Butler Kim stood outside Alexander Sterling's study, his hand hesitating slightly before knocking on the grand oak door. The soft sound echoed through the hallway, and a deep, commanding voice answered from within.
"Come in."
Kim stepped inside, bowing slightly as he approached the polished mahogany desk. Alexander sat behind it, his piercing gaze focused on the financial reports spread before him. Without looking up, he gestured for Kim to speak.
"Sir," Kim began, his voice steady, though his mind lingered on the earlier interaction with Sophia. "Madam has requested me to convey her message."
Alexander's sharp eyes flicked upward, narrowing slightly as Kim continued. "She said you should ask Miss Isabella Hart to cook for you since you've been spending so much time with her. Furthermore, she requested that everyone in the household avoid her for now."
For a moment, Alexander froze, the words settling in the air. His expression was inscrutable, but Kim noticed the faintest flicker of surprise before it was masked by the billionaire's usual cold demeanor.
"I see," Alexander said after a pause, his tone neutral. He waved a hand dismissively. "You may leave."
Kim bowed and exited the room, his thoughts racing. In his years of service, he had never seen Madam Sophia speak up like that. It seemed the household was in for a significant change.
Alexander leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he mulled over Sophia's unexpected defiance. His wife had always been meek and obliging, never daring to speak out of turn. Yet now, she was refusing to cater to him and even daring to mention Isabella's name.
The buzz of his phone interrupted his thoughts. He glanced at the screen and answered the call with a curt, "What is it?"
"Alex," came the sweet, saccharine voice of Isabella Hart. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
He sighed internally but kept his tone polite. "Go on."
"I was cooking earlier," she continued, her voice dripping with innocence. "But I couldn't finish it. I was worried it might spoil, so I thought I'd bring it to you. I hope Sophia won't misunderstand my intentions. You know I only want to help."
Alexander's lips tightened. He hated when Isabella tried to play the victim, but she was useful in certain ways.
"If you're outside, come in," he said. "I'm in my study."
Isabella's voice lit up. "Thank you, Alex. I'll see you soon."
Minutes later, Isabella entered the mansion, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Her appearance was perfect, as always—flowing chestnut hair, flawless makeup, and a coy smile that she thought would disarm anyone.
As she walked toward the staircase, she froze. Sophia stood at the top, her gaze cold and calculating.
Sophia felt a rush of emotions as she saw Isabella in the flesh. In the novel, Isabella Hart had been a manipulative woman who played the role of a victim to perfection. She had left Alexander when she believed he had lost his fortune, only to crawl back once she discovered his immense wealth.
The original Sophia had tried countless times to expose Isabella's true nature, but her efforts had always backfired. Isabella had turned every situation in her favor, making Sophia look petty, jealous, and unstable.
Not this time, Sophia thought, her resolve hardening. If Isabella wanted to play dirty, Sophia would make sure she regretted it.
As Isabella climbed the stairs, her smile faltered under Sophia's unrelenting stare. "Sophia," she said sweetly. "I was just—"
"Save it," Sophia cut in, her tone sharp. She turned and began descending the stairs, but her steps faltered intentionally. Her body tilted, and with a dramatic gasp, she tumbled down the staircase.
The sound of her fall echoed through the mansion, and the maids rushed forward, their faces pale with shock. Isabella, standing frozen at the top of the stairs, looked horrified.
Sophia lay at the bottom, clutching her arm and groaning softly. One of the maids knelt beside her. "Madam, are you all right?"
Sophia winced and whispered, "I think she pushed me…"
The maid's eyes widened, and she glanced up at Isabella, who immediately began protesting. "I didn't touch her! She fell on her own!"
But another maid interjected, her voice trembling. "I saw it! Miss Hart was behind Madam Sophia, and it looked like she shoved her!"
Sophia suppressed a smirk as she watched the chaos unfold. In reality, she had orchestrated every detail. The mansion was equipped with an advanced security system, and the strategically angled cameras had captured her fall from just the right perspective to make it look like Isabella had pushed her.
Alexander appeared at the top of the stairs, his expression thunderous. "What's going on here?"
The butler stepped forward, his face grim. "Sir, Madam Sophia was pushed down the stairs… by Miss Hart."
Alexander's eyes darkened as he descended the staircase. He glanced at Sophia, who looked up at him with tears brimming in her eyes, then at Isabella, who was stammering incoherently.
"Alex, I swear, I didn't—"
"Enough," Alexander snapped, his voice cold. He turned to the butler. "Check the security footage."
Minutes later, the butler returned, his face ashen. "The footage confirms it, sir. Miss Hart pushed Madam Sophia."
Alexander's gaze snapped to Isabella, his jaw tightening. "Explain yourself," he demanded.
Isabella's face crumpled, and she began sobbing. "It's not what it looks like, Alex! I would never hurt Sophia!"
But Alexander's patience had run out. "Enough excuses. I don't want to hear it."
He turned to Sophia and crouched beside her, his expression softening slightly. "Can you stand?"
Sophia shook her head, wincing dramatically. "I don't think so… my ankle…"
Without hesitation, Alexander scooped her up into his arms, his grip firm yet careful. He carried her toward the living room, leaving Isabella standing at the foot of the stairs, her face pale and stricken.
As Alexander placed Sophia gently on the couch, she felt a flicker of satisfaction. She didn't want Alexander, but she wasn't about to let Isabella have him either.
Alexander ordered the maids to bring ice for Sophia's ankle and sent Isabella away, his voice low and furious as he warned her not to come near his wife again.
Sophia leaned back against the cushions, her mind racing. She had no intention of forgiving Alexander or falling into his arms like the original Sophia had. But for now, she would let him believe she was the vulnerable, wronged wife.
This was her game now, and both Alexander and Isabella would soon realize they were mere pawns on her board.