Chapter 1

Sophia’s POV

The abortion was successful. I didn’t feel much pain.

I just felt hollow, as if someone had carved the vital parts out of my soul.

Forcing myself to block out thoughts of Carlos, I took a cab back to the penthouse we shared in secret.

I had barely walked through the door when Carlos returned.

He had brought a box from an expensive Italian bakery to cheer me up, hand-feeding me a piece of cake.

The cloying sweetness hit my tongue, tasting like wax.

I hated sweets.

I had told him countless times, but he never remembered.

There were times I refused to eat it, and he would lose his temper, calling me ungrateful.

Now I understood. The woman who loved sweets, the woman Carlos actually loved, was someone else.

Acid rose in my throat. I pushed his hand away and dry-heaved violently.

A flash of impatience crossed Carlos’s eyes, gone in an instant, replaced by his usual mask of concern.

"What’s wrong? Sophia, are you feeling sick?"

"Yeah, I feel like I’m going to vomit," I said, my voice flat.

Carlos smirked, that dangerous, charming grin, and pulled me into his lap.

"Let me see," he purred, his hand sliding up my thigh. "Is my little Sophia carrying my heir?"

I froze.

"Carlos, stop."

"If I were pregnant," I asked, staring into his eyes, "would you take me to City Hall? Would you give me a wedding in front of your family?"

The two questions killed his mood instantly.

He pulled his hand back, forcing a tight smile.

"Don't start this again, baby. You know the rules. We can’t go public; it puts a target on your back."

"Besides, if my family found out I was with my assistant, the Elders wouldn't accept it. You’d be in danger."

"You’d have to live under their scrutiny. Sophia, let’s take it slow. Don't push me, okay?"

"Isn't what we have enough? A marriage license and a wedding are just show. They don't mean anything in our world."

He nuzzled my neck, trying to distract me and make me laugh.

I wanted to laugh, but I couldn't.

How could a wedding be meaningless?

For five years, every time I mentioned marriage, he changed the subject or gave me the same tired excuses about "safety" and "timing."

I used to think he had commitment issues because of his lifestyle.

Today, I realized the truth.

He didn't hate marriage. He just didn't want to marry me.

I silently pushed him away, ignoring the disappointment in his eyes, and told him to go shower first.

Once the sound of running water came from the bathroom, I picked up Carlos’s phone.

The password was my birthday. He hadn't changed it.

It used to make me feel special. Now, it felt like a cruel joke.

I opened his encrypted messaging app. The pinned chat at the top wasn't me. It was a contact saved as "love of my life," with a profile picture of a woman who looked terrifyingly like me.

The messages were daggers, stabbing into my eyes.

"Sophie, are you okay? Every day you’ve been gone has been hell."

"Sophie, I hired a new assistant. She looks just like you. When I look at her, I can pretend you never left."

"Sophie, it’s fate. Her name is Sophia. She even has your birthday."

"But she isn't you. A counterfeit can never replace the diamond."

"Sophie, I bought that cake from Antonio’s you love. I wish I could feed it to you."

For five years, the chat was mostly Carlos talking to himself, a diary of obsession.

Until three months ago. Sophie returned to the US. The chat became active, filled with daily updates and flirting.

During the first snow of the winter, he had sent her a photo.

"Sophie, look, it's snowing! I'm so lucky you're back this year. I'll pick you up; let’s watch the snow fall together."

That night, he had left me alone with a high fever, claiming he had "business" to handle for the Organization.

The next morning, he came back hungover. I had dragged myself out of bed to make him soup. He took a picture of it and sent it to her.

"Drinking soup this morning. Sophie, remember to eat breakfast."

A month ago, Carlos told me he had to go out of town to handle a business conflict. In reality, he took Sophie on a vacation.

They visited every landmark I had ever begged Carlos to take me to.

He always told me he was too busy, that the mob life didn't allow for vacations. I waited five years.

Sophie had been back for a few months, and suddenly, he had all the time in the world.

He took her to the main estate to meet his parents, introducing her to the inner circle.

I finally understood. True love isn't about hiding someone for their "protection."

It’s about wanting to show them off to the world, regardless of the danger.

I should have known. Carlos wasn't afraid of going public; he just didn't want to go public with me.

Then I saw the photos of the house deed and the engagement ring. Carlos had announced it to his private circle—everyone knew, except me. I was the only one blocked.

My hand trembled uncontrollably holding the phone.

Knowing I was a substitute was one thing. Seeing the evidence—the cold, hard text proving I was just a placeholder—was another.

When Carlos told me he loved me, he was thinking of her.

When he looked at me with those deep, soulful eyes, he was looking through me, searching for her ghost.

Five years of memories shattered like glass, the shards piercing my heart.

The pain was suffocating. I dug my nails into my palm to stop the tears. I couldn't look anymore.

The water stopped running. I turned off the screen.

Carlos walked out, towel around his waist, habitually asking me to serve him.

"Sophia, where’s my navy suit?"

"Sophia, which tie goes with this? The silk or the matte?"

He hugged me from behind, burying his face in my neck, smelling of soap and lies.

"Sophia, I love you so much. What would I do without you?"

He acted the same as always, clinging to me. But when I turned around, he paused.

"Sophia, you look pale. Are you feverish?"

He immediately checked my forehead, his eyes full of worry.

I stayed silent, debating whether to lay the cards on the table, to shatter his fake affection right then and there.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Carlos glanced at the screen. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in an involuntary smile.

Is it her?

The question stuck in my throat.

Noticing my stare, Carlos flipped the phone over, his expression shifting to serious concern.

"Sophia, my father... the Don is in the hospital. I have to go to the compound immediately."

"You have a fever. Take some medicine and sleep. I can't stay tonight. You’re not angry, are you?"

"No," I said softly. "I'm not."

He dressed quickly and left. I couldn't stop myself.

I threw on a trench coat and hailed a cab, following his black SUV from a distance.

Thirty minutes later, his car pulled up not at the hospital, but at a luxury apartment complex.

Sophie was waiting outside. The moment she saw Carlos, she launched herself into his arms.

"Carlos!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the quiet street. "I have good news! I'm pregnant!"