie handed over the package and left immediately.
Back home, she took a hot shower. Her knee was killing her.
Lying in bed, thinking about her upcoming freedom, she felt strangely peaceful.
Just as she was drifting off to sleep, her bedroom door exploded open.
Elliot stormed in and grabbed her wrist. “Get up!”
Before Sophie could process what was happening, he dragged her roughly out of bed and toward the stairs.
“Elliot? What are you-”
Before she could finish, a powerful shove sent her backwards. Her head cracked against the steps as she tumbled down the entire
staircase.
Agony shot through her entire body.
She lay crumpled at the bottom, vision blurry, something warm trickling down her forehead.
“Why…” she struggled to sit up, “are you doing this to me?”
Elliot stood at the top of the stairs, backlit and menacing. His voice was deadly cold:
“Did you push Phoebe or not?”
Sophie looked up in confusion. “What?”
“Stop pretending!” He walked down the stairs toward her. “You’ve been playing the understanding wife for months, just waiting for tonight, right? You pushed Phoebe off that balcony. She’s got broken bones all over her body–she almost died!”
“I didn’t…” Sophie shook her head weakly, but the movement made her dizzy from her head injury.
Elliot crouched down and grabbed her chin roughly. “Isabelle, did my kindness these past few years mess with your head? Let me remind you–we’re just a business arrangement. There are no feelings here.”
He leaned close to her ear and spoke slowly: “The love you want from me? You’ll never get it!”
Sophie’s vision was going black from the pain, but suddenly she wanted to laugh.
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Because she’d never wanted his love anyway.
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