Captive Princess

I woke from a doze to a sharp, stinging pain in my arm.

Looking down, I saw my IV line had backed up with blood, a crimson line creeping steadily up the clear tube.

I pressed the call button.

A nurse bustled in and frowned at the IV. "Why is no one watching you? Where's your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend," I said calmly. "He had to leave for something important."

"How long ago?" the nurse asked, skillfully changing the needle.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was two in the morning. Vincent had left at seven in the evening. Seven hours ago.

"A long time ago."

The nurse shook her head with a sigh. "That's how it is with these rich guys. They put on a good show, but they're never around when it counts."

After she left, I couldn't get back to sleep.

When morning came, I decided to go for a walk.

Dragging my IV stand into the hallway, I overheard two nurses talking quietly.

"That girl in the VIP wing is so lucky. Her boyfriend booked the entire floor for her."

"I heard he even flew in specialists from overseas for 24/7 care."

"The heir to the Marcelli family is so good to her. He hasn't left her side since she was admitted."

I stopped.

The VIP wing was on the tenth floor. I was on the eighth, in a standard private room.

I pressed the elevator button and went up to the tenth floor.

The entire floor was indeed cordoned off. Only one room was lit.

I walked to the door and peered through the small window.

Vincent was sitting by the bed, patiently spoon-feeding Isabella porridge. She was propped up against a mountain of pillows, her face pale but content.

"Does it still hurt?" Vincent asked softly.

"Much better," Isabella said, opening her mouth for another spoonful. "With you here, I'm not afraid of anything."

Don Romano was sitting on the sofa, peeling an apple for her. As soon as she finished the porridge, he handed her a small slice.

"Eat slowly. Don't choke," the Don's voice was laced with an affection I hadn't heard in years.

"Uncle Romano, you're so good to me," Isabella smiled sweetly. "Just like a real father."

"You are my daughter now," Don Romano said, patting her hand. "This family is your home."

Vincent smiled gently and reached out to smooth Isabella's hair. "Is your head still spinning?"

"No, just a little tired."

"Then get some more sleep," Vincent said, closing the curtains and dimming the lights. "I'll be right here with you."

The tender, domestic scene was a knife twisting in my heart.

I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, forcing myself not to cry out.

I turned away from the VIP wing and went back to my own room.

Don't cry, Sophia. You can't cry.

Four days before I was scheduled to fly to Boston for the wedding, I was discharged.

As I stepped out of the hospital, I saw Vincent leaning against his black car, waiting.

"Get in," he said.

"I'll get a cab."

"Get in." Vincent's tone left no room for argument.

I looked at his cold, hard expression and finally slid into the car.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To clear your head," Vincent said, starting the car. "You've been cooped up in the hospital for too long."

Half an hour later, he pulled up in front of Sotheby's auction house in Midtown.

"An auction?" I looked at the poster by the entrance.

"There's an art auction today," Vincent said, getting out. "I thought you liked this sort of thing."

I was about to refuse, but when he handed me the auction catalog, my eyes caught a familiar item.

Lot 47: A Pearl Necklace.

My hands began to shake.

I knew that necklace. It was my mother's. It was the only thing I had left of her.

"What's wrong?" Vincent noticed my reaction.

"Nothing," I clutched the catalog tightly. "Let's go in."

In the restroom, I dialed my lawyer's number with trembling fingers.

"Sell everything I have. All of it. Now."

"Miss Sophia, you said you wanted to take those things to Boston..."

"I changed my mind," I said urgently. "How much can I get?"

"Around fifteen million dollars."

"That's enough." I hung up and took a deep breath.

I had to get my mother's necklace back.

We walked into the auction hall, and Vincent found us seats near the front.

Just as I was about to sit, a familiar voice called out.

"Vincent!"

Isabella walked over, wearing a pale pink dress. Her head was still wrapped in gauze, but she was as beautiful and fragile as ever.

She linked her arm through Vincent's.

"Sophia's here too," Isabella said, smiling sweetly at me. "I told Vincent I wanted to apologize to you in person today. I didn't think he'd actually bring you to the auction."

In that moment, everything became painfully clear.

Vincent didn't bring me here to cheer me up or clear my head.

He brought me because Isabella wanted to "apologize," and I was just a prop he brought along for the ride.

I looked at Isabella's triumphant smile, and the last bit of pain in my heart vanished, replaced by a cold, hard numbness.

I couldn't feel anything anymore.