"Sofia, are you really sure about this?" Anne asked for what felt like the hundredth time, her voice a mix of concern and disbelief as she paced across the room.
"Yeah," Elise chimed in, leaning on the doorway with arms folded. "What about the hot stranger? You were glowing after that night."
Sofia gave a soft, distant smile, but her eyes didn't light up the way they used to when they mentioned him.
"I'm sure. This isn't about him. It's not about John either." Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled slightly in her lap. "This is about survival. About reclaiming the life I lost the moment my parents died. I'm tired of chasing dreams when I can't even keep a roof over my head."
There was silence. The kind that made a room feel too still, too heavy.
"But still, marrying a stranger?" Elise asked quietly. "Just because your ex proposed to Carla doesn't mean—"
"Stop right there." Sofia cut her off, looking up. Her gaze was calm but resolute. "This isn't because of John. Do you honestly think I'd ruin my life over that coward? He didn't break my heart. He just proved I didn't matter enough. And you know what hurts more? The bills. The debt. The slow erosion of everything my parents worked for. That's what I'm fighting for—not revenge, not romance. Reality."
Anne sat beside her, her expression softening. "We get it. We do. It's just... this is huge, Sofia. A marriage—even a fake one—isn't something you walk into without consequences."
"I'm not walking in blind," she whispered. "He needs a wife for appearances. I need a way out. There's no love here. No illusions. Just a transaction. A lifeline."
"And what happens if he turns out to be a total jerk? A control freak? A monster?" Elise pressed.
Sofia let out a shaky laugh. "Then I survive like I always do. And maybe ask for a divorce when the deal's done. But until then? I'll play my role. Smile when I have to. Be the wife he needs me to be. I'm good at pretending."
Just then, Anne clapped her hands together with forced enthusiasm. "Alright then! If we're doing this, we're doing it right. Which is why..." She pulled a sleek black credit card from her back pocket and waved it with a grin.
Sofia's eyes widened. "Where did you get that?"
"From my mom. Or more accurately, from her very rich friend. He said we need to use it to get you everything you'll need for your wedding. Designer gown, shoes, makeup, the works."
"You didn't have to—"
"We wanted to," Elise interrupted. "And don't worry—we're being compensated." She winked. "Your future husband's best friend already transferred a retainer."
The word husband made Sofia's stomach twist. It felt surreal. Like playing a part in a movie she didn't audition for.
"So... this guy," she said after a beat. "He really doesn't want love? Doesn't believe in it?"
"Apparently not," Anne replied. "Mom said he's allergic to feelings. Too busy, too powerful, too... emotionally unavailable."
**"Then what does he even need a wife for?" Sofia asked, trying to make sense of it all.
"Public image. Business. Rich people problems," Elise answered with a smirk.
Sofia tilted her head, lips quirking. "What if I end up seducing him and making him fall for me?"
Anne and Elise burst out laughing.
"Please," Elise said between giggles. "Men like him are immune to beauty. That's why they're dangerous. They're charming, but they don't get attached."
Sofia's smile faded a little, her eyes flickering with something softer. "That's okay. I'm not looking to be loved. Not anymore. I just want peace. A future. A chance to start again."
Anne reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "Then let's make sure you walk into that marriage looking like a queen—even if it's just for a deal. Let him know that even if you're just an accessory, you're the priceless kind."
"You girls are unbelievable," Sofia said, blinking back emotion.
"We're your ride-or-dies, Sof." Elise grinned. "Now come on. We have three days to turn you into the most unforgettable bride this city has ever seen."
They were absolutely drained after an entire day of boutique hopping, trying on gowns, shoes, and accessories Sofia never imagined she'd wear—let alone own. Her feet ached, her shoulders slumped, and yet there was an energy buzzing beneath the exhaustion. Somehow, between laughter, coffee runs, and heated debates about veils versus tiaras, they had checked off everything on their list.
Sofia stood in her room now, staring at the ivory garment hanging from her closet door. The gown shimmered under the soft light, its fabric delicate and impossibly beautiful. For a long moment, she didn't move. She simply stared.
