Sophie’s POV
The restaurant is exactly the kind of place Blaze would never think to look for me—all polished marble and crystal chandeliers, the sort of establishment where conversations happen in hushed tones and everyone minds their own business.
Perfect for clandestine meetings with people who pay me to destroy their son's life.
Mr. and Mrs. Wilson sit across from me in the corner booth, looking like any other well-dressed couple enjoying an expensive lunch. No one would guess they're here to discuss the systematic manipulation of their own child.
"Sophie," Mr. Wilson says, cutting into his steak with surgical precision. "You sounded urgent on the phone."
"There's been a development."
I keep my voice steady, professional. After months of these meetings, I've learned to compartmentalize. To treat this like any other business transaction instead of the moral catastrophe it actually is.
"Blaze asked me to move in with him. Permanently."
Mrs. Wilson's fork pauses halfway to her mouth. "Permanently?"
"Not as his caretaker. As his partner. He wants to try and build a future together."
The silence that follows stretches for several heartbeats. Then Mr. Wilson sets down his knife and smiles—the first genuine emotion I've seen from him all afternoon.
"Perfect," he says, satisfaction radiating from every syllable. "This is exactly what we hoped for."
"Is it?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
"Of course it is." He leans forward, eyes bright with something that might be relief. "Our son is finally behaving the way he should. Dating a woman. Talking about building a respectable life. The... other nonsense can be forgotten."
Other nonsense. Like his sexuality is something embarrassing to be swept under the rug. Like Asher was just a phase to be outgrown.
"He seems happy," I say carefully, testing the waters.
"Good. That's good." Mr. Wilson nods approvingly. "He should be happy. He's making the right choices now."
I glance at Mrs. Wilson, who hasn't said much since we sat down. She's been pushing food around her plate, her smile fixed in place like a mask that might slip if she's not careful.
"Mrs. Wilson? How do you feel about this development?"
She looks up, startled. "Oh, I... it's wonderful news, of course. Exactly what we wanted." Her voice sounds rehearsed, like she's reciting lines from a script. "You've done such good work with him, Sophie. Such important work."
But she won't meet my eyes when she says it. And her enthusiasm sounds hollow, echoing in the space between what she's saying and what she actually feels.
"He trusts me," I say quietly. "Completely."
Something flickers across Mrs. Wilson's face—too quick to interpret, but unmistakably painful.
"Trust is important in a relationship," Mr. Wilson says, oblivious to his wife's discomfort. "Shows you're doing everything right."
The clinical way he talks about Blaze makes my skin crawl. Like his son is a business problem that's finally being solved. A broken appliance that's been successfully repaired.
"What happens next?" I ask.
"Next, you keep doing what you're doing. Keep him happy. Keep him focused on you instead of..." He waves a hand dismissively. "Other things."
"For how long?"
"Until it's permanent," he says simply. "Marriage. Children, hopefully. A complete life."
The words hit me like physical blows. Marriage built on lies. Children conceived through deception. A complete erasure of who Blaze actually is, all wrapped up in white lace and wedding bells.
Mr. Wilson reaches into his jacket and pulls out an envelope. "Your payment for this phase. There will be more when things reach their natural conclusion."
He slides it across the table with the casual confidence of someone buying a service. Which, I suppose, is exactly what's happening here.
My fingers feel numb as I pick up the envelope. The paper crinkles slightly under my grip.
"He is a great boy," Mrs. Wilson suddenly says, and that’s something in her gaze, her voice, her expression, that I can’t quite read. But for the first time today, she sounds completely sincere. "He deserves to be happy."
"Yes," I whisper. "He does."
The irony isn't lost on any of us.
After they leave, I sit alone in the booth for another twenty minutes, staring at the envelope in my hands.
The restaurant buzzes with normal conversations around me—couples planning vacations, business partners discussing deals, families celebrating birthdays. Normal people living normal lives built on normal foundations.
I think about why I agreed to this in the first place. The desperation that drove me to their door, the debt that was drowning me, the fear of losing everything I'd worked for.
I needed this money. Needed it badly enough to convince myself that what I was doing wasn't so terrible.
That maybe, Blaze would be happier this way. Safer. Protected from a world that would judge him for loving whoever he wanted to love.
That maybe, I could love him enough to make up for how this started. That good intentions could somehow cleanse the rot at the foundation.
But sitting here now, holding money earned through lies, I feel nothing but hollow.
Blaze looked at me this morning like I was his salvation. He talked about our future with hope in his voice for the first time since his injury—real, genuine hope for something stable and lasting. He trusts me completely.
And I'm being paid by his own parents to betray that trust.
I slip the envelope into my purse and leave the restaurant, but the weight of it follows me like a shadow. Every step feels heavier, every breath more difficult.
I tell myself I'll find a way to make this right. That the lies will stop eventually. That I can build something real on this rotten foundation if I just love him hard enough, if I just try hard enough to be the partner he deserves.
But deep down, in the part of myself I try not to examine too closely, I know the truth: I'm in too deep to escape without destroying everything. The web of deception has grown too complex, too integral to who we are together.
And every day I stay silent, every moment I let him believe this is real, the explosion waiting at the end of this road grows more catastrophic.
Some lies are too big to survive. Some foundations are too rotten to support the weight of a real future.
But I'm not brave enough to face that truth yet. Not when Blaze looks at me like I'm his second chance at happiness.
Not when I'm still drowning in the debt that drove me here in the first place.
So I keep walking, carrying the weight of thirty pieces of silver and a heart that breaks a little more every day.