Alexander stood in the kitchen with a calm façade that masked the storm brewing inside him. In his hand was a small tray with a glass of water and painkillers, which he brought to Sophia after ensuring the staff handled her earlier fall. Though his exterior showed no cracks, his mind raced. The events of the day were unlike anything he had encountered in three years of marriage.
He entered the living room and found Sophia sitting by the edge of the sofa, her face calm and composed. The bruises from her fall were faint, but the spark in her eyes was not the meek, submissive gaze he was used to.
"I brought you painkillers," he said, his voice even.
Sophia looked up, studying his face. She could tell he was trying to act as though everything was normal, but his jaw was tight, and his movements betrayed his discomfort. She nodded and reached for the pills.
"Have you eaten?" he asked, his tone betraying just a hint of hesitation.
"Yes," she replied nonchalantly, popping the pills into her mouth and chasing them with a sip of water.
"What did you eat?" he pressed, his brows furrowing slightly.
"Noodles," she replied, brushing off the question as if it were inconsequential.
Alexander blinked, momentarily stunned. This was the first time in three years of their marriage that Sophia had eaten without waiting for him or trying to coax him into joining her at the dining table.
"You ate… noodles?" he repeated, his voice lower, as if confirming he had heard her correctly.
Sophia tilted her head, an amused smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"
His lips pressed into a thin line. "It's just… unusual," he admitted.
Her smirk deepened as she took another sip of water. "Well, I'm glad I can still surprise you, Alexander."
Before he could respond, her eyes landed on the food flask sitting on the floor near the couch. It was unmistakable; the pastel pink container belonged to Isabella Hart.
Sophia felt a surge of irritation, but she masked it with feigned indifference. "I see Isabella dropped by to bring you something to eat," she said, her tone sharp yet casual.
Alexander tensed. "She said she cooked earlier and didn't want the food to go to waste."
Sophia arched a brow, folding her arms. "Make sure you eat it. After all, your mistress went through the trouble of cooking for you."
Her words hung in the air, slicing through the silence like a blade.
"Mistress?" Alexander asked, his tone hardening, though his expression betrayed a flicker of unease.
"Yes, mistress," Sophia repeated firmly, standing up and brushing invisible dust off her skirt. "Since that's what she's always been."
She turned to leave the room, but Alexander reached out, his hand catching her wrist. His grip was firm, but she immediately felt the tension behind it, as though he were holding onto her for reasons even he couldn't articulate.
"Sophia," he said, his voice low and edged with confusion. "What is going on with you?"
She turned back to him, her gaze cold and unyielding. "Let go of my hand, Alexander."
He hesitated but released her. Sophia stepped back, maintaining the distance between them. Her voice was calm, but her words struck like thunder. "From now on, I want you to keep your distance. In fact, I think it's time we talked about a divorce."
Alexander's brows furrowed, his mask slipping slightly. Divorce? The word echoed in his mind like a warning siren. For three years, Sophia had clung to him, enduring his coldness, indifference, and even his open relationship with Isabella. But now, she was the one pulling away.
She didn't wait for his response. With a flick of her wrist, she turned and ascended the stairs, leaving Alexander rooted to the spot, grappling with the whirlwind of her sudden change.
For a long moment, Alexander stood frozen in place, his mind reeling. Divorce? Sophia had always been the docile wife, the one who waited for him to come around despite his many flaws. This sudden defiance, this strength—it was unlike her.
Unable to shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong, he strode to the table not far away from him and picked up his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen before he pressed the call button.
"Dr. Bennett," he said curtly when the line connected.
"Mr. Sterling," the doctor replied. "What can I do for you?"
"I need you to come to the mansion immediately," Alexander said, his tone brooking no argument. "It's about my wife."
"Is she injured?" the doctor asked, concern evident in his voice.
"She… fell earlier today," Alexander said. "But it's not that. Something about her behavior is… strange. I don't understand it, and I need you to examine her."
"I'll be there shortly," Dr. Bennett assured him.
Alexander ended the call and and sat down, leaning his back on the chair, his thoughts spiraling. This was not the Sophia he knew. The woman upstairs was confident, bold, and unafraid to challenge him.
What had changed? Was it the fall? Had it knocked something loose in her mind? Or was it something else entirely?
He glanced at the food flask on the floor, a bitter taste filling his mouth. Even Isabella's presence, once a source of comfort and familiarity, now felt like an intrusion.
Alexander drummed his fingers on the desk, his mind working overtime. He wasn't sure what was happening, but one thing was certain: he wasn't going to let Sophia go. Not now, not ever.
---
Upstairs, Sophia sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window. A small smile played on her lips as she thought about Alexander's reaction. She didn't want him, but she wasn't going to make it easy for him to figure that out.
For three years, he had treated me like I was disposable, a shadow in his grand life. Now it was my turn to make him question everything he thought he knew.