She had never pictured herself as a bride. Not like this. Not in a whirlwind arrangement built on necessity, not without love. But the dress was real. The marriage was happening. And the woman in the mirror, disheveled hair and all, was about to walk down the aisle.
"I can't believe it's really mine," she whispered to herself, voice low and trembling. "A wedding dress I never thought I'd wear. For a wedding, I never expected to have."
Her chest tightened—not out of regret, but a cocktail of emotions too tangled to name. This wasn't a fairytale. But maybe, just maybe, it was a new beginning in disguise.
From outside her room, she heard Anne's teasing voice followed by Elise's laughter, grounding her in the moment. Whatever happened next, she wasn't alone.
And that gave her strength.
She overheard it in passing—just a whisper between colleagues at the coffee machine—but it was enough to still her fingers above her keyboard.
Carla had started handing out wedding invitations.
Sofia brushed it off at first, pretending she didn't hear, pretending it didn't matter. But then she returned from her lunch break and saw something lying atop her desk drawer.
A small, ivory envelope with delicate gold trim.
Her heart gave a strange little lurch.
At first, she thought someone had made a mistake. That maybe it was meant for someone else. But no—the name on the front was unmistakable, written in perfect cursive: Ms. Sofia Everhart.
Her fingers hesitated before she picked it up, the paper suddenly too heavy, the air around her too thin. For a second, she just stared at it. Was this Carla's version of kindness... or cruelty?
Sofia sat down slowly, her pulse ringing in her ears as she peeled the envelope open and slid out the card. Her eyes scanned the message, each word like a needle prick:
You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of John Thorne and Carla Mendoza.
Her breath caught in her throat. The room felt too bright, too loud. Around her, phones rang, printers whirred, and laughter bubbled from somewhere in the hallway—but all she could hear was the echo of those names.
She swallowed hard and dropped the card back on her desk as it burned.
It had only been weeks. Just weeks since she caught them together. Weeks since her world tilted on its axis and she was forced to rebuild from rubble. And now they were celebrating. Announcing their union like nothing ever happened, like she had never existed in their lives at all.
She blinked rapidly, trying to fight the sting in her eyes. She had promised herself she wouldn't care. That she'd rise above it. That she wouldn't let their betrayal sink its claws any deeper into her.
And yet... here she was, sitting in silence, fighting back tears over a piece of embossed cardstock.
What made it worse—far worse—was that she had no invitation of her own to give.
She was getting married too. In three days, no less. But unlike Carla, she didn't even know the full name of her husband-to-be. She didn't know where he grew up, what he loved, or even the sound of his laugh. All she had was a promise made out of desperation and a wedding dress hanging in her closet like a symbol of sacrifice rather than celebration.
The irony stung like salt in a wound.
She turned the invitation over and over in her hand, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.
Carla had a man, a venue, and a dream she was unashamed to share.
Sofia had a contract, a countdown, and a name she still didn't know.
Then, the day of her wedding finally arrived.
"You look absolutely breathtaking, my dear," Isadora said warmly as she greeted them at the entrance of the courthouse. Sofia offered a nervous smile, her fingers clutching the delicate lace of her gown.
She still couldn't quite understand why she had to wear a full wedding dress for a ceremony that would take place in a sterile courtroom, not a grand church or a picturesque garden. But the gown was real. The vows would be binding. And no matter how surreal it felt, this was happening.
Then, Isadora introduced her to the man behind it all—the groom's close friend—and Sofia's breath caught in her throat. Raymond looked to be in his late fifties, maybe older, with graying temples and a businesslike expression.
Her palms went clammy. She tried to smile, tried to keep her composure, but dread tightened around her like a corset. This was supposed to be just a deal, but no one said the deal would feel this real.
Panic surged through her chest.
If he was just a friend, did that mean her future husband was even older? Her stomach dropped. Was Isadora lying to them all along? Was she about to marry someone with a retirement plan and a hearing aid?
She swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the wedding gown clinging to her like a trap. What if she was about to walk down the aisle to a man who called her young lady and collected vintage coins for fun?
Was she about to become a trophy wife for a man who needed an actual trophy case?