Chapter Twelve: Transformation

Sophia's POV

I sat in the back of the taxi and stared up at the five-story glass building towering above the busy street.

The mirrored exterior reflected the city, the traffic, and a woman I barely recognized me. Maybe Ethan was right. The thought annoyed me. For years, I had survived on practical decisions. Drugstore shampoo. Discount clothing. Comfortable shoes. Everything I owned had been chosen for necessity, not appearance.

When your mother's hospital bills were swallowing every spare dollar, luxury became a foreign language. Still, looking at my reflection now, I couldn't deny it. The woman staring back at me looked tired. Completely out of place beside someone like Ethan Blackwell.

The taxi came to a stop. I paid the driver and stepped onto the sidewalk.

The building's entrance gleamed beneath the morning sun. A luxury beauty and wellness center. The kind of place I normally walked past without even glancing through the windows.

Today, however, I was expected. I adjusted my handbag on my shoulder and walked inside.

The lobby alone was larger than my entire apartment. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead. Soft music drifted through the air. Everything smelled expensive. A young woman standing behind the reception desk immediately smiled when she saw me.

"Good morning, Miss Hart."

I blinked. She knew who I was. "Good morning."

"Please follow me."

I followed her toward a private elevator.

The doors opened almost instantly. Within seconds, we reached the third floor. As soon as the elevator doors slid apart, another woman was waiting.

She looked polished and elegant in a fitted black uniform. "Good morning, Mrs. Blackwell."

I nearly tripped. Mrs. Blackwell. The title hit me harder than it should have. Not because it was true. Because it would be soon.

I forced a smile. "Good morning."

"This way."

She led me down a long hallway lined with private suites. Through one of the glass walls, I caught glimpses of wealthy women sipping champagne while stylists worked on their hair. I suddenly felt underdressed. Again. Eventually she stopped outside a large room.

The moment I stepped inside, I forgot how to breathe. The room was beautiful. Cream-colored furniture. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Fresh flowers. Soft lighting.

The chair positioned in front of the vanity looked more comfortable than my bed.

"Please make yourself comfortable." After she left, I sat down cautiously.

I felt like an imposter. Like someone would eventually realize I didn't belong here. A few moments later, a man in his forties entered. He wore black designer clothing and carried himself with effortless confidence.

"Miss Sophia Blackwell."

The title again. I smiled awkwardly. "Hello."

He shook my hand warmly. "I'm Marcus."

Unlike most people in Ethan's world, he immediately made me feel comfortable. "So," he said, studying my face. "When was the last time you had professional makeup done?"

I hesitated. His expression softened.

"Oh no. That's never a good sign."

I laughed despite myself. "A year ago."

He placed a hand dramatically against his chest. "A year?"

I nodded. "As in twelve months."

He looked horrified. "As in a crime."

That made me laugh harder. For the next hour, we talked while he worked. About work. About family. About terrible first dates. About life.

By the time he finished, it felt like we had known each other for years.

"Ready?" he asked.

I swallowed nervously. "No."

"Good. That's the correct answer."

He turned the chair toward the mirror. My breath caught. The woman staring back at me looked familiar. Yet completely different. My features looked softer. More refined. More confident. The exhaustion I carried every day seemed less visible.

For the first time in a long while, I looked like someone who wasn't constantly fighting to survive.

I slowly touched my cheek. "Wow."

Marcus grinned. "I'll accept your gratitude in cash."

I laughed. Then looked at myself again. Maybe Ethan had a point. Maybe appearances mattered. Not because I wanted to impress him. But because for the first time, I could actually imagine standing beside him at Saturday's gala without feeling invisible.

My phone vibrated. Then again. And again. I picked it up. Seven missed calls.

All from Emeka.

I sighed. Then opened my messages.

Emeka: Hello?

Emeka: Tell me the rumors aren't true.

Emeka: Everyone is talking about you.

Emeka: How did you do it?

Emeka: Sophia!

Emeka: Call me now.

I closed the screen immediately. The office gossip machine had officially exploded.

Wonderful. Marcus eventually finished his work and left. A few minutes later, another woman arrived. This time she focused on my eyebrows and nails. Everything felt surreal. As if I had accidentally stepped into someone else's life. Halfway through the appointment, my phone rang again. Emeka.

I stared at the screen. Then finally answered. "Hello?"

His voice exploded through the speaker. "Sophia!"

I winced. "Why are you shouting?"

"Because the entire company is talking about you!"

I closed my eyes. Of course they were.

"Is it true?" he demanded.

"What exactly?"

"Don't do that."

I smiled despite myself. "Do what?"

"Pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

I laughed softly. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Are you seriously engaged to Ethan Blackwell?"

The question hung in the air.bI looked at my reflection. The perfectly styled hair. The expensive makeup. The luxury suite. The life-changing contract. Everything suddenly felt very real.

"I'll explain later."

"Sophia—"

"Later."

He sighed dramatically. "I knew something was happening."

"You know nothing."

"I know enough."

I shook my head. If only he knew the truth. If only he knew what I had agreed to. What I was risking. What I was hiding.

The conversation ended shortly afterward.

When my final appointment finished, I thanked everyone and left.

The afternoon sun warmed my skin as I stepped outside. For the first time all day, I felt lighter. Not happy. Not exactly. But lighter.

My phone buzzed again. This time it was an unknown number. I opened the message.

A car will pick you up at seven tonight. Your wardrobe fitting has been scheduled.

You will return tomorrow for final preparations. The gala is on Saturday.

I stared at the message for several seconds. Then smiled. A small smile. One I couldn't quite explain. Maybe this was madness. Maybe agreeing to marry Ethan Blackwell would become the biggest mistake of my life. Or maybe it would save it. I slipped the phone back into my bag and started walking down the street.

The message lingered in my mind. A wardrobe fitting tonight. Another appointment tomorrow. The gala on Saturday. The beginning of our performance.

I shook my head and laughed quietly to myself. Maybe the devil wasn't completely heartless after all.