Chapter 9

Sophia’s POV

My heart was still racing, but I pulled myself together and left the restroom. Before I reached the table, I heard my name, sharp and clear in the air.

"If you wanted to marry Ria, why haven’t you divorced her yet? Why haven't you given her daughter back to her? Let her go and be free. Stop being so stubborn." I knew Grandma only pretended to care. Behind my back, she always sided with Dominic. She had never been a fan of our marriage, not even from the start. I couldn’t help but wonder, how would he explain that he married me just for Ria.

"Dad doesn’t want me marrying Ria under any circumstances... what does it matter if it's someone else? And she’s my daughter; I’m not giving her up. I’ve got a nanny for her, she’s fine. Once Ria accepts her as her daughter, I will let her go." His words hit me like a slap.

I felt a pang in my chest. Just minutes ago, he had treated me with so much care. The thought of it brought tears to my eyes. To him, I was just "anyone." If it wasn’t Ria, what difference would it make who he was with? I was just a placeholder in his life, easily replaced.

The weight of it all pressed down on me, and I stumbled out of the restaurant, tears flowing freely. I found a seat outside, letting the grief take over.

"Ma’am... why are you crying?" The driver’s gentle voice made me look up. I wiped my eyes and forced a smile, trying to regain some composure.

"It’s nothing..." I whispered, sniffling. "Could you take me home?"

"I’ll ask Sir," the driver replied, pulling out his phone to call Dominic. I nodded, feeling that familiar lump in my throat. Once the driver confirmed, I climbed into the car, hoping the ride would be quick.

But just a few minutes later, the car door opened. I opened my eyes to see Dominic sitting beside me.

I quickly turned away, not wanting to look at him. As the car started moving, Dominic didn’t waste any time. 

"You just left dinner without a word. Do you know how embarrassing that was in front of Grandma? Now you have to call and apologize. Got it?"

I stayed silent, feeling a lump in my throat. Part of me wanted to ask him why, after a year, no one even bothered to ask about me. But I kept quiet, knowing there was no point.

"What did that kiss even mean?" I asked, my voice shaking with curiosity and a hint of frustration, turning to face him. He looked at me with a half-smile, but his eyes were sharp. 

"Don’t play innocent. You started this game by jerking my hand away. I just reacted to your move." His teeth clenched as he spoke. I couldn’t let it go. 

"Are you spying on me?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. He glanced at me, clearly unfazed. 

"I don’t have time for that," he said, shrugging like it was no big deal.

"So how did you manage to show up at my friend’s house today, then?" I fired back, unwilling to let the mystery go unanswered.

His expression didn’t change, but I could feel him getting irritated. Of course, he knew. He always knew, but he’d never tell me. He was too secretive—too distant. Instead, he leaned back in the seat, eyes closing as if my questions were nothing more than background noise.

I kept asking, but he didn’t respond. Eventually, I stopped and turned away, frustration building in my chest.

Suddenly, I found something he pushed into my lap.

"What’s this?" I asked, my voice laced with curiosity.

"See for yourself," he said, his tone much more serious now. I ripped open the bag and pulled out the purse—brand new, part of a collection that hadn’t even hit the market yet. The price tag caught my eye, and my breath caught in my throat. The purse was worth two million dollars. My heart skipped a beat. I couldn’t even process the numbers on the price tag.

"Who’s this for?" I asked, still processing what was happening.

"Who else could it be for? For you." He shot back, keeping my tone casual, though I was far from calm inside. I stared at him, stunned. 

"Me? For me?" My voice held a surprise.

"You’re acting like I’ve never given you a gift before," He said, trying to keep the conversation light, but I knew what I was getting at.

"Given? Only when I asked for them." My words were bitter like he couldn’t quite shake off the resentment. I was always asking for something—whether it was for my birthday, party, or some business success. But even though he’d given me things, I never felt like he really gave them to me, like they were out of obligation, not love.

I couldn't deny it: the gifts always felt empty. But to him, I was just a gold-digger, a woman who asked too much. 

"Yeah, given… but only because I wanted this time," he muttered, sarcasm dripping from his words. I couldn’t hold back. 

I placed the wallet back in the bag, keeping it close to him. I knew then—this wasn’t about the purse. It was about something deeper, something we couldn’t quite touch. But for now, we’d both pretend it was just about the things we gave each other.

"Well... I can’t keep it now..." My words hit him like a jolt, leaving him frozen in shock.