Chapter 247
Sophia's POV
I woke to the sound of a car engine starting in the driveway below.
My eyes cracked open, gritty and swollen from too little sleep and too many tears I'd refused to let fall. The bed beside me was still warm—Lucas had been there, then.
Below, Lucas was sliding into the back of a black SUV, his movements crisp and efficient even at six forty-five in the morning. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching the empty driveway, and tried to decide if I felt relieved or abandoned.
A soft knock at the door interrupted my spiral. Margaret entered a moment later, carrying yet another tray laden with food I wouldn't eat.
"Good morning, Miss Cruz," she said, her tone as professionally warm as ever. "Mr. Reynolds asked that I make sure you came down for breakfast this morning."
I turned from the window, taking in her perfectly pressed uniform, her serene expression, the way she set the tray down as if this were all perfectly normal. As if I weren't a prisoner in this gilded cage.
"He just left," I said flatly.
"Yes. He had an early meeting in the city. But he'll be back this evening."
"Fine," I muttered. "Give me ten minutes."
When I finally made my way downstairs, the first thing I noticed was the guards. Yesterday there had been three stationed around the property. Now there were at least six, positioned like sentries guarding a fortress.
The second thing I noticed was the commotion.
A team of workers in matching uniforms was moving through the house with military precision. They carried rolls of padding, foam corner guards, and industrial-grade safety equipment. The sound of power tools filled the air.
I stopped halfway down the stairs, watching in growing horror as two men wrapped the wooden banister—the same banister I'd tried to throw myself against last night—in thick, quilted fabric.
"What the hell is this?" I asked, my voice cutting through the sounds of drilling.
One of the workers glanced up briefly. "Safety modifications, ma'am. Mr. Reynolds' orders."
I watched as they methodically covered every sharp edge, every hard surface. Other workers were rolling out soft rubber mats to cover the ceramic tile floors. Through an open doorway, I could see another team installing thick padding around the bathroom fixtures.
It was like watching my prison being constructed in real-time, each piece of foam another bar in my cage.
The realization hit me like a physical blow. This wasn't about protecting me. This was about making sure I couldn't finish what I'd started last night. Couldn't crack my skull against marble. Couldn't find any hard surface to end this nightmare.
Every modification was another message from Lucas: You're not going anywhere. You can't hurt yourself. You belong to me now.
"Miss Cruz?" Margaret appeared at my elbow. "Are you all right?"
"Just admiring the renovation," I said, my voice brittle. "Very thorough."
"Mr. Reynolds wanted to ensure your safety and comfort. Pregnancy can make one unsteady on their feet."
That's right, all he cared about was his child. If I was in danger, the child was in danger too.
I followed her into the dining room, stepping around more workers. An elaborate breakfast had been laid out on a table that was now rounded at every corner. My stomach turned.
"I'm not hungry," I said, sinking into one of the high-backed chairs—noting that even these had been fitted with extra cushioning.
"You need to eat," Margaret replied gently. "For the baby."
There it was again. For the baby. Those three words that apparently justified everything—the guards, the padding, the constant surveillance, the complete annihilation of my autonomy.
I picked up a piece of toast and forced myself to take a bite, chewing mechanically while workers passed by carrying more supplies. Each roll of padding felt like another nail in my coffin.
"Margaret," I said carefully. "You don't need to hover. I'm perfectly capable of eating breakfast on my own."
"Mr. Reynolds asked me to stay with you," she replied. "To ensure your safety and comfort."
"Stay with me," I repeated slowly, the implications sinking in. "As in, follow me around all day?"
"Yes, Miss Cruz. Mr. Reynolds was quite clear about his instructions."
I closed my eyes and counted to ten, trying to block out the sound of construction. "That's not necessary. I'll be fine on my own."
"I'm afraid I must insist. Mr. Reynolds was very specific."
Of course he was. Because Lucas didn't do anything halfway. If he was going to imprison me, he was going to make damn sure I had a warden watching my every move.
I shoved my chair back and stood abruptly. "I need some air."
"Of course. Though we should wait until the workers finish with the garden area."
Even my outdoor space was being systematically neutered.
---
An hour later, Margaret finally allowed me outside. The autumn gardens should have been beautiful, but all I could see were the guards. Six of them now, stationed at regular intervals around the perimeter, their eyes constantly scanning.
Margaret gestured toward a stone bench beneath an oak tree. "The sunlight and fresh air are excellent for reducing stress. Very good for the baby's development."
I almost laughed. Stress reduction. As if a little vitamin D could fix the fact that I was being held prisoner by the father of my unborn child.
But I sat anyway, because what else was I going to do? Run? With six guards and Margaret watching my every move? Even if I somehow made it past them, where would I go? Lucas had made it brutally clear what would happen to my parents if I tried to leave.
I pulled out my phone, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
I should call someone. A lawyer. The police. Someone who could help me escape this nightmare.
But what would I even say? That my billionaire ex-boyfriend had gotten me pregnant and was now keeping me in a mansion against my will? They'd think I was lying. Or crazy. And even if they believed me, Lucas would make one phone call, and my parents would be in handcuffs within the hour.
I opened WhatsApp instead, my thumb hovering over Lucas's name. I'd sworn I wouldn't beg him again. But if there was even the smallest chance I could make him see reason about my parents, I had to try.
I typed quickly, before I could second-guess myself.
[What I said last night was true. My parents had nothing to do with your family's bankruptcy. Please. Just investigate it. That's all I'm asking.]
I hit send and watched the message turn to double check marks. Read. But no response came.
I shoved the phone back into my pocket and stared out at the gardens, at the guards, at the high stone walls that surrounded this beautiful prison.
"How long are you planning to follow me around?" I asked, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.
"As long as Mr. Reynolds deems it necessary, Miss Cruz."
I laughed bitterly. "So what, the next six months? You're just going to shadow me every second of every day?"
"If that's what's required to keep you and the baby safe, then yes."
Safe. There was that word again, twisted beyond all recognition.
I stood abruptly, ignoring the way Margaret tensed. "I want to go back inside."
She followed me back through the French doors, up the now-padded stairs, down the foam-wrapped hallway. I could hear the workers still at work above us, the steady rhythm of their modifications a constant reminder that my world was being reshaped without my consent.
When I entered my room and tried to close the door, she remained in the doorway, her expression apologetic but firm.
"I'll be right outside if you need anything," she said.
I didn't bother responding. I just shut the door in her face and sank onto the bed, my hands shaking with impotent rage. Through the window, I could see more workers in the garden, putting the finishing touches on their safety modifications.
Every piece of padding, every rounded corner, every soft surface was a reminder that Lucas owned me now. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.