Chapter 2: Nothing But a Broken Name
The hotel suite's marble bathroom still held traces of steam from Victoria's shower. She emerged with damp golden hair cascading over her shoulders, wrapped in the hotel's silk robe. A glass of red wine waited on the nightstand.
Victoria walked to the balcony, her bare feet silent against the cold marble floor. Boston's night skyline spread below, the harbor's dark waters reflecting the city lights.
She set her wine glass on the railing and slowly removed the emerald ring from her finger. Moonlight caught the stone, casting green shadows across her palm. The same shadows that had danced across Marcus's face earlier when recognition flickered in his bloodshot eyes.
You almost remembered, didn't you, Marcus?
A gust of wind swept across the balcony, carrying something unexpected. The delicate scent of jasmine from the hotel's garden below.
That fragrance. It was exactly the same as five years ago.
Memory crashed over her, dragging her back to that devastating afternoon when her world had shattered.
Victoria closed her eyes and let the memories take her. Back to the day when Sophia Ashford died.
The afternoon sun had been streaming through the bridal boutique's floor-to-ceiling windows. Crystal chandeliers threw delicate patterns across champagne-colored walls, and the air was thick with French perfume and the whisper of silk.
Twenty-three-year-old Sophia had stood before a trio of mirrors, drowning in ivory silk and tulle. The wedding dress fit perfectly. Her cheeks were flushed with happiness, and she couldn't stop smiling at her reflection.
"Miss Ashford, this gown is absolutely perfect on you," the designer had gushed, adjusting the delicate lace at Sophia's shoulders. "Mr. Clayton's gonna be speechless when he sees you walking down that aisle."
"Thank you so much," Sophia had whispered, running her fingers along the intricate beadwork. "I love the lace details here. They're so pretty."
Sophia's cheeks flushed with happiness as she imagined the future. Tomorrow I'll be Mrs. Clayton, she thought, heart racing with excitement. Marcus says he loves my innocence and kindness. We'll have the perfect wedding, then fly to Italy for our honeymoon, just like he promised.
Sophia had turned in front of the mirrors, watching the dress's train sweep gracefully behind her. The late afternoon sunlight from the windows made her glow. She'd imagined walking toward Marcus, seeing love shining in his eyes as she approached the altar.
"Let's adjust the waistline just a touch more," the designer had said, circling Sophia with pins. "We want you looking absolutely flawless tomorrow when you walk down that red carpet."
"Perfect," Sophia had laughed. "Emma was worried I'd be so nervous I'd trip and fall flat on my face."
"Trust me, darling, tomorrow all of Boston will stop to stare at your beauty. Mr. Clayton's one lucky man."
Sophia had spun again, the dress's skirt billowing around her. She could picture her father taking her arm, leading her down the aisle toward Marcus, who would be waiting with that warm smile that made her knees weak.
But then voices had drifted from the neighboring VIP fitting room. Nothing unusual. The boutique often had multiple clients. Sophia hadn't paid attention until she heard a laugh that made her heart skip.
Sophia's heart skipped a beat. Marcus?
She'd frozen in front of the mirrors. Marcus was supposed to be in business meetings all afternoon. What was he doing at a bridal boutique?
"This dress looks incredible on you," came Marcus's voice through the thin wall. "Tomorrow when you wear this to the wedding, you'll be the most beautiful woman there."
A woman's voice, sweet as honey, had replied: "More beautiful than the bride?"
"Of course. You're always prettier than her."
Sophia's blood had turned to ice water. Who was this woman? Why would Marcus say she was more beautiful than his bride?
"Marcus, are you really gonna go through with marrying her tomorrow?"
"Bella, you know this is just business."
Bella. The name hit Sophia hard. Bella Morrison. That woman who always seemed to hover around Marcus at charity events, hanging on his every word.
Sophia's legs had suddenly felt weak. She'd moved carefully toward the connecting door between the fitting rooms, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Through a crack in the door, she could see into the other room.
The sight that greeted her destroyed everything she'd believed about love.
Marcus and Bella were wrapped in each other's arms, kissing with desperate passion. Bella wore a blood-red evening gown that clung to her curves, and Marcus's hands were tangled in her blonde hair.
"Does she really believe you love her?" Bella had asked between kisses.
"Course she believes it," Marcus had laughed, the sound cruel and cold. "Sophia's so damn naive. I just gotta say some romantic bullshit and she gets all teary-eyed and grateful."
"Poor little princess," Bella had purred. "Still thinks she found her fairy tale ending."
"Marrying Sophia is purely business," Marcus had said, his voice matter-of-fact as if discussing the weather. "Her family's broke except for that name. But that name's exactly what I need to get in with Boston's old money."
Each word had been a knife twisting in Sophia's chest. She'd gripped the doorframe so tightly her knuckles went white, nails digging into the wood.
"So why not marry me instead?" Bella had pouted. "We've been together for three years."
"Bella, baby, you gotta understand the big picture. Marrying you doesn't help my business. But marrying Sophia gives me control of the Ashford family trust fund and access to Boston's elite social circles."
"And after the wedding?"
Marcus had stroked Bella's face tenderly. "After the wedding, we can keep doing exactly this. Sophia doesn't know anything about the real world. As long as I'm nice to her, she'll be perfectly happy playing house."
He'd pulled Bella closer, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper: "You'll always be my real woman."
The world had tilted. Sophia had felt her knees buckle, only the wall keeping her upright. The beautiful wedding dress that had felt light as air suddenly weighed a thousand pounds, crushing her lungs.
She'd turned to face the mirrors and seen a stranger staring back. Pale as death, eyes hollow with devastation. The radiant bride-to-be had vanished, replaced by a ghost.
The designer had returned at that moment, chattering about final adjustments, but Sophia had already started clawing at the dress's zipper.
"I need to get out of this. Now."
"But we haven't finished the alterations..."
"Now!" Sophia had screamed, her voice cracking. "Get it off me right now!"
Her hands had shaken so violently she couldn't manage the zipper. Tears were streaming down her face, ruining her carefully applied makeup.
Three years of "I love you," countless promises of forever, all revealed as calculated lies.
She'd been nothing more than a business transaction. A name to be bought and sold.
After changing back into her street clothes, Sophia had burst from the fitting room like a woman fleeing a fire. The designer's protests faded behind her as she stumbled toward the exit.
The paparazzi had been waiting outside, cameras flashing.
"Miss Ashford! How you feeling about tomorrow's big day?"
But Sophia had walked past them in a daze, their questions barely registering. She'd hailed a taxi with trembling hands and given the driver her address in a voice she didn't recognize.
The taxi ride home was a blur. By the time she reached the family estate, the sun was setting, painting the sky the color of blood.
Margaret was waiting in the foyer, her face creased with worry. "Miss Sophia? How'd the fitting go?"
Sophia couldn't answer. She ran upstairs and locked herself in her room, pressing her back against the door as if Marcus might burst through it.
Hours later, Margaret's voice came through the wood. "Emma's on the phone. She's worried about you."
"Tell her I'm fine," Sophia managed.
But she wasn't fine. She was dying.
She'd stood on her bedroom balcony as night fell, staring down at the wedding preparations in the garden below. White flower arches, pink ribbon, and the altar where she was supposed to pledge her love to a man who saw her as nothing more than a business asset.
Hours earlier, she'd been planning her future. Now those decorations looked like a beautifully decorated tomb.
