Sophia sat quietly in Capone's room, twisting the small ring on her pinky finger. The unique violet-gold sheen stood out—neither as subdued as platinum nor as ostentatious as gold. Its intricate design was one of a kind, seemingly a testament to an unwavering bond.
Somehow, tears began to fall. They landed on the ring, misting its metallic luster with a veil of sorrow.
Was loyalty really so difficult for the two of them?
The sun dipped below the horizon, and nightfall swiftly enveloped the room. Even as darkness set in, Sophia remained motionless in her seat. When Capone opened the door, he immediately sensed someone inside. But the familiar presence told him exactly who it was.
He didn't turn on the lights. Instead, he walked to the window and drew the curtains wide, letting the moonlight spill into the room. Though dim, the silvery glow was enough to illuminate her delicate profile.
If she had taken his hand and stood with him by the window, they would have seen the breathtaking view of the moon rising over the sea.
The fatigue of a long day ebbed away as Capone leaned down to embrace her. Her body felt stiff, as if she had been sitting there in the same position for hours. Lucy had told him earlier that Sophia hadn't even touched her dinner—a plate of pasta.
"What's wrong? You're in a sulk, huh? And skipping dinner too? Come downstairs with me for some soup," he said softly.
Sophia shifted her shoulder slightly. "I already ate. You must have too—along with some wine, right?"
She caught the faint scent of alcohol on his breath.
Indeed, Capone had spent the evening dining with David Lee and his daughter, yet another pasta-filled affair. David, weakened by age and health, was in poor spirits but still insisted on drinking. Out of courtesy, Capone had joined him for a few glasses. Though he wasn't drunk, his mind remained sharp.
The meal itself had been uninspiring—the pasta bland, the cheesecake dessert cloyingly sweet. He had barely touched the silver fork on his plate, all the while longing to return here. To her. To share a simple bowl of soup, her homemade desserts, and the comfort of her presence.
But seeing her now, waiting in the dark, her tone tinged with discontent, he tucked those tender thoughts away for later.
"What happened?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.
Sophia turned halfway toward him, catching the faint trace of unfamiliar perfume lingering in the crook of his shoulder.
Sophia caught the faint scent of Lancôme's Miracle perfume lingering on him. It used to be her favorite fragrance, but she had stopped wearing it ever since she came to him.
This wasn't her scent. This wasn't her.
"Are you getting married?" she asked abruptly, the question stark and unadorned. After an entire evening of internal turmoil, it all boiled down to this.
She needed to hear it from him. Yes or no.
Capone didn't seem surprised. If anything, it was as though he had been waiting for her to ask.
In the dim room, his expression remained unreadable. His voice, however, was deliberately detached. "Hmm. Who told you that?"
The low, indifferent hum struck her harder than she expected, like an anchor dragging her heart deep into icy waters. Nothing else mattered now.
"Who told me…" Sophia let out a small, bitter laugh. "Isn't it already common knowledge? Am I really that out of the loop, the last to know?"
Capone stood there, his tall frame shrouded in shadows. Though Sophia's vacant gaze didn't meet his, her every subtle movement spoke volumes to him.
He felt a pang of guilt, but also a twisted satisfaction. Her pain only proved she cared.
"Are you jealous?" he asked softly.
Sophia didn't respond. It was as though she hadn't even heard him. Her voice, when it came, was fragile but insistent. "Why? Why marry this Miss Lee? What can she give you that…"
Capone's lips curved faintly, though it wasn't a kind smile. He leaned into the narrative he had carefully crafted. "David Lee is like an uncle to me, though his health has been failing these past few years. I haven't seen much of him until recently, but his daughter…"
He paused, letting the words linger. "She's grown into quite the lady—graceful, unspoiled. A rare find. But she's no businesswoman, and the Lee family doesn't have a male heir. They're looking to entrust their legacy to me."
Sophia stayed silent, her heart clenching as he continued.
"With this marriage, I gain their trust, their board seat, and considerable influence. No one else in the company will dare challenge me. Isn't that what you wanted? For me to hold enough power to let Cronus go, to end the cycle of revenge?"
He didn't say it outright, but his meaning was clear. With the Lee family on his side, Cronus would no longer pose a threat. Capone could finally spare him—just as Sophia wished.
But Capone had overlooked something critical: Sophia wasn't like him, or Terry, or Lucas, or any of the others in their world of ruthless ambition.
Like Miss Lee, she wasn't built for boardrooms or corporate battles. She had no hunger for power, no stomach for intrigue.
Everything she said tonight was spoken not as a player in a game but simply as a woman, speaking to the man she loved.
She heard him lavishly praise another woman, proudly proclaiming that they had a mutual understanding and could benefit from each other's family background, expressing his satisfaction at being able to marry such a beautiful wife.
And what had he said to her? He had told her that the kind of wife he wanted wasn't someone like her! But she still had to bear children, because the Diaz family owed him a life, and this child would be the repayment!
No matter how much of his words were filled with real thoughts or just spite, they were enough to wound her deeply.
