A Rich Man's Fiancée

CHAPTER 3

Sophia

A Rich Man's Fiancée

The farmhouse didn't smell like home anymore, it smelled like burnt pot roast.

I stepped through the door, my legs leaden, but my mind humming with the cold, electric buzz of what I had just done.

In the kitchen, the scene was exactly as I'd expected.

My mother, Lorraine, was hovering over Daphne like she was a wounded war hero rather than a girl who had just set ten thousand dollars on fire.

Between them sat Summer, my five-year old niece, picking at her peas.

The moment the screen door creaked, Summer's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

She scrambled down from her chair, her tiny sneakers hitting the linoleum frantically.

“Sophie! You're back!” She launched herself at me, a small, warm blur of joy.

I scooped her up, burying my face in her neck to block out the sight of the two vultures at the table.

“Hey, baby. Did you save me any dinner?”

“Grandma didn't make a plate for you,” Summer whispered into my ear.

“Of course she didn't,” I muttered.

But then it's MY food bought with MY money.

Lorraine didn't even look at me. Not even a glance.

She was busy stroking Daphne's hair.

“It's okay, baby. Ezra Wilde is probably a jerk anyway. You're too good for that show. Always remember you have the bone structure of a goddess, another door will open.”

“I wasted a whole week on my skin routine for nothing!” Daphne wailed into her napkin dramatically.

“My life is literally over, Mom. I'm going to be stuck in this dirt-hole forever and soon I'll start looking like Sophie.”

Meaning?

Lorraine finally looked up, and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

She didn't ask if I'd eaten. She didn't ask why I looked like I'd been through a thresher.

She just leveled a gaze at me that made it clear she regretted every cent ever spent on my upbringing.

​

“You have some nerve showing your face here after reprimanding your sister when she's clearly in a fragile state?

She was trying to build a future for all of us. So she spent a little money—it’s just paper. You shouldn't have made her cry.”

Say what?

“A little money?” I shifted, putting Summer on my hip.

“She spent the bank installment, Mom. She spent the reason we have a roof. But sure, let's worry about her mascara.”

“Don't you take that tone with me,” Lorraine snapped, pointing a wooden spoon at me.

“You've always been jealous of her light. You're just a worker bee, Sophia. Don't try to sting the queen.”

A laugh bubbled up in my throat—sharp, jagged, and entirely unhinged.

I looked at the two of them: the enabler and the parasite.

“You know what? You're right. I'm a worker bee. And I'm officially going on strike.”

“I'm tired of the farm. I'm tired of the bills. And quite frankly, I'm tired of looking at both of your faces.

The bank can have the house. They can have the truck. They can have the ceramic rooster. I don't care anymore.”

Daphne peeked out from her napkin, her eyes red but her expression mocking.

“And where are you going to go, Sophie? To a shelter? You don't have a penny to your name. You can't afford a dingy motel room.”

And whose fault is that?

“I don't need a motel,” I said smugly, adjusting Summer on my hip.

“I'm getting married. And I'm leaving this house for good.” I added, the lie tasting like expensive wine.

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crack the floorboards.

Lorraine blinked, her mouth hanging open.

“What on earth are you talking about? You haven't even had a haircut in three years let alone a date.”

“Well, Mom, apparently some people find ‘worker bees' attractive.”

​Daphne let out a shrill laugh that sounded like glass breaking.

“Married? To who? I'm afraid to ask who the… uh… lucky guy is. Is it Mr Alan?”

My mind immediately conjured an image of Mr Alan, the pig farmer.

The man was a human wrecking ball with a beer belly that had its own zip code.

His beard was a graveyard for food particules—I’m talking 2022’s corn and this morning's ham.

His breath didn't just smell bad, it smelled like he'd literally gone down on a goddamn squid.”

That Mr Alan?

The audacity.

Well, I'm about to burst your bubble.

“Is that your best guess, Daph? You think I'm settling for a man who uses his beard as a pantry?”

“He's the only one who looks at you twice at the farmer's market,” Daphne shrugged.

“So, enjoy the pig farm, sis. I'll send you some fashion magazines so you can see what the real world looks like while you're shoveling manure.”

“Actually,” I said, stepping closer to the table, “I'm getting married to Andrew. Andrew Ashford.”

And it begins.

Daphne was mid-sip.

The water didn't just go down the wrong pipe, it erupted.

She choked, sputtering and coughing as she slammed her glass onto the table, water spraying across Lorraine's “Queen” and the pot roast.

“Who?” Lorraine gasped.

“Andrew Ashford,” I repeated, savoring the name.

“He asked. I said yes. He's paying off the debt, but I've decided I don't want to live here anyway. I'll be moving into his place by the end of the week.”

Daphne finally found her breath, her face turning a shade of red that almost matched her boots.

“You're lying! You're a liar! Andrew doesn't even know you exist! You're the help! You're just the grocery girl!”

I didn't answer. I just turned and started heading up the stairs.

Daphne was on my heels instantly.

“Sophia! Stop! You cannot be serious! You know how I feel about him! He's been my crush since I was sixteen! You have no right even talking to him, let alone marrying him!”

I reached Summer's bedroom door and swung around.

“You thought he was your soulmate? Turns out you're not just dumb you're delusional too. He doesn't even know your name. To him, you're just the girl who'll spend all his money on animal prints.”

“He's mine!” She shrieked, reaching out and grabbing my forearm, her classic red nails digging into my skin.

“You did this to spite me! You're a snake! You're a disgusting, bottom-feeding—”

I looked down at her hand, then up at her face as Summer held me tighter.

Now I'm pissed.

“Get your hands off me. Get them off right now, or I'll slap you so hard your ancestors will feel it.’ I said, my voice dangerously low.

Daphne froze.

She saw something in my eyes she'd never seen before—the end of my patience.

She retracted her hand as if I were made of hot coals, her chest heaving.

“You think you've won?” She hissed. “He's only using you, Sophia.

A man like that doesn't marry a girl like you. He's probably just bored. He'll chew you up and spit you out, and when he does, don't come crawling back here.”

“I won't have to crawl,” I said, stepping inside the room.

“Because by the time he's done with me, I'll own the ground you're standing on. Besides, didn't I just serve you an eviction notice?”

I slammed the door in her shocked face.

I leaned my back against the wood, my heart racing.

Then, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was a message from Mr Ashford.

It was a picture of a massive diamond engagement ring.

Wow…

​

With a message that read: ‘Are you ready for tomorrow?’

I walked over to my vanity and looked at my reflection.

I looked tired. I looked plain. I looked nothing like a rich man's fiancée.

Then I looked at my hand.

My nails were clean.

Perfectly, unnervingly clean.

Who cares? The ring will look good on me.

I shot him a quick reply.

'I’m more than ready’