Sophie’s POV
To say I'm in shock would be a devastating understatement.
The world tilts beneath my feet as I stare down at Blaze kneeling on the bridge, velvet box open in his hands, diamond catching the dying light of the sunset. His eyes are full of hope and certainty—so much certainty it makes my chest ache.
I'm terrified and paralyzed. The air has evacuated my lungs, and my thoughts scatter like startled birds, impossible to catch or organize into anything coherent.
This can't be happening. This wasn't supposed to happen.
Around us, passersby have stopped to watch. Strangers clutching their chests, phones raised, waiting for the fairy-tale ending they've stumbled upon.
A little girl tugs on her mother's coat, pointing at us with wonder. An elderly couple holds hands, their faces soft with nostalgia for their own engagement decades ago.
"Sophie?" Blaze's voice is gentle, patient. "Will you marry me?"
The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with expectation and hope and everything I've been dreading. The word I need to say lodges in my throat like broken glass, cutting me from the inside.
This wasn't the plan. I was supposed to fulfill his parents' wishes, collect the money, and engineer a natural collapse over time. An amicable split where no one got too hurt, where I could walk away with enough cash to start over and Blaze could... could what?
Go back to being miserable? Continue hiding who he really is to make his parents happy?
God, I never let myself think that far ahead.
Not this. Never this. Never him on his knees in front of strangers, offering me everything he has to give while I stand here drowning in lies.
"Sophie," he says again, softer now. "Are you okay? I know it's a lot, but…"
"I..." The sound that comes out of me isn't quite a word. More like a broken exhale.
The crowd is waiting. Blaze is waiting. And I realize with dawning horror that I have never been brave enough to destroy something beautiful in front of an audience.
I can't say no. Can't shatter this moment in front of all these hopeful faces. Can't break Blaze's heart while strangers record it on their phones.
I swallow the lump in my throat that feels like swallowing barbed wire, force my face into what I hope resembles a smile, and whisper, "Yes."
The world erupts.
Cheers rise from the gathered crowd. Applause echoes off the water. Camera flashes pop like tiny fireworks as people document this perfect moment they've witnessed.
Blaze's face breaks into radiant joy—pure, unguarded happiness that makes my heart shatter into a thousand pieces. He fumbles with the ring, hands shaking with emotion, and slides it onto my finger.
The band squeezes tight around my finger. A shackle disguised as a promise.
"I love you," he breathes, standing to pull me into his arms. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," I whisper back, and the terrible thing is that it's not entirely a lie. Somewhere along the way, between all the deception and manipulation, I genuinely came to care about him.
Not romantically, that was always part of the performance, but as a friend. I fell for his gentle laugh and his fierce loyalty and the way he treats people with kindness they don't always deserve.
I love him the way you love someone who deserves so much better than what you're giving them. Someone who trusts you completely while you systematically destroy their life.
Which somehow makes this even worse.
The crowd begins to disperse, offering congratulations as they pass. The elderly couple stops to tell us they've been married fifty-three years, that we look just like they did when he proposed.
The little girl's mother lets her throw flower petals from her pocket at us—apparently left over from some wedding they attended earlier.
It's beautiful. It's perfect. It's everything an engagement should be. It's built on a foundation of lies that will destroy us both.
"Excuse me!" A sharp voice cuts through the romantic haze. "Blaze Wilson?"
We turn to find a reporter materializing from the crowd, eyes gleaming with opportunistic hunger. Her press badge identifies her as someone from the sports network, probably here covering some other story until she stumbled onto something better.
"Congratulations on your engagement!" she gushes, already pulling out her phone to record. "Can you tell us about your proposal? How long have you been planning this?"
"Thank you," Blaze’s pulling me closer against his side. His arm is warm around my shoulders, protective and proud.
"It's been something I've been thinking about for a while. Sophie's been incredible through everything—my recovery, all the uncertainty about my future. She deserves to know how I feel about her."
"And what about your hockey career? There have been rumors about potential retirement. Does this engagement factor into those decisions?"
"Absolutely." Blaze's voice is steady, confident. "Hockey's been my life for so long, but I'm ready for the next chapter. Ready to focus on building a family, settling down with the woman I love."
"Any timeline for the wedding?"
"We haven't discussed specifics yet," I manage to say, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. "We're just enjoying being engaged right now."
"Sophie, how does it feel knowing you might be the reason Blaze Wilson retires from professional hockey?"
The question hits like a physical blow. The implication that I'm somehow responsible for destroying his career, the career his parents hired me to help him abandon, makes bile rise in my throat.
"I would never ask him to give up something he loves," I say, which is true. I never asked for any of this. "Whatever decisions Blaze makes about his future, they have to be his own."
"But you're supportive of his retirement plans?"
"I'm supportive of whatever makes him happy."
Another lie. Or maybe not entirely a lie. I do want him to be happy. I just know with growing certainty that this engagement, this whole relationship built on deception, is going to be the thing that destroys any chance he has at real happiness.
The reporter asks a few more questions before moving on to whatever story brought her here originally. We're left alone on the bridge as full darkness settles over the water.
"That was intense," Blaze says with a laugh. "I didn't expect to give an impromptu interview."
"Neither did I."
He turns to study my face in the streetlight. "Are you okay? You seem... I don't know. Overwhelmed?"
"It's a lot," I admit. "Getting engaged, talking to reporters, realizing this is going to be public now."
"Hey." He cups my face in his hands, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "We don't have to rush anything. We can take as much time as we need to plan, to figure everything out."
But that's just it—there is no time. Not anymore. The engagement ring on my finger feels like a ticking time bomb. Every day I wear it, every day I let him believe this is real, the explosion at the end grows more catastrophic.
I'm in too deep now. The trap has closed, and I built it myself with every lie, every manipulation, every moment I let myself believe I could somehow make this work.
Every possible future terrifies me to the point of madness. If I confess now, Blaze will hate me. His parents will destroy me. The creditors will come for their money.
If I don't confess, I'll spend whatever's left of my life living a lie that gets bigger and more complex every day.
There's no way out that doesn't end in destruction.
I smile and let him kiss me under the streetlights, tasting salt that might be from the harbor or might be from tears I'm too numb to feel falling.
"I can't wait to marry you," Blaze murmurs against my lips.
"Me too," I whisper back, and wonder if this is what drowning feels like.