POV: Sophie
Seven years ago, a car crash stole my baby, my future, and the man I loved.
When I had nowhere left to go, billionaire Andrew Croft opened his mansion and called me precious.
He dressed me in silk, locked diamonds around my throat, and promised no one would ever hurt me again.
By the time he proposed, everyone believed I had been rescued.
So did I—until Andrew hired my ex, Julian Vance, to photograph our engagement.
Andrew ordered me into a freezing spring pool in a six-thousand-dollar gown.
When the soaked dress dragged me under, Julian jumped in with his boots on and hauled me back to air.
Andrew shattered a mug of hot chocolate beside Julian's hand.
"That's not the response of a professional photographer."
"She was drowning."
"You're still in love with her."
"I didn't know she was marrying you."
"I did—and that's why I hired you."
***
The necklace was cold against my collarbone.
Andrew's fingers brushed the nape of my neck as he fastened the clasp. I watched him in the mirror—that tight smile, those calculating eyes scanning my reflection like I was merchandise he'd already purchased.
"Perfect," he murmured, his lips grazing my ear. "You're going to be a beautiful fucking wife, Sophie. Every man in that ballroom will want to be me."
The diamonds glittered beneath the vanity lights. Beautiful. Heavy. Like a collar.
I tilted my head, letting the gems catch the light. "They're stunning."
"They're an investment." His hands settled on my shoulders, thumbs pressing into the muscle just hard enough to hurt. "Don't make me regret it. Today needs to go smoothly. The photographer is expensive, the venue is expensive, you are expensive. Do you understand what I expect?"
A chill spread down my arms despite the warm air drifting from the vent above the vanity.
"Smile when I tell you to smile. Hold my hand when I reach for yours. And don't—" His grip tightened. "—embarrass me in front of Julian."
The name hit my spine like ice water.
"Julian?"
"The photographer." Andrew's eyes flicked to mine in the mirror. "You know him?"
My throat constricted. Seven years collapsed into a single breath. The check. Eleanor's red-soled heels on my apartment floor. The screech of tires. The hospital lights.
"No," I said. "I don't."
My right hand was already moving inside the folds of my dress, thumb sliding across the burner phone tucked into my shapewear. I hit three keys without looking.
Fees confirmed.
The response buzzed against my thigh thirty seconds later.
Received. Leo started piano lessons today. He asks about you.
I swallowed the ache and met Andrew's stare in the mirror. "I'll be flawless."
"Good girl."
The door swung open.
Julian walked in carrying a camera bag slung across his chest, his face unreadable. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw. His hair was shorter than I remembered, but the way he moved—that deliberate stillness, like a predator conserving energy—hadn't changed at all.
Neither had the way my pulse stuttered when his gaze swept the room and landed on me.
Andrew's arm snaked around my waist, yanking me against his side. "Julian! Right on time. I want you to meet my fiancée. Sophie, this is Julian Vance. The best editorial photographer in the city."
Julian didn't extend his hand.
Neither did I.
"We've met," Julian said flatly.
Andrew's fingers dug into my hip. "Oh?"
"A long time ago." Julian set his bag on the floor and crouched to unzip it. "Before she upgraded."
The word landed like a slap. Upgraded. As if Andrew's money had bought him a better model. As if I'd traded in a sedan for a sports car.
My jaw locked. "It's been a while."
"Seven years." Julian straightened, camera already in hand. He didn't look at me when he said it. "Let's get this over with. Andrew, you're paying me by the hour and my time isn't cheap."
"No," Andrew said, his voice silken. "Neither is mine."
The first location was a greenhouse attached to the estate. Julian positioned us under an arch of white roses, his instructions clipped and technical. Chin left. Shoulder down. Hand on her waist. Sophie, tilt your face
toward the light.
He never said my name softly.
Every syllable was a blade.
"Andrew, kiss her temple," Julian commanded, his eye pressed to the viewfinder. "Sophie, close your eyes. Good. Hold there."
The shutter clicked.
"Now her lips."
Andrew turned me sharply, one hand cupping the back of my head. His mouth tasted of coffee and control. I kept my eyes shut.
Click.
Julian's voice cut through the kiss. "Again. This time like you actually want her."
Andrew laughed against my mouth. "She knows I want her. Don't you, Sophie?"
"Always," I whispered.
The word was ash on my tongue.
Click.
"Enough." Julian lowered the camera. "The light's shifting. We need to move to the spring pool before we lose the golden hour."
The pool was fed by a natural spring, the water so clear I could see every tile on the bottom. Submerged lights turned the surface into liquid emerald. White lilies floated near the edges.
"It's cold," I said, my toes curling at the water's rim.
Andrew stood behind Julian, arms crossed. "The contract specifies water shots. Get in."
