Andrew had always trusted his instincts. They had served him well in business, in negotiations, in reading people. But when it came to Sophia, that trust had become a tangled knot of emotion, pulling him in opposite directions. He loved her—there was no doubt about that. But the small inconsistencies in her stories, the vague answers, the way she avoided certain topics… it was starting to gnaw at him.
And after his mother's cryptic warnings over dinner last night, that gnawing had turned into something impossible to ignore.
It started with small things.
That morning, Andrew woke earlier than usual, his mind restless. As he made his way to the terrace, he noticed Sophia sitting by the garden fountain, phone pressed to her ear. Her voice was low, urgent. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but something about her posture—rigid, tense—sent a prickle of unease through him.
When she ended the call and noticed him approaching, her entire demeanor changed. She smiled, smoothing down her dress as if nothing had happened.
"Good morning," she said, her voice light.
"Who were you talking to?" he asked casually, though his gaze was sharp.
Sophia hesitated. "Just my wedding planner. She was confirming some last-minute details."
Andrew nodded, but something about her tone felt off. She was good at covering, but he knew her well enough to notice the flicker of unease behind her eyes.
Later that day, while Sophia was out, Andrew found himself in the library, replaying the conversation with Evelyn from the night before.
"You're a smart man, Andrew," Evelyn had said, her voice calm yet firm. "I trust your judgment. But you need to start asking yourself—how well do you really know Sophia?"
Andrew had brushed it off at the time. But now, as he sat alone in the quiet of the library, the doubt took root.
He glanced toward Sophia's desk in the corner of the room. Normally, he would never go through her things. He respected her privacy, her independence. But something inside him urged him forward.
His fingers brushed against a small leather-bound notebook. He hesitated, then flipped it open.
Most of the pages were filled with wedding notes, sketches, and reminders—perfectly normal. But tucked between them, scribbled hastily, was a phrase that sent a cold wave through him:
"We have a problem."
Andrew's grip tightened around the notebook. The words were written with urgency, underlined twice.
A problem? What kind of problem?
And who was she writing to?
That evening, Andrew tried to shake the doubt from his mind. He told himself he was overthinking, letting Evelyn's suspicions get to him. But when he saw Sophia slip away during the Remington family gathering to take another hushed phone call, his stomach twisted.
He followed her this time, keeping a careful distance. She stood in the dimly lit hallway, phone pressed to her ear, speaking in Italian.
"Lo gestirò," she whispered. I'll handle it.
Andrew's breath caught.
Who was she handling? And why did she sound so… desperate?
She ended the call and turned—freezing when she saw him standing there.
"Andrew," she breathed, her smile forced. "I didn't hear you come up."
"Who were you talking to?" he asked, his voice steady.
Sophia hesitated, just for a second.
"My father," she said smoothly. "He wanted to check in about the wedding."
Andrew searched her face. "You seemed… stressed."
She laughed lightly. "You know how he is. He likes to make sure everything is perfect."
Andrew nodded slowly, though the doubt in his chest grew heavier.
The final crack in his trust came two days later.
Andrew had an important meeting downtown and was supposed to be gone all afternoon. But a last-minute cancellation brought him back to the estate earlier than expected. As he walked through the hallway leading to Sophia's room, he heard voices.
One of them was Sophia's. The other was Dante Russo's.
Andrew stopped, heart pounding.
"I'm doing everything I can," Sophia hissed. "But Evelyn is suspicious. And now Andrew—"
Dante's voice was lower, firm. "Then keep him distracted. If he starts asking too many questions, make sure he doesn't find anything."
Andrew felt his blood turn to ice.
Sophia was lying to him.
And worse—she was covering something up.
The voices stopped abruptly, and a moment later, the door opened. Sophia stepped out, freezing when she saw Andrew standing there.
"Andrew," she said quickly, her eyes flickering with panic. "I thought you had your meeting."
Andrew's gaze shifted to Dante, who emerged behind her, adjusting his cufflinks with a smirk.
"Brother-in-law," Dante greeted smoothly. "Nice to see you again."
Andrew ignored him, his eyes locked on Sophia. "What's going on here?"
Sophia's lips parted, but no words came out.
Dante clapped Andrew on the shoulder, chuckling. "Relax. We were just catching up."
Andrew clenched his jaw, his instincts screaming at him. He wasn't a fool—he knew when someone was feeding him a lie.
Sophia reached for his hand, but he took a step back. The distance between them felt suddenly vast.
"I need some air," Andrew said stiffly, turning on his heel.
As he walked away, he heard Dante murmur to Sophia, "You better fix this."
Andrew's fists tightened at his sides.
Fix what?
His entire world had just shifted.
And for the first time, he wondered if he had been in love with a woman he didn't really know at all.