Chapter 246
Sophia's POV
My feet carried me toward the wooden railing with terrible inevitability. In that moment, I couldn't see any other way out, and I slammed my head against the banister with desperate force.
The impact sent stars exploding across my vision, but before I could pull back and strike again, his arms locked around me from behind, yanking me back with enough force to knock the air from my lungs. "Don't." His voice was raw, almost panicked. "Don't you fucking dare."
He didn't answer, just lifted me into his arms like I weighed nothing and started up the stairs. I should have fought him. Should have screamed and kicked and made him work for it.
But I was so tired. So completely, bone-deep exhausted that I couldn't even muster the energy to protest.
"What did I do?" The words came out broken, barely audible. "What did I do to deserve this? To deserve you?"
His arms tightened fractionally around me. "You existed," he said quietly. "That was enough."
I let my head fall against his shoulder, tears soaking into his expensive shirt. "This isn't living. This is just... existing in a different kind of hell. What's the point?"
We'd reached the master suite, and he shouldered the door open, carrying me inside. "You want to know the truth?" His voice was rough, almost vulnerable. "Life doesn't have much meaning for me either anymore. Everything's just... hollow. Empty."
He laid me on the bed with surprising gentleness, and I stared up at him through blurry eyes, seeing something raw and broken in his expression that I'd never noticed before.
"But then I see you," he continued, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "Fighting. Suffering. Trapped in the same hell I'm in. And I think—at least I'm not alone in this. At least there's someone else who understands what it's like to be this fucking miserable."
The words horrified me.
"You're sick," I whispered. "You know that, right? A complete fucking psychopath."
"Yeah." He reached out slowly, and rested his hand on my still-flat stomach. "Almost three months now. The baby's the size of a plum."
That touch—so gentle, so proprietary—snapped something inside me back to attention. I shoved his hand away violently, scrambling backward on the bed until my back hit the headboard. "Don't touch me."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't reach for me again. "Sophia—"
"Get out." My voice came out steadier than I felt, cold and final. "Get out of this room. Get out of my sight. I can't—I can't be near you right now."
"You need to rest—"
"I need you to LEAVE!" The words ripped out of me, raw and desperate. "Haven't you taken enough for one day? My job, my freedom, my future—do you need to take my space too? The one room in this entire fucking mansion where I might be able to breathe without feeling your hands around my throat?"
Lucas stood slowly, and for a moment I thought he was actually going to comply. But then he just moved to the armchair by the window, settling into it with the air of someone who had no intention of going anywhere.
"No," he said simply.
"What do you mean, no?" I could hear my voice rising, hysteria creeping in at the edges. "This is my room—"
"This is my house." His tone was matter-of-fact, infuriatingly calm. "Every room in it belongs to me. Including this one. Including you."
"I am not your property—"
"You're carrying my child." He leaned back in the chair, his eyes never leaving my face. "Which means you're my responsibility. And I don't leave my responsibilities unattended when they're in a fragile state."
"Fragile?" I laughed, the sound unhinged even to my own ears. "You think I'm fragile? You just threatened to imprison me, force me to have a baby, and keep me as your secret mistress while you marry someone else. If I'm fragile, it's because you've spent four years systematically breaking me."
"All the more reason I'm not leaving you alone right now." His voice dropped lower, something almost like concern flickering across his features. "You tried to slam your head against the railing—"
"I did NOT—" But even as I protested, I wasn't entirely sure. Those few seconds were a blur of desperation and pain. "I just needed air. Space. Something that wasn't you suffocating me with your control."
"Then consider me your safety net." He crossed his arms, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. "I'm staying, Sophia. You can accept that gracefully, or you can exhaust yourself fighting it. Either way, I'm not leaving this room tonight."
The casual certainty in his voice made me want to scream. Or cry. Or both. "Fine," I said, my voice shaking. "Then I'll leave. I'll sleep in the hallway. The kitchen. The fucking garden if I have to—"
"If you try," he interrupted, his tone still maddeningly calm, "I'll have security escort you back. And then I'll make a phone call."
Something in his voice made my blood run cold. "What phone call?"
"Your parents won't have the chance to be imprisoned in that villa," he said casually, like he was discussing the weather. "I can send them straight to prison right now."
The room tilted, my vision narrowing to a pinpoint. "You wouldn't dare."
"Why would you think I wouldn't dare?" He leaned forward slightly, his elbows on his knees. "I've been patient, Sophia. I've given you time to adjust, space to process. But if you're going to fight me at every turn—if you're going to make this harder than it needs to be—then yes, I'll use every tool at my disposal to ensure your cooperation."
"Cooperation." The word tasted like ash. "You mean obedience. Submission. You want me broken."
"I want you safe." But there was steel beneath the concern. "You and the baby. If that means reminding you what's at stake—what you stand to lose if you keep pushing—then so be it."
My legs gave out, and I sank back against the pillows, all the fight draining out of me like water through a sieve. "My parents are innocent," I whispered, my voice hollow. "Whatever evidence you think you have—it's forged. They would never—"
"Stop defending them." His voice cut through my words like a blade. "They were involved in my family's bankruptcy. The evidence is irrefutable."
"The evidence is FAKE!" The words exploded out of me, desperate and raw. "Someone framed them! They're guilty of nothing except having me as a daughter—that's their only crime. Being cursed with me."
Something flickered across his face—pain, maybe, or regret. But it was gone too quickly to read. "Get some sleep, Sophia. We'll talk more in the morning."
"You're really not going to leave." It wasn't a question anymore.
"No."
I closed my eyes, feeling tears slip down my temples and into my hair. "Then at least stay over there. Don't—don't touch me. I can't handle that right now."
"All right."
The mattress didn't dip. I heard him return to the armchair, heard the faint creak of leather as he settled in. And despite everything—despite the threats and the manipulation and the crushing weight of my captivity—I felt my body beginning to relax.
Not because I felt safe. Not because I'd forgiven him or accepted my fate. But because I was simply too exhausted to maintain the tension anymore. Too drained to keep fighting a battle I'd already lost.
"Their only mistake was having me," I whispered one more time, my voice thick with approaching sleep. "That's all. Just... me."