CHAPTER NINE

Penthouse — Sophia's Bedroom

1:47 AM

The knock came like thunder disguised as a whisper—soft, deliberate, and yet impossibly loud in the silence of the room.

Sophia stiffened, one hand still hovering near the safe where she had just tucked the thumb drive and photograph away. The screen of her laptop had dimmed, the faint hum of the processor the only sound in the room besides her own breath, shallow and barely controlled.

She stood for a heartbeat longer, the knock echoing in her ribcage like a warning.

Then another knock—firmer this time.

She crossed the room barefoot, silk brushing her calves, every step deliberate. When she opened the door, she didn't know what to expect.

But she should have.

Leon stood there in the dim hallway light like a god carved from restraint. His black slacks hung low on his hips, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sliver of chest—sharp collarbone, golden skin, the edge of a tattoo she hadn't seen before. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, veins pronounced beneath smooth skin, like power had decided to wear a human form for the night. It seems he had been working in the study.

She had expected this. She was sure he came to make it clear to her that she was not to attend the acting school.

He didn't ask permission to enter.

He simply walked in, slow and soundless, like he belonged here.

Sophia shut the door behind him and turned. "Is something wrong?"

Leon stood near the full-length mirror, gazing at her reflection for a moment longer than necessary before meeting her eyes.

"I've come to a decision," he said, voice low and smooth—like velvet pulled taut over steel.

She said nothing, only lifted a brow.

"I'll allow it," he said. "L'Atelier. Acting school. You can go."

Sophia's breath caught mid-chest. Her pulse ticked faster, confused between relief and suspicion.

"And just like that?" she asked softly. "Out of the goodness of your heart?"

He gave a smile—cold, controlled, unreadable. "No. Not quite."

He took a step closer. The air in the room thickened.

"There are conditions," he said.

Of course there are, she thought. With Leon, freedom always came with chains dressed in gold.

His gaze held hers as he listed them.

"First—we consummate the marriage."

The air left her lungs like someone had struck her. The words didn't echo—they detonated. Sharp. Unapologetic.

Sophia's body went still. Her arms dropped slightly from their folded posture. Her fingers twitched.

"We—what?" she breathed.

Leon didn't blink. "You heard me."

A flush rose to her neck, but her expression didn't crack. Instead, she straightened slowly, lips curving into something cold and elegant. "You think this is something you can demand?"

" think it's something that should've happened the night we got married."

She stepped back, trying not to show the tremor in her spine. "So you're bargaining my future for my body?"

He tilted his head. "I'm sealing a contract. Isn't that what you wanted this to be—transactional? Strategic?" He took another step forward. "You want freedom, Sophia. I want a wife. Or would you rather I get my satisfaction from elsewhere?"

Sophia didn't answer. Her heart was beating too fast.

He moved on, as if the first blow hadn't just knocked the breath out of her.

"Second—I will handle all your expenses. Tuition, accommodation, wardrobe, transportation, monthly allowance. Everything."

She opened her mouth to object but soon closed it when she remm she actually had almost no money of her own.

The list fell like bricks.

"Third—I'll visit once every week, and you'll see me. No excuses."

"Sophia swallowed hard, jaw tightening. Is this man insane? What sort of conditions were these?" She thought

"Fourth—when I need you for a gala, an investor's meeting, or to sit beside me at an important event… you will be available."

She didn't speak. Not yet.

"And lastly…" His voice dropped into something darker, like ink poured into wine. "No male friends. None."

Sophia stared at him, disbelief and fire storming behind her eyes.

The silence stretched.

Leon watched her with that maddening stillness of his—like he'd already played the winning move and was waiting for her to realize it.

Sophia turned away first, retreating toward the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself. The skyline glimmered beyond the glass, city lights blurred by her sudden breath against the pane.

I should hate you," she said quietly.

"I'd prefer you didn't," he said, voice softening slightly. "But you can, if you must."

Sophia turned back, her face a sculpted mask—anger, pride, and a flicker of fear carefully hidden beneath the arch of her brow and the sharp set of her mouth.

"I agree," she said finally. "On one condition of my own."

His brows lifted in faint amusement. "Go on."

"I choose when. For the consummation. It won't be tonight. It won't be rushed. It won't be forced."

Leon gave the smallest of nods, a muscle flexing in his jaw. "Fine."

He turned to leave. At the doorway, he paused, glancing back just once.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Cheng."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Sophia stood in the center of the room, her body rigid, her heartbeat chaotic beneath her ribs.

Then—she exhaled. A heavy, jagged sigh that dragged her soul with it. Her knees almost buckled from the pressure of keeping her expression together.

She crossed to her bed and sank down, the silk of her robe cool against her overheated skin.

This was real now.

The war. The game. The cost.

The Next Morning

9:14 AM

Her phone buzzed against the nightstand.

Unknown Number.

She hesitated—then answered.

"Miss Cheng? This is Director Isolde Neri from L'Atelier. We received your audition. Congratulations—your application has been accepted. You'll begin with the incoming class in two weeks."

Sophia sat upright, lips parting in stunned silence. "I—I'm sorry, did you say…?"

"You've been accepted. We look forward to your arrival."

The call ended before she could respond again.

For a long moment, she just stared at the phone, shock blooming into cautious delight. It had worked. She was in.

She laughed softly, the sound disbelieving.

Then her smile dimmed.

Two weeks.

Two weeks to… consummate the marriage.

She felt the air thicken around her again, this time from the weight of that bargain.

She picked up her phone again and called the only person who might laugh in the face of her anxiety.

Lu Xinyi answered on the third ring, voice drowsy and amused. "If this isn't a call to gossip or kill someone, I'm hanging up."

"I have to sleep with Leon in two weeks."

Silence.

Then laughter—deep, obnoxious, and utterly useless.

"Thanks for the help," Sophia muttered dryly.

"Oh come on," Xinyi snorted, "Leon is a snack and a half. You'll survive.

Besides, who did you want to sleep with? He is your husband after all, its only a natural phenomenon"

"I don't want to survive it. I want to avoid it."

"Sweetheart," Xinyi said between giggles, "you're married to a man who looks like sin and makes rules like a dictator. You either run or you play the part."

Sophia ended the call, face buried in her hands.

Her smile had fully vanished now.

She stood and moved to the window again. The city below looked smaller today. Or maybe she felt larger—caught between too many choices and none at all.

Vivienne's threat rang in her ears: Three days. Annul the marriage. Or I will.

Should she tell Leon?

Her gut said no.

She was playing her own game now.

But that didn't make the restlessness go away.

She paced the room.

The walls felt too close.

The night too long.

And somewhere deep inside her, that storm began to churn again—wild, unspoken, and far from over.