The price of freedom

Sophia ~

I stayed at the institute until seven PM, burying myself in work to avoid thinking about Alexander's parting words.

"You should go home." James appeared beside my workstation, concern etched on his face. "You've been staring at that canvas for twenty minutes without moving."

"I can't go back there." The admission came out broken. "I can't face him. Not tonight."

"Then don't." He pulled out his phone. "My sister has a spare room in Brooklyn. She's traveling for work. You can stay there as long as you need."

"James, I can't impose—"

"You're not imposing. You're surviving." He squeezed my shoulder. "Let me help you, Sophia. Please."

I nodded, too exhausted to argue.

The apartment was small but warm, filled with plants and books and the kind of comfortable chaos that came from actually living in a space. So different from the sterile perfection of the penthouse.

"There's food in the fridge. Extra towels in the bathroom." James handed me a key. "And Sophia? Turn off your old phone. He'll use it to track you."

After he left, I sat on the couch staring at both phones. The old one had thirty-seven missed calls from Alexander, fifteen from Marcus, and a dozen texts ranging from angry to threatening to almost... worried?

*Where are you?*

*Sophia, this is childish.*

*Answer your phone.*

*I'm sorry. Can we talk?*

*Please come home.*

*SOPHIA.*

The desperation in that last text made my chest ache. But I powered it off anyway, watching the screen go dark.

Freedom felt terrifying.

I spent a restless night dreaming of Alexander—his hands on my skin, his voice in my ear, his eyes burning with possessive fire. I woke at three AM gasping, my body betraying me with want even as my mind screamed to stay away.

Morning brought a call on my new phone. Eleanor Hartley.

"How did you get this number?" I demanded.

"I have my ways, dear." Her voice was amused. "I'm calling to warn you. Alexander met with Elena last night."

My stomach dropped. "How do you know?"

"Because Elena called me afterward, upset. Your husband showed up at her apartment at midnight, demanding she tell him if there was any chance for them." Eleanor paused. "He wanted to know if she'd marry him if he divorced you."

The words hit like a physical blow. "What... what did she say?"

"She told him no. She told him she doesn't love him that way and never will. She told him he's being a fool." Eleanor's voice softened. "But Sophia, he asked. That means he's seriously considering letting you go."

I should have felt relieved. Victorious, even. Instead, I felt like my heart was being carved out of my chest.

"Good," I managed. "That's what I wanted."

"Is it?" Eleanor's question hung in the air. "Because from where I'm standing, you both look like you're destroying each other to avoid admitting the truth."

"What truth?"

"That you love each other. You're just both too stubborn and damaged to know what to do about it."

I ended the call, Eleanor's words echoing in my mind.

Work provided a blessed distraction. Dr. Morrison assigned me to the Botticelli restoration—a career-defining project that required complete focus. I threw myself into it, grateful for something that demanded all my attention.

"Sophia." James poked his head into my workspace around noon. "You have a visitor."

My heart stopped. "Alexander?"

"No. A woman. Says her name is Elena Hartley."

I found Elena in the reception area, looking as effortlessly beautiful as ever in jeans and a simple sweater. She stood when she saw me, her expression uncertain.

"Sophia. Thank you for seeing me."

"Did I have a choice?" I crossed my arms. "What do you want, Elena?"

"To apologize." She gestured to a private corner. "Please. Five minutes."

Against my better judgment, I followed.

"I didn't realize," Elena began, her voice tight. "I didn't know Alexander's... attention was hurting you. I thought you understood that we were just friends."

"Friends don't meet at usual places. Friends don't take midnight phone calls. Friends don't—" I stopped, swallowing hard. "You knew he was married. You knew I existed. How could you not realize?"

"Because I'm selfish." Tears welled in her eyes. "Because having Alexander's friendship, his support, made me feel less alone in the work I do. Because I lost my parents and he saved me, and I've been clinging to that connection ever since." She wiped her eyes. "But I never wanted to hurt you. And I never wanted Alexander to use me as an excuse to avoid his marriage."

