Sunday morning. The Blackmores' yacht. Sofia.
The sea is calm today—as if pretending. Light slides softly over the lacquered surfaces, silvers the cutlery, plays in the glassware. I sit at the table across from André Cortland, my fiancé, and lazily watch the staff set the dishes. Everything is precise. Everything is under control. Even the wind blows the right way.
André eats breakfast with appetite, trying to look relaxed. I notice the small things: how he avoids holding my gaze for more than a couple of seconds, how carefully—too carefully—he uses his napkin. Habits betray more than words ever do.
A mediocre lover, I note without malice, almost professionally. I've had better.
But he is rich. Handsome. And—most importantly—obedient.
And the obedient can always be trained.
"It was a beautiful night," I say aloud, letting my voice dip a little lower, a little warmer. "I'm very happy we've grown closer."
I look at him over the rim of my cup. He smiles—wide, proper.
"You're beautiful, Sofia. You're the best girl in the world."
A cliché.
Another one.
You little liar, I smile to myself. Pretty words, no taste.
I set my fork down and lean forward just enough for him to notice.
"Now all that's left," I say calmly, "is to set a wedding date and announce it to our parents."
He almost chokes. I catch the moment—his eyes widening, the micro-pause, as if his mind lags behind the words.
"I completely agree with you, my dear Sofia," he replies too quickly, wiping his mouth with the napkin. "There's no reason to delay the wedding."
The napkin trembles. Just slightly.
It's fine, I think with satisfaction. I'll train you.
A childhood memory surfaces: how I used to drive my parents to the brink and then look at them with innocent eyes, as if I had nothing to do with it. I always knew—power loves silence and a smile.
"My beautiful Sofia," André says ingratiatingly, "I'm very happy about our date. But I need to share this good news with my parents."
He stands. "Allow me to take my leave. Our next meeting will be very soon."
"Yes, André," I answer softly. "Make your parents happy with our decision. The date was wonderful. I'll be waiting for our next meeting with great anticipation, my love."
I step closer. We kiss—carefully, publicly, as future spouses should. His lips are tense. Mine are not.
He leaves.
I go out onto the deck and stand there smiling, waving until his red convertible disappears from the pier. The wind plays with my hair, the sun warms my shoulders. I feel perfectly in my place.
Don't worry, André, I think calmly. You may be spoiled by your pretty girls from the Angel Club.
But I'll cure you of wandering.
You'll walk like a soldier.
And breathe—on my command.
I smile at the sea.
And I know: this morning is only a prologue.
**
I press the gas pedal—and the city blurs.
Traffic lights, palm trees, signs, people—everything dissolves into background noise for one single feeling.
Anger.
Only now, alone in the car, do I let my jaw clamp so hard my teeth ache.
Well played, Dad.
Edward, you really set me up with Sofia.
I see her in my mind—her perfect smile, that sticky concern, the sugary control. The thought makes something inside me seize.
"This is going to end badly," I exhale aloud. "Very badly."
There must not be a wedding.
There's only one question: how do I get out alive?
I take a sharp turn and almost instinctively drive to the one place where I can still breathe.
The Angel Club.
By day it's closed, silent, like a predator lying low before nightfall. But I know Christian is inside.
Which means it's not over yet.
**
Christian's Office
I step inside—and for the first time all morning, the tension eases, just a little.
"You're back, my friend!" Christian jumps up from his chair with genuine delight. "So? Tell me. How did the date go?"
I drop into the chair across from him, like shedding armor.
Without a word, Christian pours two glasses of non-alcoholic lemonade over ice, slips in straws, and hands me one.
"Thanks," I mutter.
He studies me closely.
"I can tell—you're really unhappy about something."
"That Sofia…" I take a sip. "She's a spoiled psychopath."
A pause.
"I honestly think she enjoys tormenting people."
Christian freezes—then bursts out laughing.
"That bad, huh?"
"She wants to set the wedding date!" I nearly jump to my feet. "My parents will be thrilled. They'll sell me into slavery and thank her for the opportunity!"
"And you, of course, have no idea how to defend yourself," Christian smirks.
I look at him almost pleadingly.
"Christian… brother. How do I survive this?"
He leans back in his chair, growing serious.
"What bothers me most is your father. His obsession with this marriage."
He narrows his eyes.
"Why is he clinging to it so desperately, even if it makes you miserable?"
I say nothing.
"Maybe," Christian continues, "you should actually fall in love. For real. And tell your father about it. He might back off."
"I don't know…" I run a hand through my hair. "He rejects every girl I date."
A pause.
"He even rejected Isabella. By the way… how is she?"
Christian looks at me carefully.
"Isabella's fine, André. She's with Kaiden Starkwell now."
"What?!" I nearly choke. "He's… ancient!"
"Love knows no age," Christian shrugs.
Something clicks unpleasantly in my chest.
"How could she trade me for an old man?"
"Did you forget something, André?" he says calmly. "You're the one who walked away from her."
Silence. And then—
Laughter.
I don't even understand how it escapes me.
"What are you laughing at?" Christian asks, surprised.
"Do you remember…" I look up, "…Victoria Montreux. The freshman. Dancing."
Christian blinks—and starts laughing too.
"Ohhh. That one. And her two admirers… and those two idiot 'waiters' with trays!"
"Exactly!" I laugh for real now. "But look how many men circle around her…"
Christian suddenly goes still.
"By the way," he says slowly, "she gave me her number. To 'save' those waiters."
I tense.
"And?"
He leans in, lowering his voice.
"Listen. I'll introduce Victoria to your father as my friend."
A pause.
"And you'll hire her as your assistant at the firm. Internship. Experience. All official."
He smiles.
"And then… who knows? Maybe something sparks between you. And goodbye, Sofia and the wedding."
I stare at him for a few seconds.
And then something clicks inside me.
"Brilliant," I breathe.
My heart starts beating faster—not with fear, but with hope.
"Call her, Christian. Now."
And for the first time today, I think—
maybe there really is a way out.