Chapter Eleven: I Will Never Marry Ethan

Sophia Bennett

I stepped out of the taxi into the late morning sun, pressing a few bills into the driver’s hand with a murmur of thanks. The estate stretched before me like something out of a glossy magazine—manicured lawns rolling toward a sprawling colonial mansion, white columns gleaming, gardens blooming in perfect symmetry. It was the kind of home people dreamed about, the kind that whispered old money and unshakeable security. A gift from Ethan to my parents, part of the grand transaction that was supposed to culminate in our wedding. The thought turned my stomach as I walked up the wide stone path, my heels clicking against the pavement like a countdown to confrontation.

I had expected shouting the moment I crossed the threshold—my father’s booming voice demanding explanations, my mother fluttering around with her practiced concern that never quite reached her eyes. Instead, the house was eerily quiet. I pushed open the heavy front door and stepped into the familiar foyer, the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers doing nothing to ease the knot in my chest.

“Sophia, darling,” my mother said, appearing from the sitting room with a warm smile that almost looked genuine. She wore one of her elegant silk blouses, pearls at her throat, every inch the composed society wife. My father sat in his usual armchair by the window, fixing me with that steady, unreadable gaze of his. No immediate explosion. Just silence and scrutiny.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” Mother urged, gesturing to the sofa. “You look exhausted. Let me have Maria bring your favorite—apple pie, fresh from the oven this morning.”

I hesitated but lowered myself onto the cushion, the fabric too soft, too familiar. Maria appeared quickly, setting a plate in front of me. The golden crust and cinnamon scent should have comforted me, but it only heightened the surreal tension. Mother smiled again, perching on the edge of her chair like a bird ready to take flight.

“Did you apologize to Ethan yet?” she asked, her tone light but laced with expectation.

“No,” I said quietly, staring at the pie.

Her smile faltered. In an instant, the mask slipped. She snatched the glass of water from the table and hurled its contents straight at my face. Cold liquid splashed across my skin, soaking my collar and dripping down my neck. I gasped, wiping at my eyes in shock and rising anger.

“Why didn’t you go to his place?” my father demanded, his voice low and heavy, leaning forward in his chair. “We raised you better than this.”

“He cheated,” I shot back, my voice trembling but gaining strength. The words tasted bitter on my tongue. “He cheated on me.”

My mother’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, but my father’s expression barely shifted. He already knew. Of course he did. The realization hit like another slap.

“He’s gay,” I shouted, the truth exploding out of me. “I caught him with another man. In our bed.”

Silence crashed over the room. My mother’s hand flew to her mouth, but my father simply steepled his fingers, studying me as if I were a disappointing business deal.

“Who told you he didn’t have something to hide?” he said finally, his tone calm and cutting. “That’s exactly why he came for your hand in marriage. What do you have to offer him otherwise, Sophia? Be realistic.”

My mother nodded quickly, finding her voice again. “Your father’s right. Think about what this marriage means for all of us. The stability. The future.”

I stood up so fast the plate of apple pie clattered. Rage and betrayal burned through me, hot and unrelenting. I grabbed the plate and hurled it against the wall. It shattered with a satisfying crash, chunks of pastry and filling sliding down the pristine wallpaper. “I won’t do it. I will never marry Ethan.”

My father rose slowly, his presence filling the room like a gathering storm. “If you walk out that door now, I will disown you. You will never come back here. Never.”

My mother’s eyes filled with calculated tears. “After everything we’ve done for you? You were an orphan, Sophia. Your real parents threw you away like garbage. We took you in, fed you, clothed you, gave you a roof and a name. This is the one thing we ask of you.”

The words landed like blows I had heard a thousand times before, each one designed to remind me of my debt. I felt the old scars tightening—the dark room, the three days without food or water when I was little, locked away for some minor defiance. My father’s discipline had always been cruel and efficient. My mother’s love had always come with strings.

“I can do anything for you,” I said, my voice breaking but resolute. “Anything except this. Ethan never loved me. He never even cared. His parents are just trying to protect their family’s shame, hiding what he is behind this sham of a marriage. I won’t be part of it.”

I turned toward the door, ignoring my father’s final warning, his voice rising behind me like thunder. My mother’s pleas followed, sharp and accusatory, but I kept walking. The man who had once starved me for three days and locked me in a dark room no longer held power over my future. Not after Ethan. Not after last night with Damien Blackwood and the chaotic storm he had left in my life.

I stepped outside, the estate’s beauty now feeling like a beautiful cage I was finally escaping. My heart pounded as I reached the end of the driveway. I hailed my hand and hailed a cab, gave the driver my address, and sat back in the seat. He was fitting. He was about to get one hell of a final adjustment.