Chapter 3 - The Psychological Evaluation

Sophia

I'm sitting in what can only be described as the world's most expensive therapist's office, staring at a woman who looks like she stepped out of a catalog for ‘Therapists Who Definitely Have Their Shit Together.’

Dr. Patricia Mendez has silver hair pulled back in a perfect chignon, kind eyes behind designer glasses, and the sort of calm energy that makes you want to confess all your deepest secrets within the first five minutes. Which is probably exactly the point.

"So, Ms. Sterling," she says, glancing down at her tablet with the kind of casual elegance that suggests she's done this a thousand times before. "Tell me about your relationship with your father."

Jesus Christ, we're really doing this.

I shift in the leather chair that probably costs more than my car and arrange my features into what I hope is the appropriate level of wealthy-daughter angst. "My father and I have a... complicated relationship."

"Complicated how?"

This is the part where I'm supposed to lean into the whole "rich daddy issues" persona I've created for Sophia Sterling. The problem is, I never had a father to have issues with, complicated or otherwise. What I had was a revolving door of foster homes and a social worker named Margaret who chain-smoked Marlboros and called me "kiddo" like it was my actual name.

"He's very focused on business," I say, which feels like a safe rich-person complaint. "Success, legacy, the family name. Sometimes I feel like I'm just another acquisition to him."

Dr. Mendez nods sympathetically, making notes on her tablet. "And how does that make you feel?"

Like I'm a fraud who's about to be exposed by a woman with a psychology degree and too much time on her hands.

"Invisible," I say instead, and the word comes out more honest than I intended. "Like nothing I do will ever be enough."

The truth is, I've felt invisible my entire life. In foster care, you learn early that making yourself small and unremarkable is the key to survival. Don't be too smart, don't be too loud, don't be too anything. Just exist quietly until you age out of the system and can finally start living.

"That must be very lonely," Dr. Mendez says softly.

Shit. I can feel my carefully constructed walls starting to crack, and that's not good for anyone involved. Sophia Sterling is supposed to be vulnerable but in a rich-girl way, not in a ‘I spent my eighteenth birthday in a group home eating grocery store cake by myself’ way.

"Sometimes," I admit, because apparently my mouth has decided to go rogue. "But you learn to cope, you know? You find ways to protect yourself."

"What kind of ways?"

I think about the sarcasm, the emotional walls, the way I push people away before they can leave me first. I think about how I've perfected the art of being alone because it's safer than hoping someone might actually stay.

"Humor," I say finally. "If you can make people laugh, they don't look too closely at anything else."

Dr. Mendez sets down her tablet and really looks at me for the first time since I sat down. "And what don't you want them to see?"

I freeze, because there’s no way to answer that without bleeding a little. For a moment, I forget I'm supposed to be playing a character. I forget I'm here on assignment. I forget everything except the weight of that question and the way it makes my chest feel too tight.

"That I'm not who they think I am," I whisper, and immediately want to take it back.

"Who do you think they think you are?"

Someone worth staying for.

But I can't say that. Can't admit that the deepest fear I carry around isn't that people will discover I'm not rich or successful or put-together. It's that they'll discover I'm not worth the effort it takes to love me.

"Someone who has it all figured out," I say instead, pulling myself back together. "Someone who deserves good things."

"And you don't believe you deserve good things?"

Before I can answer, there's a soft knock on the door. Dr. Mendez glances at her watch, looking surprised.

"Come in."

The door opens and Marcus Blackwood steps inside, looking unfairly gorgeous in a charcoal suit that was probably stitched together around his perfect arms. His eyes find mine immediately, and I try to pour cold water on the way his gaze heats my insides.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he says, his voice doing that thing where it goes slightly rough around the edges. "But we have a situation that requires Ms. Sterling's immediate attention."

Dr. Mendez looks between us, clearly picking up on some kind of tension. "Of course. We can continue this another time."

I stand on legs that feel slightly unsteady, smoothing down my skirt and trying to look like I haven't just been emotionally disemboweled by a professional.

"Thank you, Dr. Mendez," I manage. "This was... enlightening."

Marcus places his hand on the small of my back as he guides me toward the door, and the touch sends an unwelcome shiver through me.

"Are you all right?" he asks quietly once we're in the hallway.

The question catches me off guard. Not because he's asking, but because he sounds like he actually cares about the answer.

"I'm fine," I lie, the same way I've been lying my entire life. "What's the situation?"

He studies my face for a long moment, and I have the unsettling feeling that he can see right through me. Again.

"Your first match," he says finally. "He's here early and specifically requested to meet you immediately."

Oh, great. Another performance.

"Lead the way," I say, sliding back into Sophia Sterling like putting on a familiar coat.

But as we walk down the hallway, I can't shake the feeling that something fundamental has shifted in that room. Like I showed Patricia Mendez, and by proxy Marcus Blackwood, a piece of myself I didn't mean to show, and now I can't take it back.

And I really want to.