Too Late She Already Married Mr. Right (Sophia) novel Chapter 43

Sophia’s eyes snapped open. Emily’s face hovered, with angelic features and a demon smile. Sophia’s throat felt lined with sandpaper. She saved the calories and said nothing.

Seeing her lying there, weak as a declawed cat, Emily smirked and settled herself on the edge of the bed. “Frank said your fever is psychosomatic. Comes from depression.” She tilted her head, mock–concerned. “Why put yourself through all this misery, Sophia?”

Sophia’s voice came out gravelly. “You finished?”

“God, I envy you.” Emily’s glossy lips curved. “You get the full pregnancy experience. Me? I’m on the express lane. No stretch marks, no puke, still get the push present. Neat, right?”

The words hit their mark. Sophia’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You switched the test results.” She already knew, but she needed to hear the confession. Revenge required proof.

Emily giggled, all feigned sweetness. “Took you long enough to connect the dots. I was starting to worry you enjoyed being clueless.”

A strange, hollow laugh escaped Sophia’s lips.

Emily flinched. “What’s so funny? Everything you had was mine first. You waltzed back, thinking you could steal my man? Please. Lucas loves me. You were just a tool, a leverage to make me come back to him.”

A fist seemed to wedge in Sophia’s throat. “Come again?”

“Drone proposal, chopping down your cherry trees for my roses, renaming the villa Rosalie… Ring any bells?” Emily chuckled. “Those weren’t love letters to you, sweetie. They were skywriting for me.”

Emily’s smile was cruel. “He needed you head–over–heels so you’d volunteer to pop out our kid without ruining my figure. Tough girls like you were built for the heavy lifting.”

Crimson washed across Sophia’s vision, every capillary screaming. The final puzzle piece clicked so loud she almost heard the snap. All those tender midnight whispers, he’d been talking through her to the ghost in the room. She’d been the stand- in for her own nightmare.

Emily leaned in, palm condescendingly soft against Sophia’s cheek. “Facts, sweetheart. Lucas has only ever loved me. You’re the rent–a–womb so I don’t have to-”

Before she could finish, excruciating pain ripped across her scalp. Her face was shoved hard into the mattress. Then a weight settled on her back, yanking her head up by the hair. Slaps came down, sharp, stinging, one after another.

The sharp sound of slaps filled the room, crisp and brutal. Sophia found a rhythm, each hit feeding the next.

And for some reason, Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” started playing in her head. ‘Caught in a bad romance… Hell yeah. The beat matches perfectly.

Trapped and hair–pulled, Emily could only take it. Soon her cheeks burned, swollen and hot. She tasted copper. “You crazy bitch! Lucas will kill you!”

The noise brought Lucas rushing from his study. He froze in the doorway, taking in the scene: Emily pinned, Sophia on top.

“Sophia! Get off her!” He fisted the back of Sophia’s collar, yanking her upright like a misbehaving kitten.

Rage didn’t care about gravity. The second her toes brushed the floor, she launched, legs snapping around his waist, arm

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snaring his neck. free hand windmilling across his face.

Lucas was already on the bed, lifting a sobbing Emily. “I don’t know what happened. I was just being nice to her, Emily wailed, dinging to him.

One heartbeat of hesitation was enough. When he looked again, the doorway was empty, only the echo of her uneven gait retreating down the hall.

Rachel’s whisper knifed the silence. “Sir, she’s bleeding through the fabric. A lot.”

Lucas’s eyes widened. The memory of his own violent shove replayed in his mind. The way she had crumpled, doubled over in agony, unable to stand straight. ‘Have I really pushed her that hard?‘

His eyes darted to the nightstand. “The corner isn’t even that sharp. It should have left a bruise at worst, not… this. Was Rachel being dramatic, or-

Then he saw the ruby pin–drops on snow–white carpet, spelling a trail straight out the door. His heart lurched. He shoved Emily’s clutching hands off his sleeve and bolted.

Downstairs, Sophia was already in her car. The second her weight hit the seat, a fresh crimson bloom spread under her like a macabre flower. She bit back a scream, slammed the belt, punched the start button, and floored it.

On the road, she speed–dialed Annabelle, voice barely a thread. “Annabelle… hospital. One that the Westwoods have no ties to. I’m ending this pregnancy?

Annabelle was at Unity Care Hospital, stifling a yawn while her parents exchanged polite nothings with Edmund Sterling.

The connection between her family, the Quinns, and the powerful Sterlings was so tenuous it was almost imaginary. But here they were, paying obligatory respects.

Her phone vibrated, and Sophia’s weak voice instantly snapped her to attention. Boredom evaporated, replaced by cold fear.