A soft knock at the door broke the tension.
The security guard outside murmured a name, then swung the heavy door open.
Sophia stepped in clutching a bouquet of pink tulips, wearing a practiced, radiant smile. "Eleanor. Congratulations."
The VIP suite felt more like a five-star hotel than a hospital room. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Veridia City skyline in sharp, expensive lines. There was a leather sofa, a small bar, and a silver cart holding a chef-prepared "recovery meal" that looked less like dinner and more like a bribe. But even the soft amber lighting couldn't disguise the truth: people still bled in here.
Sophia was a vision in a dark red knit dress that hugged every curve with effortless precision. It was tight across her chest, emphasizing a faint, elegant swell at her belly. Her makeup was flawless—matte nude lips that looked wrong under hospital light, like she'd arrived from another world.
She turned toward the bed, her voice dropping into a soft, performative coo. "Linda called me. She said you'd delivered—told me to come right away."
Her hand skimmed her own stomach, casual and devastating. "She heard I'm expecting too. She said I could probably learn a few things from you."
The words were sugar. The eyes were ice.
On the bed, "Eleanor" looked like a wreck at the end of a crash scene—waxy pallor, bruised crescents under her eyes, lips cracked and peeling. Damp hair clung in stringy strands to her forehead. The gown was twisted and gaping, barely concealing an abdomen that was still swollen and soft. Beneath the fabric, faint dried stains marked her skin.
Eleanor's body was a map of everything pregnancy leaves behind—slack, tender, ravaged—while Sophia stood sleek and taut and perfectly assembled.
Even inside Eric's body, Eleanor felt the sting of the contrast.
Sophia moved closer, lowering her voice into something intimate. "You look exhausted, honey. How bad is the pain?"
Below the edge of the mattress—completely out of "Eleanor's" line of sight—Sophia's leg brushed Eric's pant leg.
Once.
Then again.
Slow. Rhythmic. Testing.
Eleanor went rigid. Her pulse hammered against Eric's ribs like a trapped bird.
So this was their routine—right in front of her. No shame. No boundaries. They did it whenever and wherever they wanted: under her roof, under her name, and now in her hospital room.
Sophia kept her gaze locked on the bed, eyes swimming with performative concern, while her leg traced higher along Eleanor's thigh. The pressure increased—private, tactile, a reminder that she was still here, still in control, still with total access to him.
On the bed, Eric visibly softened at Sophia's cooing. A weak smile flickered across his pale lips. "It hurts so much," he rasped, voice thin. "But seeing you… it actually makes me feel better."
Eleanor stood beside them like a silent witness to her own life being stolen in real time. Even now—broken, bleeding, in the wrong body—he was flirting. Reflex. Habit. Hunger. He couldn't help himself.
Eric's eyes darted toward Eleanor—quick, cautious—as if checking for fallout, waiting for the explosion.
Eleanor gave him nothing.
She reached out and took the tulips from Sophia with a steady hand, then looked down at the man in the bed.
"Are your pain meds wearing off?" she asked, level and hauntingly polite. "Do you want me to call the nurse?"
Then she turned to Sophia, expression flat and professional. "Thank you for coming. But she needs to rest now. I'll walk you out."
Sophia's smile flickered toward "Eric," and something sharp glinted beneath it—knowing, amused, almost mocking. But when she turned back to the bed, the softness snapped right back into place.
"Of course. I won't keep you." She gave her belly a light, almost unconscious pat. "Eleanor, please—rest. And congratulations."
She released a small, curated sigh, every inch the considerate friend. "I came the moment Linda told me you'd gone into labor and needed an emergency C-section. Forgive me if I'm intruding."
On the bed, Eric looked genuinely touched. He was falling for the act. "Sophia… thank you. Thank you for caring."
Sophia widened her eyes, playing innocence. "Oh? Does that mean Eric cares less than I do?"
She turned toward "Eric," giving him a playful scold sharpened into a blade. "Eric—look at you. Even Eleanor thinks I'm doing a better job than you are. You need to make it up to her. Seriously. Stop living at the office."
If Eleanor hadn't woken up in Sophia's bed this morning, she might have believed it.
She might have called it kindness.
But now it all read as staged. Every word a barb. Every glance a test. Every smile Sophia keeping score in a game only she knew they were playing.
Eleanor's jaw tightened. Her voice went ice-cold. "That's enough. She needs sleep. It's time to go. Now."
Sophia started to protest, but "Eric" was already moving—beelining for the door, making it unmistakably clear the conversation was over.
Sophia followed, smoothing her dress with practiced nonchalance. At the threshold she cast one last look back at the bed, her smile small and private and venomous.
The door clicked shut behind them.
The hallway was a desert of sterile white light, their shadows stretched long across the floor.
The elevator doors slid open. Sophia slipped inside—quick, cat-smooth.
Before Eleanor could step back, Sophia looped an arm around her neck and yanked her in.
