Chapter 11

Sophia’s POV:

It had been a restless night. Sleep had eluded me, and by morning's arrival, I felt drained, my eyes heavy and mind clouded. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to shake the grogginess. 

Then it hit me—Dominic. I sat upright, suddenly wide awake. Without thinking twice, I grabbed my phone and dialed his number. Once. Twice. The line rang, the glowing screen taunting me with every unanswered call. 

Finally, he picked up. 

"What’s the matter?" His voice was cold, detached—just like always. No pleasantries, no acknowledgment that I even existed as his wife. 

Typical Dominic. I rolled my eyes, muttering under my breath, “Was this man born bitter, or did life just feed him a steady diet of misery?”

"I want a divorce," I said, my words sharp and deliberate, leaving no room for ambiguity. 

There was a pause, a heavy silence that hung between us. Then, in the same careless tone, he replied, "How much should I give?" 

"As you want," I shot back, matching his indifference with my own. 

"Found a new goat to slaughter for you and your father?"  I felt it—his reaction. My words had struck a nerve. His voice dropped, turning colder, laced with sarcasm.

"What?" I blinked, stunned. How dare he? He continued, unbothered by my outrage.

"I wasn’t going to divorce you, no matter how much nonsense you keep posting on social media." 

Social media? What was he even talking about? 

Before I could ask, he hung up, leaving me fuming. My mind raced, replaying his words. “What nonsense?” My phone buzzed in my hand, and I glanced at the screen. His remark pushed me to open my accounts. 

There it was—a tweet trending with my name and Dominic’s plastered all over it. The words stung, even though I had no idea who had written them: "Dominic Damien is a horrible husband—chatting up Ria while ignoring his wife’s demand for divorce." The post painted me as a helpless victim and Dominic as an unrepentant monster. It had gone viral, with comments and shares in the millions. 

My heart sank as realization dawned. This divorce conversation was between me and Dominic. How did it get out? I felt a surge of panic. Oh no... Dad. If he sees this, he won’t let it go.

I buried my face in my hands, the weight of it all crushing me. My phone vibrated again. I glanced down, and my worst fears were confirmed—Dad was calling. 

My stomach twisted in knots. I couldn’t face him, not yet. Ignoring the call, I jumped out of bed and got dressed in record time. 

"Where are you going?" Farha called from the living room. She was hunched over on the couch, clutching her stomach, likely from eating too much spicy food the night before. 

I tied my ponytail quickly and grabbed my bag. "I just need to take care of something," I said hastily, hoping she wouldn’t ask more questions. 

But my mind was already elsewhere, spinning with dread. How had things spiraled so out of control so quickly? I had no answers, only a growing sense of unease and the knowledge that I needed to act before it got worse. 

I was out the door before Farha could ask more questions. “I’ll come and tell you later,” I said quickly, brushing off her concerned look as I flagged down a taxi. My heart was pounding, and my thoughts were a chaotic mess. 

The ride to Dominic’s office felt longer than it should have. The city blurred past me, but all I could think about was the phone call—the way he’d denied knowing me. My fists clenched at the memory of his cold, dismissive tone. 

When the taxi pulled up in front of his building, I didn’t hesitate. I stepped into the grand lobby, where everything screamed wealth and power. It was the kind of place I never felt I belonged, and now, I was about to confront the man who made me feel that way. 

“Hello, ma’am. How can I help you?” The receptionist greeted me with a professional smile. 

“I need to see Dominic Damien. Right now,” I said, my voice urgent and slightly breathless from rushing. The receptionist blinked, her smile unwavering but her tone skeptical.

“Do you have an appointment?” 

“No, but—” 

“Then I’m sorry, ma’am. We can’t let you meet him without an appointment.” Her words were polite, but the underlying dismissal was clear.  I straightened my back and said firmly,

“I’m Mrs. Dominic Damien. His wife. Call him and tell him Sophia is here.” 

For a moment, I thought the declaration would work. But then she gave me a look—one I recognized as disbelief—and said,

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Sir is in a meeting, and we can’t disturb him. You’ll need to schedule an appointment.”  It was clear she didn’t believe me. Dominic’s world was filled with people desperate for his attention. Women, in particular, clamored for even a moment with him, and here I was, just another name to add to the list. 

Frustration bubbled to the surface. “I said I’m his wife!” My voice was louder now, and heads in the lobby turned.  The receptionist raised an eyebrow, still unimpressed.

“I understand, ma’am, but sir’s instructions are clear—no disturbances during meetings.”  I exhaled sharply, my patience thinning.

“Please. Just call him. Tell him it’s Sophia. He’ll know.”  She hesitated before finally picking up the phone. “Hello, sir. Good morning. There’s a woman here named Sophia. She says she’s your wife and insists on meeting you. Should I let her through?”  The seconds stretched painfully as I waited for his response. 

“I don’t know any Sophia,” Dominic’s voice came through the speaker, cold and dismissive.  The receptionist hung up and turned back to me with a sympathetic but firm expression.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but sir says he doesn’t know you.” For a moment, the words didn’t register. But then the weight of them hit me, and I felt my face flush with anger and humiliation. My fists clenched tightly at my sides as I fought to keep my composure. 

Before I could respond, my phone vibrated in my bag. Without looking, I knew who it was—my father. The panic in my chest tightened. I ignored the call and took a deep breath. 

“Okay,” I muttered to myself. “If the straight path isn’t working, it’s time to bend the rules.” 

I dialed Dominic’s secretary, but she didn’t answer. Typical. My lips pressed into a thin line.

“Fine, Dominic Damien. You forced me to do this.”