004

Sofia’s P.O.V

I had packed the clothes I could into a bag and little essentials. I had managed to creep into the kitchen, making as little noise as possible while I got some snacks.

I had placed the three snack bars I had found on the counter then moved to the fridge.

I  pulled it open. The cold air hit me instantly. I reached in and grabbed a bottle of water then a bottle of apple juice. I nodded before shutting the door back. I moved to the counter and scooped the bars into my hands. 

I rushed to my room, still trying to be as careful as possible.

I slowed my steps when I caught sight of a maid knocking against my room door.

Had my parents sent her to watch me? Did they think I’d run away?

Afterall, Lucia did the same thing.

I looked down at the evidence of my escape in my hands and my eyes grew wide.

I fumbled, but managed to shove the bars into one side of my pocket then the water bottle into the other.

I sucked in my stomach, hoping to not make the shape of the bottle and snack bars too obvious, although my large shirt was placed over it. I held the bottle of apple juice behind me.

I let my lips spread into a smile as I took slow breaths. 

My carefully curated façade broke before I even got close to my room door. It started with balls of sweat that rolled down my forehead.

My hands became sweaty and I tried to hold the apple juice tightly. My armpits sweated as well. I probably looked crazy and drenched.

Then I blinked repeatedly to wave away the sweat that stuck to my lashes. I couldn’t even control my smile because it wavered. Sweating was a trait I got from my father. I hated that I shared something with him.

Then she saw me. 

The maid turned and I could identify her to be Miss Angela; a middle-aged woman with smile lines and rough hands. She wore an apron that shaped the size of her breasts.

Even if she didn’t intently show it, there was no way to hide it. It was large and of course, it caught my dad’s attention one too many times.

Even his hands too. I had caught him attempting to bury his head in between them and she couldn’t refuse because he had threatened to make her jobless, create rumors and make sure she never got a job.

My dad was an influential man, not as much as the Falcones but he had his share of the city.

Miss Angela was a divorcee with three children so she couldn’t say no. That of course caught the wrath of my mother but I earned her affection. We bonded through her hate. Funny, right?

Now, I wondered what she wanted here. She couldn’t possibly try to talk me out of running away even if she knew. She knew how much I suffered so she couldn’t if she tried. So, why was she here?

“Sofia,” she called. 

My cheeks hurt but I held my smile. “Yes,” I answered through gritted teeth.

“I’ve got an invitation and a dress for you,” she informed me before holding up a bag. That must be where the gown was. She was one to go through our packages. She was a curious one.

“An invitation?” I cocked my head to the side, trying to the read the name on the invitation card but it as a blank. 

“Open it up,” I urged her. 

She slipped the bag onto her arm then held it up. She let it slide further into her arm till it stopped at her shoulder.

She dropped her hand shrugging till it sat perfectly on the shoulder with the held of her fingers in her other hand.

After, she flipped the invitation card and read it aloud. “Come to the Kingston’s restaurant by 9 Boulevard Street. 9pm. Wear the dress I sent you”.

I blinked.

 There was only one person that could do that and that was— 

“Roman Falcone,” I thought aloud. 

Miss Angela looked up at me. “How do you know it’s him?” 

“I don’t know anyone else with this kind of audacity, that will invite me to a restaurant at that outrageous time with a new dress that he bought. Hell, I don’t even know any guy. I don’t go out, remember?” I stated everything that made all the odds point to Roman Falcone. 

Miss Angela held up the arm that had the bags lung over her shoulder. She squinted as she stared at her watch for a minute. “It’s 9:10”.

My eyes grew wide. 

“I’m late”.

“You’re late”.

“I know. I said that already”.

“Get dressed. We don’t want to make your parents angry,” she urged, grabbing my angry and tugging me forward. 

My eyes grew wide. 

“Come on, you don’t have much time,” she applied more force as she pushed me to the door, I gave in.

She opened the door and I walked in.

She shut the door before placing the invitation on my bed. She pulled out the dress from the bag, handed it to me. 

She pushed me into the bathroom.

"Quick," she yelled.

I stripped and dressed quicker than I had ever done in my life. 

When I was out and in the car he sent to my house, it was already 9:30.

Miss Angela wanted to do my hair and my makeup. I couldn’t refuse.

I prayed for no traffic and luck was on my hands because we got to restaurant by 9:40. Not too bad for this particular street, I must say.

I climbed down from the car not waiting for the driver to open the door. I rushed it and only paused at the reception. The staff look looked at me, unfazed. She had probably seen too many late people for one night. 

“This is Kingston Palace, what can I do for you today?” She questioned, visibly bored. 

While gasping for breath, I told her. “I’m here for a meeting with Roman Falcone”.

Immediately he straightened, her eyes sharp and her expression shifted into a pleasant one. She smiled. “Let me show you to your table miss. He has been waiting for quite a while”. 

I nodded. 

“Traffic,” I coughed up. 

It was a white lie.

We approached him. He also looked visibly bored. He held his phone against his ear. 

“Here’s your table, miss. I pray you enjoy your night here at Kingston Palace,” she said, gesturing me towards the chair opposite Roman. 

I nodded. “Traffic,” I lied. 

I threw the drooping side of the shawl I had stolen from Lucia’s drawer over my shoulder.

My eyebrows knitted downwards. “I bought you that dress not so you could ear a shawl over it”.

My heart thudded. 

So that was exactly why he bought the shawl. I was right.

I grabbed the shawl and yanked it off me, exposing my cleavage. It cupped my breasts perfectly and exposed the bruise on my shoulder.

After a moment, he asked. “Who did that to you?”

I gulped. 

“Even if this is just a contract marriage, no one has the right to hurt you,” he said. “Make no mistake, you’re mine now”.

I coughed out an answer, “Nobody, I-I hit my shoulder somewhere”.

He held up his hand. 

The waitress rushed towards us not too long after. “What would you like to have?”