Captive Princess( Sophia Romano) novel Chapter 4

Once the party started, I realized just how attentive Vincent was to Isabella.

He pulled out her chair, fetched her drinks, and even adjusted the strap of her dress when it slipped, his hand brushing her shoulder with a familiar ease.

I had never received any of that.

In the two years I was with Vincent, he had never done those things for me. I thought it was just his personality—cool and reserved, above such trivial gestures of affection.

I was wrong.

He just wasn't willing to do them for me.

I nursed my champagne, listening to Isabella laugh and chat with other guests. She spoke of her recovery in Europe, of how much she missed New York. Every word was graceful and proper.

"Isabella is such a lovely girl," a woman next to me whispered to her friend. "The way Vincent looks after her, they're sure to end up together."

My hand tightened around the stem of my glass.

"Alright, everyone, let's play a game!" the host announced, livening up the room. "Truth or Choice!"

The big screen lit up as the host explained the rules. "Two pictures will appear on the screen. Everyone votes for their favorite, but Vincent, as our guest of honor, you'll make the final choice for everyone!"

The first set of photos was of two different red wines. Vincent chose the one on the left without hesitation.

"Because Isabella is sensitive to anything too strong," he explained.

The room erupted in good-natured teasing.

The second set was two bouquets: red roses and white lilies. Vincent chose the lilies.

"Isabella prefers a more subtle fragrance."

The third set was two vacation spots: the Maldives and Switzerland.

"Switzerland. Isabella needs fresh air for her recovery."

Every choice Vincent made was for Isabella.

I watched him on stage and thought about our two years together. He had never asked what I liked, never remembered my favorite food or where I dreamed of going.

"Last round!" the host said excitedly. "This one's a little special. It's photos of two beautiful women!"

Two pictures appeared on the screen.

On the left was Isabella. She was in a white dress, smiling faintly in a garden, looking as pure as an angel.

On the right was me. I was in a crimson evening gown from some forgotten party, my gaze fiery and defiant.

The room fell silent.

All eyes were on Vincent.

He stood on stage, staring at the screen, and for a few seconds, he said nothing.

Those few seconds stretched into an eternity.

I knew he would choose Isabella, but I still clung to a final, desperate sliver of hope that he would choose me.

Even if it was just for show. Even if it was out of pity.

"I choose..." Vincent's voice echoed through the microphone. "Isabella."

The crowd burst into loud applause and cheers.

I set my champagne glass down, turned, and rushed out of the room.

In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, taking deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm the storm inside me.

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