"Since that's the case, can you let me go now? With our relationship like this... it's not really appropriate for me to stay here, right? Your wife wouldn't be happy about it."
"Who said you could leave?" Capone was furious the moment he heard her talk about leaving. "You must stay, and no one dares to say otherwise!"
Sophia shot him a glance. "Are you planning on turning me into a mistress or a lover?"
Capone suppressed the unpleasantness rising in his chest, squatted down, one knee half-bent on the ground to face her. He placed his palm gently on her cheek, with a hint of flirtation in his voice. "Haven't you heard? In the world of love, it's the one who's not loved that becomes the mistress. My heart is with you. I won't love anyone else. We can go back to how we were before. I still want you to have my child!"
"Capone, you're shameless!" Blood rushed to Sophia's head, and she couldn't help but swing her hand at him. But her wrist was tightly grasped in mid-air.
He placed a burning kiss on the inner side of her delicate wrist, even gently teasing with his tongue. His gaze met hers, full of light, yet completely unreadable.
"Let go! Let go of me!" Sophia struggled desperately, trying to shake free, but when that didn't work, she reached out with her other hand to pry his fingers loose. However, he quickly caught that hand as well.
Seeing Sophia about to resort to her old tactic of biting him, Capone suddenly used all his strength, yanking her up from the chair and pulling her into his arms, kissing her fiercely.
His kiss was wet and hot, carrying the taste of alcohol, invading her breath and the softness of her mouth.
Her body remained stiff, not from sitting too long, but because of her resistance.
He still carried the scent of another woman's perfume—how could he just come and embrace her?
"Go away... mm..."
Before she could finish her sentence, Capone had already claimed her words, and all she could make was a soft, cat-like whimper.
Wasn't she stiff? Weren't her eyes and words cold, devoid of warmth? Yet, he came to warm her up, to melt her, determined to make her admit that she cared, that she would willingly stay and be his woman!
Capone held her head with one hand, while the other slid down her spine and rested on her waist, pressing into her delicate curve, pushing her tightly against him so that she could feel his burning heat.
Sophia twisted her body in resistance, but their bodies were too close, and this movement only fueled Capone's desire.
His lips clung to hers, biting her until it hurt, sucking on her smooth, fragrant tongue, refusing to let go. He swiftly removed her outer clothing and pants before pulling her back into his embrace, perversely placing her hand on his most aroused area, guiding her hand up and down.
The warmth in her palm was not high, likely due to her nervousness and slight perspiration. Her touch was cold, while the hottest part of his body was now in her control, and it thrilled him deeply.
Sophia, feeling the heat and smoothness of his skin, instinctively tried to pull her hand back, but he held it firmly in place, moving it slightly along with his own motions. Her face flushed, as if the soft pink of dusk's last sunset had spread across her cheeks.
Capone savored the soft, almost boneless force of her hand. One arm encircled her waist, keeping her locked in a kiss that wouldn't release. His cool tongue tangled with her startled one, showing off his inherent strength, leaving her no chance to escape.
He pushed her onto the bed, and as they sank into the soft sheets, the overwhelming masculinity of Capone filled the air. The unfamiliar scent on his body seemed even more jarring in this moment.
With a brief chance, Sophia wildly flailed her hand and slapped at him. "Go away, go away! If you've been with other women, don't touch me! It's disgusting!"
Capone paused, his lips lightly pressing against her swollen, kiss-plumped red lips. His heated breath brushed against her blushing cheek, and through clenched teeth, he said, "I haven't been with any other women!"
"You clearly have the scent of perfume on you. If you haven't been with another woman, where did it come from? Maybe I should say that your nature hasn't changed. After one Penny, there's a second, and a third... You don't care at all!"
"Shut up!" Capone lost control and yelled at her, his hand clenching at his side, every muscle in his body tensing as he glared at her.
"Do you want to hit me?" Old, painful memories rushed back to Sophia, and instinctively, she flinched. Lifting her chin, she said, "Hit me then, go ahead! If you lay a hand on me, I'll never like you again… I won't have to care about you anymore!"
Tears sprang from her eyes. She meant every word. She hated men who hurt their women. When he first brought her in, he treated her as nothing more than merchandise, a bargaining chip, not as a woman. She had endured the physical pain then, but things were different now. If he hit her again, she wouldn't forgive him.
Capone took a deep breath, really wanting to strangle this woman beneath him.
"When did I ever say I was going to hit you? There are a thousand ways to make you suffer. Why would I need to lay a hand on you?"
As if to prove his point, his heated arousal pressed against her soft body, and with a forceful thrust, he pierced her, tearing through her flesh.
She wasn't fully aroused yet, and the sudden pain caused her whole body to tense. A muffled groan escaped her throat, but she bit down hard on her lip, unwilling to let out a sound.
Capone felt a mixture of pleasure and guilt, and he leaned down to hold her close, whispering in her ear: "I didn't touch that woman. I was talking to her and her father about marriage, but I didn't even lay a finger on her! When we were leaving, she got her heel stuck in the elevator door and almost fell. I was right next to her, just helping her steady herself! I told you, there won't be anyone else. I only want..."