Sophie’s POV
Dad and Emma's house had always felt like a sanctuary—warm, lived-in, filled with the comfortable chaos of family. When I pulled up with Amelia strapped in her car seat, I could already hear laughter through the open windows.
My sisters ambushed me the moment I walked through the door.
"Let me hold her!" Abby squealed, reaching for Amelia before I'd even set down the diaper bag.
"You held her last time," Madison protested, jostling for position. "It's my turn."
"Girls, let Sophie breathe," Emma called from the kitchen, but she was smiling as she emerged, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
Then her gaze dropped to my left hand and her expression shifted—still warm, but something complicated flickering beneath. "Oh, Sophie. Let me see."
I held out my hand, and Emma took it gently, examining the engagement ring. "It's beautiful," she said, and she meant it. But when her eyes met mine, I saw the question there: Are you sure?
"Congratulations," she added, pulling me into a hug. "Really. I'm happy for you."
Lunch was a chaotic, joyful affair. My sisters took turns holding Amelia while arguing about everything from college applications to who got the last piece of garlic bread.
My father presided over the table with quiet contentment, occasionally interjecting to mediate disputes or share a knowing look with Emma.
For a little while, I let myself just be Sophie—not the scandal girl, not Adrian's fiancée, not someone carrying secrets that felt like they might suffocate me. Just Sophie, sister and daughter, eating too much pasta and laughing at Madison's terrible jokes.
After lunch, while Emma was showing Abby how to properly burp Amelia, my father caught my eye. "Sophie, can I talk to you in my study for a minute?"
My stomach tightened, but I nodded. "Of course."
His study was exactly what you'd expect—bookshelves lining the walls, a sturdy desk covered in papers, photos of our family scattered across every surface. He closed the door gently behind us and gestured to the leather chair across from his desk.
"Am I in trouble?" I tried to joke, but my voice came out thin.
Dad’s expression was kind but serious as he settled into his own chair. "No, sweetheart. I just wanted to check in with you. Really check in, away from everyone else."
"About what?"
"About Adrian. About the engagement." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Sophie, are you sure about this? Is this truly what you want, or do you feel obligated because of Amelia?"
I bristled immediately. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Yes, I'm sure. I love him."
"I'm not doubting that you love him," he said carefully. "But love and marriage aren't the same thing. And sometimes we convince ourselves we want something because we've already invested so much in it."
"That's not what this is." I twisted the engagement ring around my finger. "Adrian is trying to change. He's working on himself, he's committed to being present for Amelia and me. We're building something real together."
"He also abandoned you with a newborn," Dad said quietly. "Just walked away without warning. That's not something that goes away just because he came back with a ring."
"I know that," I said, my voice rising slightly. "Don't you think I know that? But people deserve second chances. He made a mistake, a terrible one, but he's trying to make it right."
Dad was quiet for a long moment, studying me with those perceptive eyes that had always seen more than I wanted them to. Finally, he spoke again, his tone gentler.
"Sophie, I'm going to tell you something, and I need you to really hear me. You always have options. Always.”
He let that settle in. “You're not trapped by circumstances or choices you made when you were younger. If you ever need out—from Adrian, from this engagement, from any of it, we're here. Do you understand?"
Tears pricked at my eyes. "Why does everyone think I'm making a mistake? You, Cleo, even Emma—I can see it in her face. Why can't anyone just be happy for me?"
"We want to be happy for you," he said, standing and coming around the desk to crouch beside my chair. "But we also love you, and we've watched you go through hell this past year. We just want to make sure you're choosing this life because it's what you truly want, not because you feel like you have no other choice."
"I'm choosing freely," I insisted, even as Bellamy's face flashed through my mind—the kiss on the balcony, the way he'd looked at me, the guilt that had been eating at me ever since. "Adrian and I are building our future together. I want this."
Dad pulled me into a hug, and I let myself sink into it for a moment—the safety of his arms, the unconditional support I'd always found in this house.
"Okay," he said softly. "I believe you. I just needed you to know that you have options. That's all."
He pulled back and squeezed my shoulders. "Now come on. I think your sisters are probably traumatizing your daughter with their terrible singing by now."
I laughed despite the tears still clinging to my lashes. "Madison's singing has been traumatizing people since she was five."
The rest of the visit was lighter, easier. But his words stayed with me as I drove home with Amelia babbling in the backseat. You're not trapped. You have options. If you ever need out, we're here.
Why did that feel more like a warning than reassurance?
Adrian was waiting when I walked through the door. Something about his posture immediately set off my instincts—he was standing in the middle of the living room with an intensity that made the air feel charged.
"How was your family?" he asked, taking the diaper bag from me.
"Good. Really good." I unstrapped Amelia from her carrier. "My sisters monopolized the baby, Dad made his famous lasagna, and Emma sent us home with enough leftovers to feed an army."
"That's good." But Adrian wasn't really listening. His attention was elsewhere, focused on something internal.
After I'd put Amelia down for her nap and checked the monitor twice, Adrian found me in the kitchen. He caught my wrist gently, stopping me mid-reach for a glass.
"Sophie, I need you to come with me."
Something in his voice made my pulse quicken. "Where?"
"Just follow me. Please."
He led me down the hallway, past our bedroom, to the door I'd been trying not to think about since our last visit there. The Red Room.
Adrian opened the door and turned to face me, his expression raw with need. "I know we were just here a few days ago, but I need this. Need you. Need to feel connected in the way only we can be when we're in this space together."
My breath caught. The day had been emotionally exhausting—Dad's questions, the weight of his concern, the reminder that everyone seemed to think I was making a terrible mistake. Part of me wanted to say no, to go take a nap instead, to escape into sleep.
But another part of me—the part that craved the simplicity of surrender, of not having to think or decide or carry the weight of secrets—wanted exactly what Adrian was offering.
"Okay," I whispered.
Adrian's eyes darkened with relief and desire. He took my hand, led me inside, and closed the door behind us with a soft click that felt like sealing out the rest of the world.