Chapter 217
Chapter 217
Sophia
My phone vibrated against the conference table, Blake's name lighting up the screen. I hesitated, still reeling from the conversation with Alex. His words—"I don't regret it. Not for a second"—hung in the air like a ghost between us.
"I should take this," I murmured, grateful for the escape. Alex nodded and gathered his papers, giving me privacy as he slipped out of the conference room.
"Hey," I answered, trying to sound normal, like I hadn't just had the most awkward confrontation with my business partner about our drunken mistake. My heart was still racing, trapped somewhere between guilt and a fucked-up nostalgia I had no right to feel.
"Hi, babe. Is Alex with you?" Blake's voice carried that subtle edge I'd come to recognize—suspicion wrapped in casual inquiry.
My grip tightened around the phone, knuckles whitening. The implication in his tone sent a flash of heat up my neck. "He just left. Why?" I bit my tongue to keep from adding what the actual fuck does it matter?
"Just wondering." The pause that followed was loaded. "You two have been working late a lot lately."
I pinched the bridge of my nose so hard it hurt. A headache was forming behind my eyes, pulsing with each beat of my increasingly pissed-off heart. "Are you seriously doing this right now? You're what—checking up on me?" My voice trembled with the effort of not shouting.
"I'm concerned, Sophia. The way he looks at you—"
"Oh my God." I cut him off, anger flaring hot and quick like lighter fluid on charcoal. "Is this an interrogation? Because it feels like one. Do you want me to provide fucking alibis for my whereabouts now?"
"That's not—" Blake sighed heavily. "Look, I was calling about dinner tonight."
"What about it?" I started gathering my own papers, shoving them into my leather portfolio with more force than necessary. A page tore, and I muttered "Shit" under my breath.
"I need to cancel. The CFO wants to meet. It's important."
Of course it is. More important than the family dinner we've been planning all week. More important than your children. More important than me. I swallowed my disappointment, which tasted bitter and familiar on my tongue. "Fine."
"You're upset."
"No, I'm thrilled that you're canceling our plans again. Absolutely fucking ecstatic." The sarcasm dripped from my voice like poison.
"Sophia..."
"It's fine, Blake. Really. The girls will understand. They always do." I knew I was being petty, but I couldn't help myself. This was the third time this week he'd chosen work over family. My chest felt tight, like someone was sitting on it. "They're getting pretty good at disappointment these days."
"I'll make it up to you all, I promise."
"Sure." I ended the call and slammed my phone down on the table. The sound echoed in the empty conference room. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. I wanted to scream, to throw something, to make a mess as big as the one forming in my life.
Juliana's words from the park came flooding back: "When the choice comes—and it will come—between you and the empire his father built, don't be surprised when he chooses the legacy."
Damn her for being right. The worst part wasn't her smugness—it was watching her prediction unfold in real time, like some slow-motion car crash I couldn't stop.
---
"No! I don't like this sauce!"Lily pushed his plate away, his little face scrunched in disgust.
"It's the same sauce I always make," I said, trying to keep my voice even as I set plates in front of Emma and Lily. Elizabeth had prepared dinner before heading out to her book club, leaving me to manage two hungry, cranky children alone.
"It looks funny," Emma said, poking at her pasta with suspicion.
Lily, my ever-loyal daughter, took a brave bite, then wrinkled her nose. "It tastes funny too, Mommy."
I closed my eyes and counted to five, then ten when five wasn't enough. Don't snap at them. This isn't their fault. Blake is the asshole who should be here helping. "Elizabeth made it exactly how I make it."
Under normal circumstances, this would have been a compliment. Tonight, it was the last goddamn straw. I checked my watch—Blake was already an hour late. No call. No text.
"Fine," I sighed, gathering their plates. The weight of the day pressed down on my shoulders like concrete blocks. "Who wants to do homework while I figure something else out?"
"I finished mine at school," Lily announced proudly.
"Me too," Emma chimed in.
Jesus Christ, give me strength. "Okay, buddy. Let's set you up at the kitchen table. Girls, can you please go upstairs and get your pajamas ready for after bath time?"
"Hi, I'm calling about Jasper Sterling," I said when the nurse answered. "I just wanted to check on him."
"He's doing well, Ms. Green. He ate all his dinner and we've just settled him in bed." The nurse's kind voice provided a small moment of relief.
"Has his father been by today?" I asked, already knowing the answer, my stomach twisting into an angry knot.
"No, not today."
That lying son of a bitch. My chest burned with betrayal. Blake had told me he would stop by the hospital before coming home. Another lie piled on the mountain of broken promises. I thanked the nurse and hung up, leaning against the wall as exhaustion swept over me, so heavy I could have slid to the floor.
Bath time. I needed to get their baths ready before Blake got home—if he ever did.
---
"Can we eat these in bed?" Lily asked, holding her peanut butter and jelly sandwich with both hands, her blue eyes—so much like her father's—wide with hope.
After the pasta fiasco, I'd given in and made sandwiches. It wasn't nutritionally balanced, but at this point, I just needed them fed and happy. Screw the food pyramid tonight. At least they're eating something.
"Please?" Emma added. "We'll be super careful."
What the hell. Rules could take a night off. My mental reservoir of fucks to give had run completely dry.
"Just this once," I conceded, feeling a tiny spark of rebellion against my own strict standards. "Bring your plates back down when you're done."
Two pairs of eyes widened in surprise. Mom was breaking the rules. I'd probably regret this when I found jelly-stained sheets, but the grateful smiles were worth it. Sometimes being the cool mom feels pretty damn good.
After they trooped upstairs, I surveyed the kitchen disaster—pasta sauce splattered on the stovetop, peanut butter knife abandoned on the counter, jelly jar left open. I cleaned methodically, finding strange comfort in the mundane task. With each swipe of the sponge, I imagined scrubbing away my frustration, my disappointment, my worry about what was happening to my family.
Three hours late. That's how long it took Blake to finally walk through the door. I was sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through email on my laptop, when I heard his key in the lock. My heart did that stupid little jump it always did when he appeared, and I hated myself for it.
He looked exhausted, his tie loosened and hair mussed like he'd been running his hands through it all day. The sight of him still made my heart skip, despite everything. Damn my traitorous heart.
"Hey," he said softly. "I'm sorry I'm so late."
I closed my laptop with a soft click, tamping down the urge to slam it shut. "The girls are already asleep." My voice was steady, but inside I was screaming: They asked about you. They waited for you. I had to tell them Daddy was too busy. Again.
Guilt flashed across his face. "Shit. I feel terrible."
"This is exactly what I was afraid would happen, Blake." I kept my voice low, conscious of the children upstairs, though what I really wanted was to unleash holy hell on him. "You taking on your father's company—it's already changing things."
He dropped his briefcase and crossed to me, taking my hands in his. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just temporary while we sort through the transition." His thumbs traced circles on my palms. "I'll make it up to you. To all of you."
I wanted to believe him. I really did. But the tight knot in my stomach told me otherwise. How many times had my own father made the same empty promises to my mother? I've seen this movie before, and I know how it ends.
"Elizabeth left dinner for you," I said, pulling away to retrieve the covered plate from the refrigerator. "The kids hated it, by the way. I ended up making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches."
Blake chuckled as he loosened his tie further. "Tough crowd."
"How was your meeting with the CFO?" I asked, placing the plate in the microwave. My voice was casual, but my heart pounded as I set the trap.