Bellamy’s POV
I can't sleep.
It's 2 AM and I'm lying in bed staring at the ceiling, running through the same thoughts that have haunted me for weeks.
What I've done. What I'm doing. Whether Sophie will ever forgive me or if I've destroyed any chance we might have had.
Finally, I give up. Pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt and head to the kitchen for water.
That's when I see her. Sophie is in the living room, curled up on the couch in the darkness. Not sleeping. Just sitting there, staring at nothing.
"Can't sleep either?" I ask quietly.
She doesn't startle, just turns her head to look at me. "No."
"Bad dreams?"
"No dreams. Just can't turn my brain off." She shifts, making room on the couch in what might be an invitation. "Too many thoughts."
I sit on the opposite end, maintaining distance. We sit in silence for a moment, both of us awake in the middle of the night, both of us trapped in our own ways by what I've done.
"Want some tea?" I offer.
"No." She's quiet for another moment. Then: "I hate being inside all the time. It's making me restless."
The admission surprises me. She's been so careful lately, so controlled. This feels more honest than anything she's said in days.
"The city is quiet at night," I say on impulse. "We could go for a walk if you want. You haven't been out after dark."
Sophie looks at me, searching my face for something. Testing whether this is real or a trap.
"Just a walk," I add. "Fresh air, no agenda."
"Okay," she says finally. "Yes. Let's go."
Her agreement surprises me more than her restlessness did.
Geneva at night is a different city.
The crowds are gone. The tourists have retreated to hotels. Even the locals have mostly disappeared, leaving just the streetlights and the old stone buildings and the quiet.
Sophie walks beside me through Old Town, her hands in her jacket pockets. I'm hyper-aware of her proximity—close enough to touch but maintaining careful distance.
She seems almost peaceful. Not happy, but less tense than she's been. Taking in the architecture, the way the lights cast shadows on ancient walls, the complete silence of streets that bustle during the day.
"It's different at night," she says softly. "More beautiful somehow."
"The city has good bones," I reply. "They show better without the crowds."
We walk past the cathedral, its Gothic spires reaching into the dark sky. Past shops with their iron shutters pulled down for the night. Past cafés where we've sat during the day, now dark and empty.
Sophie doesn't ask where we're going. Doesn't seem to care. Just walks, breathing the night air, taking it all in.
I let myself relax slightly, let myself pretend, just for a moment, that this is normal. That we're a couple taking a late-night walk because neither could sleep.
That tomorrow we'll wake up in the same bed instead of separate rooms with locked doors between us.
We reach Place du Bourg-de-Four, the old square with its fountain at the center. The water catches the streetlight, creating patterns of light and shadow.
Sophie walks to the fountain and sits on the stone edge. She trails her fingers in the water, watching the ripples spread outward.
"It's beautiful here," she says softly.
I sit beside her, not too close, and watch her profile in the dim light. She looks younger like this. More like the woman I first met at Adrian’s and scared her with her friend.
Before I complicated everything. Before I destroyed everything.
For a moment, I let myself imagine this is real.
That we chose this. That Sophie is here because she wants to be, not because I took her. That the connection I feel between us isn't one-sided obsession but something mutual, something growing.
That tomorrow we'll wake up together and make breakfast together and take Noah to school together, and it will all be because she chose me.
My hand moves almost without conscious thought, reaching for hers where it rests on the fountain's edge.
Then Sophie speaks.
"Amelia would love this fountain." Her voice is quiet, wistful. "She loves water, bath time is her favorite part of the day. She splashes and laughs and makes this happy squealing sound that's just..."
She trails off. "Adrian sends her to me in his thoughts, I think. I hope she knows I'm thinking about her too."
Reality crashes back, hard and unforgiving.
She's only here because I forced her.
This walk through beautiful streets isn't romance—it's captivity dressed up as a late-night stroll. The peace on her face isn't contentment with me; it's relief at being outside, at having a moment of fresh air and relative freedom.
And even now, even in this moment that felt almost perfect, she's thinking about her daughter. About the family I tore her from. About the man who's probably lying awake right now, four thousand miles away, wondering if he'll ever see her again.
I pull my hand back before it reaches hers.
"She probably does know," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. "Kids have a sense about these things."
"I hope so." Sophie's fingers still trail in the water. "I hope she can feel how much I love her even when I'm not there. I hope she's not scared or confused or thinking I abandoned her."
The guilt gnaws at me. Has been gnawing at me since the wedding day, since I put that rag over her face and made the choice that changed both our lives.
But I push it down, I have to. Because if I let myself fully feel the weight of what I've done—not just to Sophie but to Amelia, to Adrian, to everyone—I'll collapse under it. The guilt will eat me alive.
So I do what I've been doing since this started. I tell myself it's temporary. That Sophie will eventually understand. That the ends justify the means. That I'm saving her from something worse even if she doesn't see it yet.
I tell myself anything that lets me keep breathing.
"We should head back," I say, standing. "It's late."
Sophie nods but doesn't move immediately. Just sits there for another moment, fingers in the water, staring at the patterns of light.
"Thank you," she says finally. "For letting me out."
For letting her out... As if she's a pet I've decided to walk. As if this is generosity instead of the bare minimum of human decency.
The words sting more than they should.
"Of course," I manage.
We walk back in silence. The peaceful feeling is gone, replaced by the reality neither of us can escape. She's my prisoner. I'm her captor. This isn't a romantic late-night walk through a beautiful city.
This is just another day in a situation that shouldn't exist.
When we get back to the apartment, Sophie goes straight to her room without saying goodnight. I hear the door close. The lock click.
I stand in the living room alone, thinking about the fountain. About her fingers in the water. About how for just a moment, I let myself believe this was real.
About how her mention of Amelia shattered that illusion completely.
The guilt is there, sharp and insistent. Telling me to let her go. To end this. To give her back the life I stole.
But I push it down again. Bury it under rationalizations and justifications and the desperate hope that eventually, somehow, this will work out.
That she'll choose me. That I won't have destroyed both our lives for nothing.
I go to bed but I still can't sleep. Because even my delusions can't survive the weight of reality forever.
And tonight, for just a moment, reality crashed through.