Sophia's perfume hit first—cloying, sweet. Then her warmth. Then her entitlement, absolute and unashamed.
"Eric," Sophia breathed, voice a low, honeyed pout. "What was that back there? You left my place in such a hurry this morning."
Her fingertips drew lazy, possessive circles on his chest. "I haven't had a single text from you all day. I missed you."
Eleanor went rigid. Her skin crawled.
Sophia rose onto her toes and kissed her—hard, loud, unapologetic. Warm mouth. Soft lips. The cloying perfume masking something more intimate, more private.
Sophia hooked a leg around her with practiced ease, like she'd done it a thousand times.
The realization hit Eleanor like a physical blow.
The elevator was a glass-and-mirror box humming as it descended. Anyone could step on. Anyone could see. And Sophia clearly didn't give a damn.
Eleanor planted both hands on Sophia's shoulders and shoved her back—harder than she intended.
"Stop." She forced her voice to stay steady, deep, authoritative. "Not now. I'm not in the mood."
Sophia's expression snapped from sultry to startled, then pivoted straight into wounded.
"Eric…" Lashes fluttering. "What is going on with you?"
She studied Eleanor's face, searching for a reaction.
"Is this about Eleanor?" Sophia asked softly, the tone already edging into accusation. "Is that why you're icing me out? Are you feeling guilty?"
Eleanor didn't answer. She just stared at Sophia with flat, cold impatience.
Sophia watched her for a beat longer, head tilted.
Then the watery hurt look vanished as if someone flipped a switch. Softness drained away, replaced by calculation.
Fine.
If affection didn't work, she'd pivot to the only thing that ever moved Eric: money, power, leverage.
Sophia exhaled and pasted on a breezy, confident smile. "Okay. I won't push." She edged closer—cautious now. "I know the stress at Aethel Corp has been driving you crazy lately."
Her hand settled on Eric's chest again, light but possessive. "I made that connection for you—the one with my old friend in the Planning Department. If the terms are right, your approval will sail through. Fast."
Her tone stayed sweet, but the warning was unmistakable. "I've put in a lot of legwork to make that happen, Eric. Don't forget that."
Old friend. Terms.
Eleanor's stomach tightened.
That didn't sound like a clean business move. It sounded like a backroom deal.
And if it blew up, it wouldn't just burn Eric. It could incinerate the company—while she was the one at the helm.
She kept her face calm, letting her gaze drop to Sophia's hand with a cool, unimpressed stare.
"Coming from you, I'm not surprised. But when you say 'terms'—what exactly are we talking about?" A beat, heavy and deliberate. "Some things aren't worth the headache."
Sophia let out a soft, knowing laugh. "What headache? It's the same old story, Eric." Her eyes narrowed. "As long as you don't talk and I don't talk, nobody gets hurt."
Her fingers tightened on his shirt, rubbing the fabric back and forth in a way that screamed ownership.
"Don't play dumb. I've been running myself ragged for you. I've been up half the night for you." Her hand drifted to her belly again. "And I'm carrying your child. You're not going to let all that effort go unrewarded."
Eleanor arched a brow, wearing Eric's arrogant CEO look like a mask. "Oh? And what is it you want?"
Sophia didn't answer with words.
She took Eleanor's hand and pressed it firmly against the slight curve beneath her dress.
Then she locked eyes with "him," gaze hungry, searching for even a flicker of the old Eric.
Eleanor recoiled—just a fraction too fast.
Not violent. Not dramatic.
Just… wrong.
For Sophia, it was all the confirmation she needed. Her smile didn't fade; it hardened. Her gaze sharpened, catching every millisecond of that recoil. The flirting evaporated, replaced by something cool, professional, dangerous.
Sophia straightened her dress and adopted a look of mock generosity. "Forget it. I'm not asking for anything right now. If it's a bad time, I can wait."
She stepped back, creating a deliberate distance.
"But here's a better idea." Her tone shifted into pure business. "You've been pushing the Planning Department for that land approval for months, right? Make me a Vice President at Aethel Corp. Planning, Marketing—it doesn't matter." A bright, hard smile. "It'll be much easier for me to handle things for you if I'm doing it officially."
Eleanor gave Sophia a brief, noncommittal pat on the shoulder—placating and dismissive at the same time.
"Okay. We'll talk at the office. You've done a lot for me, Sophia. I'm not going to leave you empty-handed."
Her voice stayed smooth. "I'm exhausted. I'm going back up. Eleanor needs me."
Sophia's mouth tightened, irritation flashing through before she buried it under a stiff professional smile.
"Of course." One crisp nod. "Get some rest, Eric."
The elevator chimed as it reached the ground floor. The doors slid open, but Sophia didn't step out immediately.
She let the silence hang, then dropped her voice into something soft but pointed.
"Just remember, Eric—time doesn't wait."
---------- 💬 Author's Note ----------
If you like this story, don't forget to add it to your library and drop your Power Stones 🔥
Your support keeps the story going.