Sophia stood in front of the gilded mirror in her temporary guest suite, wearing a pale blue silk robe that wasn't hers. Nothing in this penthouse suite was hers. Not the lavish four-poster bed. Not the gleaming chandeliers. Not even the view of the city glittering beneath her feet.
Everything belonged to the Davis family now.
Including her.
She tried not to look at the reflection of her own eyes—red-rimmed, glassy, lost. The girl who once believed in love was gone. The girl who used to hum softly while brushing her hair, the one who believed Lucas would be her forever, had vanished the moment her pen touched the marriage contract.
She was marrying a man who looked at her like she was just another transaction. A man who knew about her baby and still wanted to claim her—not out of affection, but out of necessity.
A knock echoed on the door.
Sophia stiffened.
"Yes?" she said, her voice barely rising above a whisper.
The door opened before she could stop it, and Celine, Mason's sharply dressed personal assistant, stepped in with the confidence of someone who had walked this path a thousand times.
"Miss Rodriguez," Celine said, her lips curving into a businesslike smile. "Correction: Mrs. Davis. Mason wants you ready in thirty minutes. You'll be attending a formal dinner at the Davis estate tonight. Family only. Black tie."
"Tonight?" Sophia blinked. "But the wedding—he said it was in seventy-two hours."
"This is pre-wedding," Celine replied coolly. "A courtesy to the family. The press hasn't been informed yet. Mr. Davis wants to control the narrative."
Sophia's heart pounded.
Control.
Everything about Mason was that word. Calculated, organized, immaculately presented. Even this dinner was a performance.
She touched her stomach. Lucas's child. Still silent. Still hidden.
She didn't want to go.
She wasn't ready.
But she nodded, because she didn't have a choice.
Thirty minutes later, she was standing in a black satin gown that clung to her curves and highlighted the gentle slope of her stomach. It wasn't visible yet. But it would be, soon.
Her makeup was soft, understated. Her hair swept up in elegant waves. She looked… rich. Important. Like someone who belonged.
But she didn't feel it.
The car ride to the Davis estate was silent. Mason hadn't spoken a word since she stepped into the backseat beside him.
She peeked at him through her lashes.
He looked like stone.
Flawless. Dangerous. Untouchable.
She swallowed the words threatening to rise in her throat. Thank you. I'm scared. Please say something.
But she said none of them.
He didn't speak until the car pulled up in front of the massive white-columned mansion surrounded by manicured hedges and an ocean view that seemed almost unreal.
"You'll speak when spoken to," he said flatly. "Smile. Be charming. Don't mention the baby."
Sophia's heart shattered a little more. "Do they know?"
"Only my mother suspects," he said, not looking at her. "And she'll destroy you if she finds out. So no mistakes tonight."
She turned her face to the window, blinking back tears.
So this was her life now.
Not a wife. Not a lover.
A secret.
A walking lie.
Inside the mansion, everything smelled like power. Marble floors, sweeping staircases, glistening chandeliers. People didn't walk in the Davis home—they glided. And they all turned to stare at her.
Mason's younger sister, Celeste, was the first to approach. Tall, blonde, and dripping in designer labels, she gave Sophia a tight smile that didn't reach her cold green eyes.
"So you're the bride," Celeste said, sipping her wine. "I expected someone... older. More experienced. Less desperate."
Sophia blinked.
She didn't even try to pretend. "Nice to meet you too."
Mason appeared beside her like a shadow. His hand slipped possessively around her waist—chilling and commanding.
"She's my wife, Celeste," he said quietly. "I'd choose your words more carefully."
Celeste arched a brow and walked away, tossing her golden curls like the world belonged to her.
Mason's hand lingered at Sophia's waist even after she left. It was the first time he'd touched her willingly.
"Are you always this polite?" Sophia whispered bitterly.
"I'm protecting my asset," he replied without blinking. "Nothing more."
Sophia flinched.
"You don't have to remind me what I am," she said.
He finally turned to her, his eyes sharp. "Maybe I do. So you don't forget."
Her lip trembled, but she refused to cry in front of him.
Not again.
Dinner was worse than she imagined. The table stretched like something from a royal banquet. At the head sat Diana Davis, the matriarch. Immaculate. Regal. Cruel.
She barely acknowledged Sophia's presence.
"So," Diana said at last, her voice low and silken, "you'll be married within the week. And the child?"
Sophia froze.
Mason didn't.
"It's not public knowledge yet," he said smoothly. "And we'd like to keep it that way."
Diana's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. "How convenient."
No one else at the table dared speak. Not even Mason's younger cousins or the snide uncles who whispered behind their wine glasses.
Sophia sat in silence, chewing food she couldn't taste, pretending she belonged.
But when Diana excused herself and the room finally cleared, Mason led her to the hallway and didn't say a word until they were alone.
"You did well," he said simply.
"I felt like I was walking through a minefield," Sophia replied, exhausted.
"You were."
He turned to walk away, but her voice stopped him.
"Mason."
He looked back, his expression unreadable.
She hesitated. "Why me? Really. You could've had any woman fake this marriage. Why choose the one pregnant with your brother's child?"
A long pause.
Then, finally, his eyes softened—but only for a second.
"Because I don't fake things, Sophia. I fix them. And you're the mess I have to fix."
She stared at him.
"And if I become more than just a mess?"
He turned away again.
"That's not part of the contract."
And just like that, he walked away, leaving her in the cold glow of the chandeliered hallway.
Sophia stood alone in the silence, the echo of his footsteps retreating like the final word in a story she hadn't written.
But she was no longer the naïve girl waiting for Lucas.
She was a woman learning how to survive a cold war in high heels and silence.
And somewhere deep inside her chest…
That flicker of fight was still burning.