Chapter 2: The Woman Who Came Back

My fingers tightened around the staircase railing until my knuckles turned white.

Isabella stood in the entrance hall as if she had always belonged there.

She wore a cream-colored dress that made her look delicate, almost fragile. A polite smile rested on her lips while the house staff hurried around her with suitcases.

Then Vincent walked through the front door.

His gray eyes immediately found Isabella.

Only after making sure she was alright did he look up at me.

For a brief second, surprise crossed his face.

"Principessa," he called softly. "Why are you standing there?"

I almost laughed.

He had spent the evening lying to me about a family meeting, yet he was asking why I looked upset.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" I replied.

His brows drew together.

"I was looking for you."

"Really?"

"You left without saying anything."

"And you forgot to mention your family meeting included dinner with Isabella."

Silence settled over the room.

Maria looked between us with obvious curiosity.

My father frowned but stayed quiet.

Vincent glanced at Isabella before speaking.

"She just returned to New York. She wasn't feeling well."

"So you took her to the hospital."

"Yes."

"And dinner afterward? Was that part of the treatment too?"

Isabella quickly stepped forward.

"Sophia, please don't misunderstand. Vincent was only helping me."

"I wasn't talking to you."

Her face paled instantly.

Vincent's expression hardened.

"Sophia."

"Don't."

For the first time in years, I didn't care whether he approved of my behavior.

"You lied to me."

"I omitted something that wasn't your concern."

Those words landed harder than I expected.

Not your concern.

Three years of stolen nights.

Three years of whispered promises.

And Isabella was somehow none of my concern.

"You're right," I said quietly.

"It isn't my concern anymore."

I turned and walked upstairs before anyone could stop me.

Behind me, I heard Vincent call my name.

I kept walking.

Inside my bedroom, I locked the door.

Only then did I allow myself to breathe.

A few minutes later, someone knocked.

"Sophia."

Vincent.

"Open the door."

"I'm tired."

"We need to talk."

"About Isabella?"

Silence answered me.

"Good night, Vincent."

"Sophia."

"Please leave."

For nearly a minute, neither of us spoke.

Finally, I heard his footsteps fade down the hallway.

I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor.

The room suddenly felt too quiet.

My eyes wandered toward the closet.

Hidden behind several dresses sat a small velvet box.

The cuff links.

I had bought them nearly six months earlier after hearing Vincent admire an antique collection during an auction.

I had imagined giving them to him on my birthday.

Now they felt ridiculous.

I opened the box anyway.

The silver reflected the morning sunlight spilling through the curtains.

"Wrong timing," I whispered.

The next morning, the Romano estate felt unusually lively.

Servants rushed through the hall preparing breakfast while decorators carried fresh flowers inside.

I frowned.

"What's going on?"

One of the maids hesitated before answering.

"Miss Isabella will be staying here for a while. Don Romano asked us to prepare the guest wing."

Guest wing.

No.

Not the guest wing.

The room they were preparing sat directly across from mine.

I walked downstairs just as Isabella entered the dining room.

"Good morning," she greeted cheerfully.

"Morning," I answered without enthusiasm.

Vincent arrived moments later.

He pulled out a chair.

For Isabella.

I looked away.

He had never once pulled out a chair for me.

Maybe I had never noticed.

Maybe he had never wanted to.

"Sophia," my father said, breaking the silence. "The Sterling family arrives next week."

"I know."

"We'll announce the engagement before the wedding."

"Fine."

Vincent stopped pouring coffee.

"Engagement?"

My father looked surprised.

"Didn't Sophia tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

Every pair of eyes landed on me.

I calmly buttered a slice of toast.

"I'm getting married."

The knife slipped from Vincent's fingers.

It hit the plate with a sharp clang.

"Married?"

"Yes."

"To who?"

"Alexander Sterling."

"The Sterling heir?"

"That's right."

"He's dying."

"So I've heard."

Vincent stared at me as though waiting for the punchline.

"This isn't funny."

"Who said I was joking?"

"Sophia, explain."

"There's nothing to explain."

"You're twenty-two."

"Old enough to make my own decisions."

"Not this one."

For the first time in months, genuine emotion flashed across Vincent's face.

Confusion.

Frustration.

Something deeper.

I refused to let myself guess.

"Congratulations," Isabella suddenly said with a gentle smile.

"Thank you," I replied.

"I'm sure Vincent only wants what's best for you."

I looked directly at her.

"Interesting. Since when did you start speaking for him?"

Her smile faltered.

"I didn't mean—"

"Enough," Vincent interrupted.

"Sophia, meet me in my office after breakfast."

"No."

"That wasn't a request."

"It sounded like one."

My father slammed his hand against the table.

"Sophia!"

I stood.

"I've lost my appetite."

Without another word, I left the dining room.

Half an hour later, Vincent walked into my room without knocking.

"You've been avoiding me."

"Observation skills. Impressive."

"Sophia, stop acting like this."

"Like what?"

"Like you're trying to punish me."

I laughed quietly.

"Do you really think everything I do revolves around you?"

"This marriage certainly does."

"You're giving yourself too much credit."

He stepped closer.

"Look at me."

I did.

His expression softened.

"Don't marry him."

"Why?"

"Because you'll regret it."

"Maybe."

"Sophia."

"Give me one reason not to."

He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

I waited.

Five long seconds passed.

"That's what I thought," I whispered.

"This isn't about Isabella."

"Isn't it?"

"No."

"Then tell me what I am to you."

His jaw tightened.

"You're important."

"Important how?"

"Sophia..."

"A responsibility?"

"No."

"A mistake?"

"Stop."

"Someone you pity?"

"Enough."

"Or just your little secret? Someone you call Principessa after dark but forget once the sun comes up?"

The room fell painfully silent.

Vincent looked at me for what felt like forever.

Finally, he spoke.

"You know I can't answer that."

My heart broke all over again.

Because he hadn't said he wouldn't answer.

He had said he couldn't.

Whatever existed between us had never been strong enough to survive daylight.

I smiled despite the ache in my chest.

"Then I already have my answer."

I walked past him toward the window.

"The wedding is in two weeks."

"Cancel it."

"No."

"Sophia."

"You'll survive."

"You're making a mistake."

"Maybe I am."

I turned back to face him.

"But for the first time in three years, it'll be my mistake instead of yours."

Vincent stood perfectly still.

For the first time since I had met him, he looked completely speechless.

As he quietly left my room, neither of us noticed Isabella standing just beyond the half-open door.

She had heard enough.

And the faint smile that appeared on her lips told me one thing.

The real battle between us had only just begun.