Novels by Sophia

“The person he was convicted of killing,” Song Wei said, “was a man your mother had been seeing at the same time she was involved with Daniel Eze.” “What are you saying?” Vivian asked. “I’m saying,” Song Wei said slowly, “ when your mother was young. She was working as a personal assistant — ambitious, capable, trying to build something from very little.” She paused. “She was involved with Daniel Eze at the time. Vivian stared at her. “But your mother was also involved with another man,” Song Wei continued. “A married man with money and position — “Daniel Eze found out,” Song Wei said. “There was a confrontation between the two men. It escalated. The other man died.” The silence that followed was the kind that has weight to it. “Daniel Eze went to prison,” Song Wei continued. “Your mother moved on. She eventually married Richard Vale and Built the life you grew up in.” “Built it,” Vivian repeated slowly, Her voice was completely flat. “on top of all of that.” Song Wei didn’

The photograph slipped from Vivian’s fingers. It landed face-up on the table between them — and Vivian stared at it with the particular stillness of someone whose mind was moving very fast while the rest of her had gone completely quiet. A Middle aged man— Dark eyes that held something hollowed out and weathered — the specific look of someone who had spent a long time in a confined space. His jawline was sharp beneath an unshaved face. Vivian’s brows pulled together slowly. Something about the face was pulling at her memory. The way a word sits on the tip of your tongue but completely out of reach. She leaned forward slightly. And then — it hit her. One month ago. It had been an ordinary morning Vivian had been standing just inside the front gate, adjusting the strap of her bag, half-listening to the sound of Evelyn’s heels on the pathway behind her. The taxi was already waiting at the curb. She had pushed the gate open when she noticed him. A man standing directly across

“Why did you really agree to the contract?” I asked. The question came out before I decided to ask it. He was quiet for a moment. “I told you,” he said. “It suited me.” “That’s not all of it,” I said. His jaw shifted slightly. A small acknowledgement. “No,” he admitted. “It’s not.” I waited. He set his spoon down carefully. “You walked into my office,” he said slowly, “and proposed marriage to a man you barely know. With nothing but complete honesty and a reason that had nothing to do with money or what I have." He looked at me. “Do you know how rare that is, Lucy?” I said nothing. “Every person who has ever approached me,” he continued quietly, “wanted something from the version everyone else sees. The CEO. The Cole name. What comes with it.” His eyes held mine without wavering. “You walked in wanting none of that. You wanted to protect yourself from people who had hurt you. You were completely honest about it. You didn’t dress it up or pretend it was something more acce

The photos went live at exactly nine the next morning. I was still in bed when my phone kept buzzing. I reached for it slowly — blinking against the pale morning light filtering through the curtains — as I stared at the screen with the particular confusion of someone whose brain hadn’t fully committed to being awake yet. Forty seven notifications. Then the number stopped updating and simply read — too many to display. I sat up. Margaret had sent a single message at 9:03 a.m. “Check the numbers. Today is going to be a very good day.” I opened the first article. The photo filled my screen — Andre and I on the rooftop, caught mid-laugh in that completely unplanned moment neither of us had noticed Dana capturing. His hand at my waist. My face tilted toward his. The golden light stretched long and warm across both of us The headline read — Andre Cole Is Getting Married — And His Fiancée Has Completely Stolen Our Hearts. I stared at it. Then I scrolled. Comments in the thousan

I heard them before I reached the door.Vivian’s voice — sharp and agitated — cutting through the entrance hall the moment I pushed open the front door. The particular frequency of it told me this conversation had been running for a while.I stood in the doorway for exactly one second. Then I remembered that I was done rearranging myself around this house.I walked in.My bag was over my shoulder. My eyes were fixed on the staircase at the far end of the sitting room — the most direct route to my room and the closest thing to peace this house had ever offered me. I moved through the entrance hall without breaking stride, without looking left or right.“Lucy.”Evelyn’s voice landed precisely where she intended it — right at the base of my spine.I stopped.Turned slowly.They were both seated— Evelyn arranged on the sofa with the deliberate composure of a woman who had been waiting and needed you to know it. Vivian beside her with red-rimmed eyes, holding herself together through she

The rooftop location Margaret had chosen was perfect. Golden light. Clean skyline. The kind of backdrop that made everything look intentional — I stood at the edge of it all in a dress I hadn’t chosen myself, my hair styled and pinned beautifully. I watch the photographer set up her equipment.Dana looked up when Adrian and I took our positions and tilted her head slightly — the way someone does when what they see doesn’t quite match what they expected. The first few shots were stiff. I and Adrian felt it. Dana absolutely knew it. “Okay,” she said pleasantly. Let’s start simple. She lowered her camera after the third attempt and looked at us with the patient expression of someone who had seen this before and knew exactly how to fix it. “Relax,” she encouraged, “Mr Cole, look at her like you mean it.” She shifted her gaze to me. “ Mrs Lucy — you’re standing like you’re waiting for a bus. This is your engagement shoot, not a queue.” Adrian glanced at me sideways. “