Chapter 235
Sophia's POV
The hotel lobby felt like it was closing in around me. The marble floors gleamed under the chandelier light, reflecting distorted versions of the three of us—Lucas in the middle, Claire clinging to his arm like she owned him, and me trailing behind like some discarded accessory.
My chest tightened as Claire's words echoed in my head: "We're getting married in three months, after all. It's not like we haven't shared a bed before."
I wanted to throw up. Not from the pregnancy—though that didn't help—but from the sheer humiliation of it all. Here I was, the secret mistress, watching the "real" woman stake her claim while Lucas just... let it happen.
Lucas turned toward the front desk. "I need to cancel a reservation," he said to the receptionist, his voice smooth but clipped.
The young woman behind the counter looked up, her professional smile faltering slightly as she took in the three of us. "Of course, monsieur. Which room?"
"412," Lucas said.
Claire's grip on his arm tightened. "Wait—why are you canceling? I thought you were staying here for the whole week?"
"I am," Lucas said, his tone dismissive. "But I need to rebook."
"Rebook?" Claire's voice rose slightly. She lowered it, but the edge remained. "Lucas, what's going on?"
"Change of plans," he said curtly.
Claire's eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, she turned to look at me. Her gaze raked over me—my wrinkled blouse, my hastily tied hair, the dark circles under my eyes.
I felt my cheeks flush, and I hated myself for it. I forced myself to meet her stare, lifting my chin slightly. You don't get to make me feel small.
But Claire just smiled—sharp and knowing—and turned back to Lucas.
The receptionist cleared her throat. "Shall I proceed with the cancellation, monsieur?"
"Yes," Lucas said. "And I'll need two new rooms. Preferably on the same floor."
Two rooms.
The words hit me like a slap. So that was it. Claire was staying.
The receptionist nodded, her fingers flying across the keyboard. I saw the way her eyes flicked between Lucas and me, then to Claire. I saw the moment her expression shifted—from polite professionalism to something colder, more judgmental.
"I have two suites available on the fifth floor. Will that be acceptable?"
"Fine," Lucas said.
The receptionist printed out the new key cards. Lucas took one and handed it to Claire, then took the second and turned to me.
For a moment, our eyes met. His were unreadable—dark, guarded, giving nothing away. He held out the key card. I reached for it, my fingers brushing his for the briefest second.
The receptionist's gaze followed the exchange. When I glanced at her, she was looking at me with thinly veiled contempt. She slid the card toward me with a flick of her wrist—like she was handing trash to a garbage collector.
I took it without a word, my face burning.
"Merci," Lucas said. He turned to Claire, his hand settling on the small of her back. "Shall we?"
They walked away together, leaving me standing at the counter. The receptionist was still watching me, her expression smug and disdainful.
I just turned and walked away, my heels clicking against the marble floor. Each step felt heavier than the last.
---
The next morning, I woke to a text from Lucas.
Lucas: Client meeting at 10. Be ready by 9:30.
I dragged myself into the shower, then pulled on a navy sheath dress with low heels. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a stranger—pale, hollow-eyed, but passably put-together.
At 9:30 sharp, I stepped into the hallway. Lucas was already there, leaning against the wall. He looked me over, his gaze clinical.
"You'll do," he said.
Before I could respond, Claire's door opened. She stepped out in a powder-blue dress that hugged her curves perfectly, her hair falling in perfect waves. She looked like she'd just walked off a runway.
"Lucas!" she said brightly, looping her arm through his. "I'm coming with you."
Lucas's jaw tightened. "Claire, this is a business meeting. It's going to be boring."
"I don't care," she said, her voice sweet but firm. "I want to be part of your life, Lucas. All of it. Isn't that what marriage is about?"
I saw the muscle in his jaw twitch. For a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he sighed. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
Claire's smile widened. She glanced at me, her eyes glittering with triumph. "This will be fun."
The three of us rode down to the lobby in silence. Claire kept up a steady stream of chatter about galleries and restaurants while Lucas nodded along, tension visible in his shoulders.
The car was waiting outside—a sleek black sedan. Lucas opened the back door for Claire, who slid across the seat. "Sophia, you can sit up front."
I climbed into the passenger seat, hands folded tightly in my lap. The driver pulled away, and I stared out the window, watching Paris blur past.
The client meeting was at a high-rise office building. We rode the elevator up to the fifteenth floor, Claire still chattering away, oblivious to the way Lucas's expression grew darker.
When the elevator doors opened, we stepped into a sleek reception area. A man in his fifties stood waiting, his suit immaculate, his smile warm.
"Monsieur Reynolds," he said, extending a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Lucas shook it. "Likewise. This is my fiancée, Claire White, and my secretary, Sophia Cruze."
The man's attention shifted to me. "And this must be Madame Reynolds? I was expecting to meet your wife today."
I froze.
Beside me, I felt Claire go rigid. Her head whipped toward Lucas, her eyes blazing.