"I didn't bring a change of—"
"I'll buy you another dress. Get in."
Julian glanced at me. Something flickered behind his professional mask—a muscle twitch in his jaw, there and gone.
I stepped into the pool.
The cold seized my ankles, my knees, my thighs. The wedding dress soaked through instantly, the weight of the waterlogged fabric dragging at me with every step I took toward the center. By the time I turned to face the camera, my teeth were chattering.
"Pose," Julian said.
His voice was hard. But his eyes—his eyes tracked the goosebumps rising on my bare arms, the way my nipples had tightened against the wet silk bodice, the shiver I couldn't suppress.
Andrew noticed too. "She looks good wet, doesn't she? That dress cost six thousand dollars and it's never looked better than it does right now, stuck to her tits."
Julian's grip on the camera tightened.
"Take the shot," Andrew said. "I want to remember her exactly like this."
Click.
The strobe flashed across the water. When my vision cleared, Julian's knuckles had gone white around the camera body.
"This is degrading," he said quietly.
"It's art. Don't be dramatic."
"It's degrading and you know it."
Andrew smiled. "She doesn't seem to mind. Do you, sweetheart?"
I opened my mouth to answer.
And my left leg seized.
The cramp hit like a fist clenching inside my calf. I gasped, my arms flailing, and the waterlogged dress yanked me sideways. The pool floor vanished from beneath my feet. I went under.
Water filled my nose. My ears. My throat.
The dress was an anchor. Every kick made it heavier. My fingers clawed at the surface, caught nothing but light, and then I was sinking, the emerald glow darkening around me, my lungs burning—
A body cut through the water above me.
Strong hands grabbed my waist. Lifted. Heaved.
I broke the surface coughing, choking, water streaming from my mouth. Julian's arm was a steel band across my ribs, his breath ragged in my ear.
"I've got you. I've fucking got you."
He dragged me to the edge and hoisted me onto the tile. The sound that came out of my chest wasn't breathing—it was a wet, desperate rasp.
Julian braced his hands on either side of my shoulders. Water dripped from his hair onto my cheek. His boots were still on his feet.
"Breathe, Sophie. Breathe."
I sucked in air. It burned.
"Again. Slow this time."
His face was inches from mine. I could see the scar above his eyebrow, the one he'd gotten the night of the accident. The night Eleanor's driver ran us off the road. The night I lost the baby.
He remembered.
I saw it in his eyes. He still blamed me for that night, yet he had jumped into the water anyway.
"Why," I choked out.
Julian's expression fractured. "I don't know."
A shadow fell across us both.
Andrew stood above us, a ceramic mug cradled in his palm. Steam curled from the surface of the hot chocolate inside. His face was utterly calm.
"Julian," he said softly. "You're dripping on my fiancée."
Julian didn't move. "She was drowning."
"Was she?"
The mug slipped from Andrew's fingers.
It shattered against the tile inches from Julian's hand. Scalding brown liquid splashed across his knuckles. Julian flinched but held his position, his body still bracketing mine.
Andrew crouched, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You jumped into a pool with your boots on. With your phone in your pocket. You didn't even hesitate." He tilted his head, studying Julian like a specimen. "That's
not the response of a professional photographer protecting a client. That's the response of a man who's still in love."
"Andrew—" I started.
"Shut up." He didn't look at me. His gaze stayed locked on Julian. "I hired you because you're the best. I didn't realize you were also the man who used to fuck my wife-to-be. That's quite the coincidence, isn't it? Almost like someone engineered this little reunion."
Julian rose slowly to his feet. "I didn't know."
"You didn't know her name was on the contract?"
"I didn't know she was marrying you."
Andrew laughed—a cold, hollow sound. "Well. Now you do. And now I know something too." He stepped closer, glass crunching under his loafers. "I know you still want her. I can see it in the way you're looking at me right now, like you're imagining your hands around my throat."
Julian said nothing.
"So here's what's going to happen." Andrew pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his fingers clean. "You're going to finish this shoot. You're going to give me exactly the photographs I paid for. And then you're going to leave and never contact my fiancée again."
"And if I don't?"
Andrew's smile widened. "Then I'll ruin you. Your career, your reputation, your entire fucking life. I have the money and the lawyers to make sure you never work again." He glanced at me, still shivering on the tile. "And Sophie—poor, sweet Sophie—will watch it happen knowing she's the reason for it. Every frame you lose, every client who drops you, every eviction notice tacked to your door. Her fault."
The greenhouse was silent except for the drip of water from Julian's soaked jacket.
"Now," Andrew said, tucking the handkerchief away. "I believe you owe me a few more shots. Get the camera. And Julian?"
Julian's hands were shaking.
"Don't fucking touch her again."
