His Rejected Wife, the Billionaire’s New Desire

SOPHIAThe heavy smell of roast chicken filled the house. It was almost too much for the small kitchen. I had spent most of the afternoon cooking. Moving from one dish to the other, tasting, adjusting, and wiping sweat from my forehead as the hours passed. My back ached, but it was worth it. After placing the chicken on the table, I stepped back to study the setting like a teacher grading her own work. There were tall, white candles in the center, plates lined evenly, and silverware polished. The wine bottle stood ready, already opened, so Marc wouldn’t have to bother. It had been months since we last had a drink together. We could share a glass on our anniversary. I smoothed the tablecloth with my palm, my heart racing as if this were a test. In a way, it was. Things had changed since Ollie was born, but tonight, I wanted to close that distance.Satisfied with the arrangement, I left for our bedroom. On the vanity sat the small box I had hidden for weeks. Inside it was a silver wat

SOPHIABy the time I finally got home, the bag felt heavier than it should have been with the dress inside. I kept glancing at it, half-afraid Marc would pull into the driveway behind me and ask what I had been doing. But the street was quiet, and his car was nowhere in sight. Good. I’d been out for much longer than I thought. He should be home soon. As soon as I pushed the front door open, I froze. The living room looked like it’d experienced a storm. Ollie’s toys were littered across the floor. Stuffed animals, cars, plastic blocks. Even his favorite red truck was tipped on its side. There were shoes in the middle of the room and couch cushions on the carpet. What happened here? When would I catch a break? I took another step inside, and my knees nearly buckled when I saw the table. A gallon of milk sat open with the cap tossed aside. White liquid had sloshed down the sides, leaving rings on the wood. My stomach clenched. It looked like Ollie’s handiwork. If he was home, did that

SOPHIAThe man sat at the head of the table, his posture straight, with his face scrunched in concentration. Floral had managed to print my résumé and submit it. He didn’t look at me right away, but I recognized him instantly.What role was he holding? If Floral was the manager, then who was he? I forced my face to stay neutral to hide the shock swirling in my chest. My palms grew damp, but I smoothed them over the fabric of the dress, grateful it at least made me feel composed and not out of place.Another person entered the room and took a seat beside him. I braced myself for the worse, expecting them to realize I’d come this far because of my best friend, not by merit. But the man cleared his throat, his presence filling the space before a word left his mouth.“Mrs. Sophia Carver,” he began in a commanding voice. He motioned to the chair across the long desk. “Please, have your seat.”Without a word, I settled down across from him.“Good morning,” he continued. “Let’s begin. I’m Ad

SOPHIAThe door creaked louder than I wanted beneath my hand, but they didn’t notice me. Not even when I stepped all the way in, my heart pounding so violently I thought the sound would give me away. Marc’s laugh was low and satisfied as he praised his assistant for being so good.Victoria whimpered at his next thrust, and my vision blurred red. My eyes landed on the ceramic vase on the dresser. I didn’t think. I just moved, grabbing the object. It was cool and heavy in my hands, but I didn’t care. I hurled it at him with every ounce of fury I’d bottled for years.The crash rang out, followed by his startled shout. The vase clipped his cheek, cutting a jagged line of red across his handsome face. He whipped around, eyes wide with panic. Victoria scrambled t

SOPHIA Adrian’s presence commanded attention, and everyone in the lobby seemed to momentarily pause to ogle him. He went straight to the front desk, his tailored suit perfect on his frame. My eyes followed his every move, and as if sensing my gaze, he turned. The second he saw me, his expression softened, and a smile spread across his face.“Wait, did Mr. Hale just smile at us?” Floral whispered.Mr. Hale sounded too formal. He stalked toward us, one hand sliding into his pocket as he came to a stop. Floral greeted him before he could say a word to either of us. “Good morning, Mr. Hale.” She sounded too happy. He gave her a polite nod. But when his attention shifted to me, his face changed into something warm and softer.