Playing with Fire

Sophia ~

"You're unusually quiet."

Alexander's voice broke through my thoughts as we rode home from the gala. I'd spent the rest of the evening watching him orbit Elena like a planet drawn to the sun, all while maintaining my perfect smile.

"Just tired." I kept my eyes on the passing city lights.

"You barely spoke to anyone after Elena left."

"Did you notice?" The question came out sharper than intended. "I thought you were too busy with foundation business."

His jaw tightened. "Sophia"

"It's fine, Alexander. Really." I turned to face him, channeling every ounce of Eleanor's words into armor around my heart. "You were networking. That's what these events are for."

He studied me with those calculating gray eyes. "You're angry."

"I'm tired," I repeated. "There's a difference."

The penthouse felt suffocating when we arrived. Alexander loosened his tie, watching me kick off my heels with unusual intensity.

"What did Eleanor Hartley say to you?"

My hands stilled on the zipper of my dress. "What makes you think she said anything?"

"Because you've been different since you spoke with her." He moved closer, and I forced myself not to retreat. "What did she tell you?"

"The truth." I met his gaze steadily. "About the accident. About why you can't let Elena go."

His expression shuttered. "That's none of her business."

"Maybe not. But it explains a lot." I turned away, finally lowering the zipper. "You're not in love with Elena. You're in love with the idea of saving her. Of making up for failing to save her parents."

"You don't know what you're talking about"

"Don't I?" I let the dress pool at my feet, standing there in just my slip, too exhausted to care about modesty. "You keep her close because she represents your greatest failure and your one success. It's not about love, Alexander. It's about guilt."

"That's enough." His voice turned dangerous.

"Is it? Because I think we're just getting started." I grabbed my robe, tying it with deliberate calm. "You want to know what else Eleanor told me? That Elena doesn't love you. Not the way you need. She never will."

"Elena and I are friends"

"Friends don't have 'usual places' to meet. Friends don't take private calls at eleven PM. Friends don't make a man's wife feel like she's competing for scraps of his attention." I moved past him toward the bedroom. "But it doesn't matter anymore."

His hand caught my wrist. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm done fighting for something you'll never give me." I looked down at his hand, so possessive, so controlling. "You want appearances? Fine. I'll play the devoted wife in public. But in private? We're nothing but roommates, Alexander. And that's all we'll ever be."

"You don't mean that."

"I've never meant anything more." I pulled free, my heart hammering. "Goodnight, Alexander."

I locked the bedroom door behind me, pressing my back against it as tears finally fell. Playing indifferent was harder than I'd imagined. Every word had been a knife to my own heart.

But Eleanor was right. I needed to show Alexander what he was losing.

Even if it destroyed me in the process.

The next morning, I woke to find Alexander already gone. A note sat on the kitchen counter: “Business trip to Tokyo. Back Friday. - A”

No endearment. No apology. Just his initial.

Perfect.

I pulled out my phone and called the one person I'd been avoiding for months.

"Sophia?" My best friend Jennifer's voice was thick with sleep. "Do you know what time it is?"

"I need your help." I glanced at the clock, six AM. "And I need it now."

Three hours later, I sat in Jennifer's cramped apartment in Greenwich Village, so different from the sterile perfection of the penthouse.

"Let me get this straight." Jennifer poured coffee with shaking hands. "You want to make Alexander jealous?"

"I want to make him see what he's losing." I wrapped my hands around the warm mug. "There's a difference."

"Sophia, this is dangerous. You said yourself he's possessive"

"He's possessive of his property. Not me." The words tasted bitter. "I want him to be possessive of “me”. To look at me the way he looks at Elena. To panic at the thought of losing me."

"And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

"By living my life. By being the woman I was before I became Mrs. Alexander Wyndham." I set down the coffee. "I'm going back to work."

Jennifer's eyes widened. "At the restoration institute?"

"Dr. Morrison called me last week. They have a position opening, lead restoration specialist for a new Renaissance collection." I'd ignored the call, too trapped in my misery to imagine anything beyond my gilded cage. "I'm calling him back today."

"Alexander will never allow it"

"Alexander doesn't get a vote." Steel entered my voice. "I'm done asking permission to live my life."

Jennifer studied me for a long moment. "You've changed."

"I'm trying to." I stood, grabbing my purse. "Will you help me?"

"Always." She hugged me tight. "But Sophia? Be careful. Men like Alexander don't lose gracefully."

I left her apartment with a new sense of purpose. By noon, I'd accepted Dr. Morrison's position. By two PM, I'd opened a new bank account and transferred funds Alexander couldn't touch. By four, I'd met with a realtor about small apartments I could afford on my own salary.

My phone buzzed constantly, texts from Marcus asking my location, calls from Alexander's assistant checking if I needed anything. I ignored them all.

For the first time in two years, I felt like the old Sophia again.

My phone rang at seven PM. Alexander's name flashed on the screen.

I almost didn't answer, but curiosity won.

"Hello?"

"Where the hell have you been?" His voice was tight with barely controlled anger. "Marcus said you left at nine this morning and haven't been back. You're not answering his texts. What's going on?"

"I was out."

"Out where?"

"That's none of your business, Alexander."

Silence. Then: "Everything about you is my business."

"Not anymore." I kept my voice steady. "You wanted a wife in name only? Congratulations. You have one. But that means I get to live my life without reporting to you every five minutes."

"Sophia"

"I have to go. I have dinner plans."

"With who?"

I smiled, even though he couldn't see it. "Goodnight, Alexander."

I hung up before he could respond, my hands trembling.

The phone immediately started ringing again. I turned it off.

Let him wonder. Let him worry.

Let him feel a fraction of what I'd felt for two years.

My new phone, the one I'd bought that afternoon, the one Alexander didn't know about, buzzed with a text from Jennifer: “He just called me asking where you are. What should I say?”

I typed back: “Tell him the truth. You don't know.”

Because starting tonight, Alexander Wyndham no longer controlled my every move.

And something told me he wasn't going to handle that well at all.