Alex's announcement still hovered over the garden, vibrating through the suspended glasses and half-finished smiles.
When Sophie, standing still beside him on the terrace, spotted among the sunlit heads of the guests that face from the past — one that seemed to emerge from an old fever — she felt the blood drain from her body.
Daniel was more than a ghost from her past, he was alive, right there in front of her! She stepped back, just a few inches, a retreat so subtle it went unnoticed by almost everyone — except Alex, who felt the weight of her arm slacken, her body lose its tension against his.
There was no time for questions. Sophie's pale face glistened at the temples, words dying before they could reach her lips. A murmur rippled through the garden, a sound that was almost wind, almost pity, almost scandal.
Sophie collapsed, her knees giving way, her body falling gently like a petal letting go of the branch. The silence of the guests, once accomplice to the charade, became something else: embarrassed, eager, gaping.
Alex, driven by a strange impulse — part concern, part disbelief — knelt and gathered Sophie in his arms with surprising strength and precision. Her dark hair fell back, her pale face resting against his chest. Someone, softly, suggested water, sugar; another, more practical, went to call for help, but Alex entrusted no one else with the task of caring for her.
Alex ran back into the mansion, Sophie in his arms, crossing the carpeted hall, leaving behind the bewildered stares of the guests.
Veronica Grant stood frozen, still holding her glass as if she no longer knew the purpose of her hands; Daniel remained petrified, gaze nearly lost, while Eloise, his fiancée, brought her hands to her mouth, stunned and disbelieving at the succession of dramas.
The sound of laughter vanished as if by magic, replaced by the clatter of heels and whispered gossip running in all directions. "The bastard daughter? So fragile after all?" someone murmured.
Alex carried Sophie to the guest room, where light filtered through linen curtains and the scent of old flowers escaped from the vase on the nightstand. He laid her on the bed, brushed a damp lock of hair from her forehead, noticing the warmth fleeing her skin. He sat on the edge of the bed, his face transformed by shock and a tenderness battling wounded pride.
He grabbed the vase of flowers, bringing it close to Sophie's nose, hoping the concentrated scent would rouse her.
"Sophie…" The name escaped him, somewhere between the authority of the host and the anxiety of a man who no longer knows where the charade ends and his own desire begins. "Sophie, wake up. Can you hear me?"
After several attempts, Sophie finally opened her eyes to the reality of the room. Slowly at first, like someone resurfacing from a dive that lasted too long, until she saw Alex there, so close, his light eyes filled with concern. His face showed relief, but she didn't smile.
"I'm sorry…" she murmured, gently pushing his arm from her shoulder with the delicacy of someone who means no harm but must set a boundary. "I... I can't go through with this, Alex. I can't live in your world. This isn't for me."
He looked at her in silence. The sound of the party, muffled by the closed door, was now a distant whisper, like a time they no longer belonged to. Alex couldn't comprehend this sudden change of heart, considering that just minutes earlier, Sophie had been ready to follow through with the plan.
"You can't?" Alex's tone was low, without sharpness, but tinged with disappointment. "You're going to let your nephew... your son, or whatever that boy is to you... you're going to let him lose his only chance of surviving over a fainting spell?" His voice lowered even more. "I thought you were stronger, honestly."
Sophie raised her eyes, her face flushed with humiliation, exhaustion, and fear. For a moment, she seemed ready to confess everything; to place in Alex's hands the weight of the truth, that Daniel, that same Daniel who stood in the garden, was the father of her child, the source of these years of fear and apprehension.
But just looking at Alex's lost expression, so near yet so distant, she swallowed the impulse, left only with the feeling that some words should never be spoken.
"I thought I was strong too, but I... I can't anymore. This is beyond what I can endure... all those people out there thinking I'm your daughter, this is just too insane!"
Alex turned his face to the window, seeing the reflection of his own profile, hardened, almost bitter.
"You want me to believe this? That you're throwing everything away just like that, for no reason?" His breath faltered, a trace of irony cutting through his fatigue. "Fine, Miss Carter. If you want to leave, then leave now. Go ahead! But go knowing that you're throwing away a rare opportunity, one thousands of girls like you would give anything to have, and you're wasting it… For a reason that… Anyway, you have the chance to save your son, but if that's what you prefer…"
Sophie closed her eyes, letting the tears fall quietly, without sobs, just enough to dampen the expensive white sheets. The silence between them was as dense as the thick light filling the room.
After a few moments, Alex stood, his hand hesitating over her shoulder but ultimately not touching her. He crossed the door without a sound, taking with him the shadow of a broken hope.