"He came to you last night."

"I know. I sent him away." She met my gaze. "I told him the truth—that I don't love him romantically. That I never have. That if he loses you because of me, he'll regret it for the rest of his life."

"It's too late for that."

"Is it?" Elena stepped closer. "Sophia, I've known Alexander for fifteen years. I've never seen him the way he was last night—desperate, broken, terrified. He's not good at emotions. He doesn't know how to show love. But that doesn't mean he doesn't feel it."

"He doesn't love me. He loves controlling me."

"Maybe it started that way. But it's changed." She pulled out her phone, showed me a text from Alexander: *How do I fix this? I can't lose her.*

My breath caught.

"He sent that at four AM," Elena said softly. "He's been calling me every hour since, asking how to win you back. The great Alexander Wyndham, who always knows what to do, is completely lost without you."

"I don't believe you."

"Then believe this." She showed me another text: *I was wrong. About everything. About us, about Sophia, about what marriage means. I thought I was protecting myself by keeping distance. All I did was destroy the best thing in my life. How do I show her I've changed?*

Tears blurred my vision. "He's never said anything like that to me."

"Because he doesn't know how. Because he's terrified of vulnerability. Because—" Elena's phone rang. She glanced at the screen and handed it to me. "It's him. Talk to him, Sophia. Please."

I stared at Alexander's name on the screen, my hand trembling.

"Sophia?" I answered before I could stop myself.

"Elena, thank God. Did you find her? Is she safe?" His voice was ragged, desperate. "I can't find her anywhere. Marcus lost her trail. I've called every hotel in the city. I—" He stopped. "Wait. This isn't Elena's voice."

"No." My voice cracked. "It's me."

Dead silence. Then: "Sophia. Baby, where are you? Are you okay?"

Baby. He'd never called me that before.

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You haven't been fine for months, and I've been too blind to see it." He sounded like he was moving, car sounds in the background. "Tell me where you are. Let me come get you. Let me—"

"Alexander, stop."

"I can't stop. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't fucking breathe without knowing you're safe." His voice broke. "Please, Sophia. I know I don't deserve it. I know I've been a terrible husband. But please, just tell me where you are."

"Why?" The question came out as a whisper. "So you can drag me home? Lock me in our penthouse? Control every aspect of my life?"

"No. So I can apologize. So I can beg for another chance. So I can—" He stopped, and I heard him pull over, engine cutting off. "So I can tell you that I'm an idiot. That I've wasted two years pushing away the most incredible woman I've ever met because I was too scared to admit I need her."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "You don't mean that."

"I've never meant anything more." His breathing was ragged. "I love you, Sophia. I've loved you since the night we met. And I've been running from it because everyone I love leaves. My parents died. Elena almost died. And I thought if I kept you at arm's length, if I never let myself need you, then losing you wouldn't destroy me."

"Alexander—"

"But I was wrong. So fucking wrong. Because losing you is destroying me anyway. And I'd rather have one real day with you than a lifetime of this empty existence."

Tears streamed down my face. "How do I know you mean it? How do I know this isn't just because I finally stood up to you?"

"You don't. Not yet." His voice was raw. "But let me prove it. Every day. For the rest of our lives if you'll let me. Just... please come home."

I looked at Elena, who watched me with knowing eyes.

"I need time," I whispered into the phone.

"How much time?"

"I don't know."

"Then I'll wait." His voice steadied slightly. "I'll wait as long as it takes, Sophia. Because you're worth waiting for."

He hung up, and I stood there shaking, Elena's hand on my shoulder.

"What do I do?" I asked.

"That's up to you, dear. But remember—running from love is just as dangerous as running toward the wrong person."

My new phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: *His words sound pretty. But words are easy. Make him prove it. Make him earn you back. - R. Chen*

Rebecca. My divorce lawyer. How did everyone keep getting this number?

And more importantly—was Alexander really willing to fight for me?

Or would he give up the moment it got hard?