I woke up to an oppressive, heavy silence, a deep quiet that was entirely unnatural after the sensory overload of the wedding day, and it took me a confused, terrifying moment to remember that I was no longer in my childhood home, but trapped within the gilded cage of the Richard mansion. The room around me was vast and suffocatingly luxurious, a swirling mess of pink velvet, mirrored surfaces, and elaborate, feminine clutter that I immediately recognized as a physical extension of Sophia's chaotic personality, because every single item in the suite screamed attention and expense, confirming that my sister had moved her belongings into this wing right after the civil ceremony. I realized with a jolt that this wasn't just my temporary room, this was Sophia's actual marital wing, the place where she had lived for the short, terrifying time between the court wedding and her panicked flight, and it was the only place I had any hope of finding a real, tangible clue to her current location.
The crushing exhaustion of the previous day, the performance, the fake vows, and the terror of Adrian's rules, threatened to pull me back under the covers, yet the sheer urgency of my mission forced me upright, because I knew I only had a brief, precious window before Adrian started issuing his inevitable commands. I moved quickly and silently across the thick, cream-colored rug, ignoring the lavish, untouched breakfast service that sat waiting on a trolley near the window, and I focused my attention on the huge walk-in closet, which was crammed with Sophia's ostentatious wardrobe, a shimmering fortress of designer labels and reckless spending. I began my search methodically, working through the heavy gowns and casual wear, checking every single pocket, lifting every ornate shoebox lid, looking for a discarded note, a secret phone, or any small sign that pointed to her destination, feeling like a thief meticulously invading my own twin sister's privacy, which was a strange and deeply unsettling sensation, yet utterly necessary for my survival.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, desperate rhythm against the silence of the massive house, as I initially found nothing but receipts for ridiculously extravagant purchases and expired lipstick samples, but I pushed on, determined not to fail, because finding Sophia was truly the only way to end this painful charade and reclaim the quiet life I truly craved. I finally moved to the dressing table, a huge piece of antique furniture cluttered with every kind of expensive cosmetic imaginable, and I began sifting through the drawers, carefully moving aside diamond earrings and half-empty bottles of French perfume, until my fingers brushed against something stiff and foreign tucked beneath a velvet jewelry liner. I pulled it out, my hand trembling slightly, revealing a small, crumpled piece of paper that looked like a discarded baggage tag, and my breath hitched when I smoothed it out, recognizing the familiar, hurried scribbles of my twin's handwriting.
It wasn't a ticket stub or a love note, but a faded, antique library due-date slip, one that Sophia definitely should have thrown away years ago, yet on the back, written in her familiar, looping hand, were two distinct, cryptic words: "Algieba. July." My mind immediately began racing, spinning through the myriad of possibilities, because 'July' was now two months past, but 'Algieba' was completely unfamiliar, sounding like a star, a place, or maybe a city I had never heard of, and it was definitely not one of the glossy, famous European destinations she usually frequented. The cryptic note was frustratingly vague, yet it provided the first real, undeniable evidence that Sophia's departure was not a spontaneous breakdown, but a planned, deliberate escape, a secret she had protected fiercely, and I immediately folded the slip and tucked it safely into the deepest seam of the elegant silk robe I was wearing, the dangerous, vital knowledge now a heavy, secret weight in my pocket.
Just as I finished the final cleanup, restoring the room's superficial chaos to its previous, undisturbed state, the heavy door to the wing abruptly opened, and Adrian strode in without any kind of knock, his presence immediately shrinking the massive space and shattering the brief peace I had found in my investigation. He was dressed in a sharp, intimidating gray suit, already fully immersed in his powerful world, and he held a slim, black tablet in one hand, his expression the same mask of cold, demanding efficiency he had worn the night before, completely focused on the business at hand. "Good morning, Sophia," he stated, his voice a flat, formal courtesy that felt colder than any direct insult, and he walked straight to the window, pointedly avoiding any direct contact, his focus entirely on the upcoming agenda.
