POV: Sophie Clark
"Mr. Miller called ten minutes ago," Elena said. "The fitting is canceled."
I stood on the platform in the center of the bridal boutique while three seamstresses pretended not to listen.
"Canceled for today?"
Elena's eyes dropped to the pins at the hem of my gown. "The wedding has been postponed indefinitely. He instructed us to store the dress."
The words should have brought relief. Instead, humiliation burned through me. Andrew had announced the decision to a boutique manager before he told his bride.
"Help me out of it," I said.
"We can finish the alterations in case he moves the date back."
"He will not move anything without making sure I feel it first. Unzip me."
The seamstress behind me loosened the corset. I stepped down and called Andrew.
He answered on the second ring. "Did Elena find a flaw in the lace?"
"Why did you postpone the wedding?"
"Because the current schedule no longer suits me."
"You forced me to choose that date."
"Circumstances changed."
"What circumstances? Julian telling you to take your hands off me?"
Silence sharpened on the line.
"Keep your voice down," Andrew said. "You are in public."
"You hired my ex, staged those photographs, and canceled our wedding the moment he challenged you. Tell me what game you are playing."
"Go home. We will discuss it tonight."
"No."
"That was not a request."
The call ended.
I left the boutique in jeans and a sweater, carrying the engagement ring in my coat pocket because I could not bear its weight on my hand.
Outside, two photographers waited beneath the awning. Andrew's publicist had clearly forgotten to cancel them. One called my name and asked whether the wedding was still happening. I kept walking while camera flashes reflected off the wet pavement. By evening, the postponement would be gossip. Andrew had arranged that humiliation too.
At a red light, I almost drove to my father's office and told him everything. Then I pictured the production floor, the machinists, the engineers with children in college. Andrew had made their paychecks part of my engagement. I turned toward the estate instead.
At the estate, Andrew's charcoal jacket hung over a chair in the laundry room. I recognized it from the studio. One breast pocket bulged with folded paper.
I told myself I was looking for a receipt. The lie lasted until I pulled out a printed itinerary.
Three dates were circled in red. Beside each date, Andrew had written the same name.
Julian Hayes.
The location was the Oak Room, a private cigar club downtown.
"You should not search his clothes."
Marcus stood in the doorway with a tablet tucked beneath one arm.
I held up the itinerary. "Why is my fiance meeting my ex in secret?"
"Mr. Miller's appointments are confidential."
"I am not asking for a board memo. I am asking why he has three private meetings with the man he claims is only a photographer."
Marcus's expression did not change, but his gaze flicked to the paper.
"Mr. Hayes requested clarification regarding his contract."
"He wanted to quit."
"People reconsider when new information becomes available."
"What information?"
Marcus moved into the room. "Give me the itinerary."
I folded it and put it in my pocket. "No."
"Miss Clark."
"You told Andrew that Eleanor Hayes's medical care could be used as leverage. Did he threaten Julian's mother?"
Marcus's jaw tightened. "You misunderstood a private conversation."
"Then explain it."
"My responsibility is to protect Mr. Miller's interests."
"And mine?"
"Your interests are aligned with his."
The answer frightened me more than a threat.
I took my keys from the counter.
Marcus blocked the doorway. "A storm is moving in."
"Move."
"Mr. Miller prefers you remain at the estate."
"I am not a prisoner."
"Do not force me to prove otherwise."
We stared at each other. Then the service entrance opened behind him and two caterers pushed in a cart. Marcus turned to clear the path.
I slipped through the kitchen and ran.
Rain hammered the windshield all the way downtown. Marcus called twice. Andrew called once. I sent both numbers to voicemail and turned off location sharing, though I knew Andrew's security team could track the car without it.
I parked in an alley behind the Oak Room and followed the brick wall to a narrow window. My shoes sank into runoff, and cold water climbed my ankles, but I barely felt any of it. The metal blinds were angled down, leaving a gap no wider than two fingers.
Andrew sat inside with a glass of bourbon. He looked relaxed, almost bored.
Julian sat opposite him. His wet coat hung over the back of a chair. A single sheet of paper rested in his hands.
"Where did you get this?" Julian asked.
Even through the glass, I heard the strain in his voice.
"A private investigator found the archived record," Andrew replied. "I thought you deserved to know who she was before you destroyed your career defending her."
Julian looked down at the page again.
"The signature matches."
"Of course it does. Sophie signed it."
My pulse roared in my ears.
Andrew leaned forward. "She took your mother's money, terminated the pregnancy, and disappeared. Then she let you spend seven years believing the accident took the child."
The alley seemed to tilt.
There had been no termination. There had been an emergency room, blood, and a doctor telling me my baby was gone.
Julian's fingers crushed the edge of the document.
"Why show me now?" he asked.
Andrew smiled. "Because you keep looking at my fiancee as if she is still the woman you loved."
Lightning flashed over the alley. For one white second, I saw the top of the paper through the window.
Termination of Pregnancy Consent.
My name appeared beneath it in blue ink.
My signature.
Forged perfectly.
I ran for the rear entrance as Julian lifted his head and said, "Bring Sophie here. I want to hear her deny it to my face."
