Captive Princess (Sophia) novel Chapter 8

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.

I shouldn’t have expected anything. Not from the very beginning.

I composed myself and walked out, ready to return to the party.

The hallway was dimly lit. As I rounded a corner, a few drunk men blocked my path.

“Hey, beautiful. All alone?” one of them slurred, stumbling closer. “Have a drink with us.”

“Get out of my way,” I said, my voice dangerously low.

“Don’t be so cold,” another one jeered, reaching for me. “We just want to get to know you…”

I backed away and saw Vincent standing in the doorway of our private room.

He was talking to a guest. I shot him a desperate, pleading look.

Vincent saw me. His face darkened, and he started to walk over.

Just then, a cry of pain came from inside the room. “Ouch! My foot…”

Vincent immediately spun around. He saw Isabella clutching a chair, her face pale.

Isabella came out, with Vincent carefully helping her walk.

“Sophia,” Isabella said, hobbling over to me. “I’m so sorry about what happened earlier. I twisted my ankle so suddenly, Vincent couldn’t get to you. But it looks like you handled it well.”

She glanced at my injured hand, a flash of triumph in her eyes.

“I did,” I said with a cold smile. “I’ve always been good at handling my own problems.”

“That’s good,” Isabella smiled sweetly. “To be honest, I was a little worried when Vincent brought you tonight. After all, you two used to…”

“Used to what?”

“You don’t actually think Vincent has special feelings for you, do you?” Isabella leaned in, her voice a low, venomous whisper. “Sophia, dear, Vincent just pities you. You’re homeless now, so he took you in out of charity. That’s all.”

“Is that so?”

“Of course,” Isabella’s eyes were sharp and malicious. “You saw the game tonight. Vincent only has room in his heart for me. It’s been that way since high school. That will never change.”

Just then, a black sedan lost control and sped straight toward us.

In a split second, Vincent lunged forward and threw his arms around Isabella, shielding her with his body.

And me? I was struck hard by the out-of-control car and thrown violently to the ground.