"The generous window for your private mourning period has officially closed, and your duties begin immediately, because the media is already buzzing about the newly signed contracts, and we must squash any lingering rumors that your commitment to this marriage is anything less than absolute," he announced, the words striking me with the force of an unexpected, cold wave. I felt my stomach instantly clench, knowing this was The First Test, the immediate, high-pressure event he was using to quickly gauge the quality and commitment of my performance. "I have scheduled a full press conference and an impromptu charity luncheon for this very afternoon; you will be meeting with the powerful Richard Global Capital board members and addressing a large pool of international media, so you have exactly two hours to be flawless, and you will not, under any circumstances, show any weakness or deviation from the script I have just sent to your phone."
My heart hammered against my ribs, because the sudden intensity of the demand, the lack of any proper preparation time, was brutal, but I instantly remembered Amelia's quick warnings and the sheer audacity of Sophia's persona. I forced myself to pull my shoulders back, channeling that necessary, entitled arrogance, and I met his cold gaze, allowing a slight, dismissive roll of my eyes to show my apparent boredom. "A press conference and a luncheon, Adrian? How dreadfully predictable and terribly boring," I drawled, using Sophia's husky, bored tone, pretending the massive social pressure was merely an annoyance. "Send the lengthy script to my stylist, darling, because I don't read instructions, I simply look fabulous and improvise, which is what the media actually wants, isn't it? They love a spark."
The lie hung thick and dangerously believable between us, but Adrian's lips barely twitched, a fleeting expression that might have been deep annoyance, or perhaps even a strange, reluctant acknowledgment of my successful performance. "You will follow the script, or you will embarrass this family, and I will personally handle your failure accordingly, with consequences you will not enjoy," he warned, his voice low and dangerous, before he turned abruptly and strode out of the wing just as quickly as he had entered, leaving the slim, black tablet glowing with the detailed, complicated briefing notes on a small marble table.
Two hours later, I was downstairs, standing rigidly beside Adrian in a crowded, dazzling ballroom, the entire space filled with the predatory energy of high finance and even higher society, and the blinding flash of cameras made my head spin . I wore a stunning, emerald green silk dress that Amelia had swiftly managed to procure, the color perfectly matching Adrian's intense eyes, a deliberate choice that presented a united, powerful front, but underneath the silk, my fingers were tightly laced, gripping the tiny, protective piece of paper in my pocket, the Algieba clue. Adrian spoke first, his voice steady and powerful, outlining the stability and projected success of the merger, sounding every inch the king of finance he truly was, and then, with a curt, minimal gesture, he pushed me into the harsh, demanding glare of the spotlight.
The questions were relentless, intrusive, and calculated to catch me off guard, focusing not only on the contracts but brutally dissecting Sophia's past volatility and our sudden, private civil ceremony. "Mrs. Richard, is it absolutely true you've only spent three nights with your husband since the court wedding?" "Did your father physically force you into this merger to save his collapsing assets?" I managed to deliver the practiced, dismissive Sophia laugh, and I answered with quick, arrogant deflections, pulling phrases and attitude directly from Amelia's intense crash course, yet every single time I spoke, I could feel Adrian's intense scrutiny, a heavy, silent pressure that was far more intimidating than the media's entire barrage. I had to focus entirely on the cold, hard logic of the situation, the absolute necessity of the performance, and the small, desperate hope that the word "Algieba" might somehow lead me to freedom, because the alternative was spending my entire life under this terrifying, powerful man's watchful, cynical gaze.
I miraculously survived the luncheon, managing the transition from press conference to intimate, serious board meeting with a terrifying, flawless composure that even surprised me, and when we finally retreated to a private lounge, the crushing exhaustion hit me like a physical illness. Adrian looked at me then, his expression unreadable, yet notably lacking the overt contempt he usually wore. "You performed your required duties adequately, Sophia," he said, the word adequately sounding like the highest possible praise coming from his cold lips. "You managed to keep the rumors contained, which is precisely why you are here, but understand this is merely the bare minimum of my expectation, and your next test will be far more demanding." The threat was abundantly clear, the bar was dramatically raised, but as he turned to speak to his father on the phone, I finally allowed myself a small, internal breath of relief, knowing that I had successfully passed the first test, and more importantly, that I now held the first, fragile, yet vital clue to my sister's chaotic escape