Chapter 3
As Sophia stepped out of the club, the cold night air hit her, and for the first time in a long while, she felt truly alive. She didn't go home. That so-called home was nothing more than Charles's gilded cage.
She flagged down a cab on the street and gave the driver an unfamiliar address. It was a small apartment she'd quietly rented with her secret stash of cash.
She should have gotten out ages ago. But she'd been fooling herself all along.
Back in her own little space, Sophia ripped off that pathetic dress and threw it straight into the trash. Then she walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
The warm water poured over her, as if it could wash away all the humiliation and pain she'd carried for the past three years.
Leaning against the cold tiles, Sophia couldn't hold it in anymore. She broke down and cried her heart out.
When she was finally spent, she stepped out of the bathroom and looked at her puffy, red eyes in the mirror. Suddenly, she laughed.
It was over.
Everything was over.
From now on, Sophia was herself, never again anyone's substitute.
She pulled out her SIM card and flushed it down the toilet.
She cut off every possible way anyone could reach her.
The world was so big. Sophia didn't believe Charles could ever find her.
And even if he did, he couldn't possibly do anything.
She was no longer the Sophia who let him control her.
*****
When Charles got back to the villa, it was already deep into the night. He was seething with anger. Sophia's actions tonight had made him lose face.
He swore that when she came back, he'd make sure she knew what regret really meant.
He pushed open the door, and the villa was pitch black.
"Sophia?" he called out.
There was no answer.
Charles frowned, feeling even more annoyed.
'Sophia's getting gutsier by the day. Now she's got the nerve to not even come home at night,' he thought.
He switched on the lights, and the living room was as cold and deserted as when he'd left.
He wandered into the kitchen out of habit, but the usual sticky note on the fridge, reminding him to drink milk, was nowhere to be found.
There wasn't a bowl of hangover soup waiting for him on the dining table, either.
Charles suddenly felt an unexpected emptiness inside.
He tamped down the uneasy feeling and headed upstairs to the bedroom. Sophia wasn't there.
In the closet, her clothes were still hanging neatly, just where she'd left them. Her makeup and jewelry were all still in place. It didn't look like she'd packed up and left.
Charles gave a cold chuckle.
'So, she's trying to play some manipulative game? I'll see just how long she can keep this act going,' he thought.
He pulled out his phone and dialed the number he knew by heart.
"The number you have dialed is no longer in service..." The robotic female voice came through the phone, and Charles's face instantly darkened.
'No service? Did she really deactivate her SIM?' Charles wondered, anger bubbling up inside him. 'Well, isn't that just great. Sophia, looks like you finally grew a backbone.'
Charles didn't bother looking for Sophia anymore. He was confident she wouldn't last more than three days.
Sophia had no job, no friends. Her whole life revolved around him. Without him, she wouldn't make it on her own. So Charles was waiting for her to come back with her tail between her legs.
On the first day, Charles waited for Sophia's call, but it never came.
When he got home, the villa was still as cold as ever. There was no hot meal on the table, no cozy glow from the lights, and no one waiting for him at the door like always.
He yanked off his tie in frustration, and for the first time, the place felt unbearably spacious. He ordered some takeout, but it all tasted bland.
That night, sprawled out alone in the huge bed, Charles tossed and turned, unable to get a wink of sleep. He could still smell Sophia's subtle fragrance lingering in the air.
Frustrated, he got up and switched to a guest room.