They OFFERED the ADOPTED DAUGHTER as a JOKE…but the BILLIONAIRE saw her as the GREATEST GIFT of his….

 

 

 

 

The adopted daughter was given to the billionaire as a joke, but he saw her as the greatest gift and everything he had ever dreamed of.  Sophie Miller, 23 years old, her brown hair messy from the cold Atlantic wind, was on her knees in the wet sand of Portland, chasing a worn out copy of The Little Duck That Couldn’t Fly, as if she were on an international rescue mission. “Come back here,” she shouted at the book, which was sliding down the sand toward the waves with surprising speed for something without an engine. “I didn’t come all the way to Miami just to lose you now.” The next wave rolled in.

Sophie threw herself forward. Mist. The book kept sliding. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sophie muttered, spitting out sand as she stood up. “Seriously? You’ve been with me for 15 years, and now you decide to become a surfer?” She ran again, tripped over her own suitcase, because of course, she had left it right in the way.

 Rolled through the sand like a human ball, and finally managed to touch the book’s cover with her fingertips. The tide pulled. Sophie pulled back. “No,” she yelled, holding the book with both hands as the freezing water covered her knees. “You’re not leaving me. You’re the only thing I have left of him.” And it was in that moment, this absolutely ridiculous moment with Sophie soaked up to her waist, hair stuck to her face, sand in the most uncomfortable places, and clinging to a children’s book like it was the last blanket on the Titanic when a firm, masculine, and definitely dry hand grabbed the book along with her. Sophie froze, slowly lifted her eyes, and met

the callest, most curious, and most absurdly handsome gaze she had ever seen. The man was barefoot, beige linen pants rolled up to his ankles, a white shirt with the sleeves folded up, dark hair slightly tuzzled by the wind, and that kind of expression that hovered between, “I’m worried and I’m trying not to laugh.

 Are you all right?” he asked with a deep voice that sounded made for a perfume commercial. Sophie blinked, then blinked again, then looked at the book, still trapped between their hands, and finally processed what was happening. I I was the book. It was running away. The man raised an eyebrow.

 Running away? Yes, Sophie said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It has a history. Very dramatic. For the first time, the man smiled. Not a full smile, just one of those small corner of the mouth smiles that make the world feel a little lighter for a moment. I see. He helped Sophie stand, still holding the book like it was something important. It looks valuable.

Sophie looked at the soaked book with wrinkled pages, torn edges, and faded illustrations of a confused little duck trying to take off. “Yeah,” she said softly. “It it was my dad’s.” The man didn’t say anything. He just nodded, returning the book carefully, as if handing over something sacred.

 And then, before Sophie could ask who he was, thank him properly, or at least wipe the sand off her nose, he took a step back. “Welcome to Portland,” he said with a small wave before walking down the beach as if rescuing girls from runaway books was part of his morning routine. Sophie stood there dripping seaater, clutching the book, watching him disappear.

 “What just happened?” she whispered to the little duck on the cover. The duck, of course, didn’t answer, but if it had, it probably would have said, “Welcome to the rest of your life, Sophie.” One day earlier, the house at 42 Ashford Street used to be a home. It once had laughter at breakfast.

 Hugs in the living room, the smell of pancakes on Sunday mornings. But that was before. Before Sophie’s father passed away, before her stepmother, Elaine, turned every room into hostile territory. before Briana, her halfsister, decided that life was a runway where Sophie didn’t belong. Now the house was just a place where Sophie slept, worked, and disappeared.

 That morning, she was in the kitchen scrubbing a pan so hard it looked like she was trying to erase her own existence from the metal. Sophie. Elaine’s shrill voice echoed through the hallway. Did you finish the laundry? I did, Sophie replied, not looking up. And the upstairs bathroom? That, too. and the pantry cabinets. Sophie took a deep breath. Also done, Elaine.

Stepmother, Elaine corrected, appearing in the doorway with her arms crossed in that permanently disappointed look. I’m your stepmother. Respect, Sophie. It’s the least you can give after everything we’ve done for you. Everything they’d done, Sophie bit her tongue. Literally, because shouting, you turned me into an unpaid maid wouldn’t change anything.

 It never did. Sorry, stepmother, Sophie said, going back to scrubbing the pan. Elaine sighed dramatically. Brianna’s going to Miami this weekend. I need you to pack her bags. And oh, I also need you to clean out her closet. She’ll need space for her new clothes. Sophie nodded. Of course. Always Briana.

 Always trips. Always more. Meanwhile, Sophie hadn’t left the house in 3 years. After Elaine left, Sophie pulled the little duck book from her apron. Yes, she carried that book like a lucky charm and whispered to the cover, “Just one more day. Okay, we can make it one more day.

” The duck on the cover looked especially tired that morning. But then everything changed. Elaine found a solution. Not for Sophie, for the debts, for the maxed out credit cards, for the financial despair she hid behind fake designer handbags. It started with a sponsored video, a viral headline, a bizarre show about a billionaire looking for a wife.

 And Elaine, with that dangerous sparkle in her eyes, decided Sophie would be the perfect candidate. Not because she believed in her, but because the chosen girl’s family would receive $5 million. Sophie only found out when the letter arrived. “You’ve been selected,” Elaine said, tossing the envelope on the table like trash. “You leave tomorrow.” “I’ve been what?” Sophie blinked, confused.

Selected for the CEO’s program. Elaine smiled, a smile that never reached her eyes. Congratulations, Sophie. You’re finally going to be useful. And just like that, without choice, without a voice, without understanding, Sophie packed a small suitcase, placed the duckbook on top, and got on the bus to Portland, crying softly, murmuring to herself, trying to believe that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end.

 Now standing in front of Harrington House, a huge white mansion surrounded by gardens that looked like they were designed by someone who hated normal people. Sophie held the still damp book and tried to process what was happening. There was a giant gate, an intercom, a golden plaque with the family crest, and Sophie soaked with sand stuck to her clothes, not knowing that the man from the beach was Blake Harrington, the billionaire CEO himself, pressed the intercom. Hello. A polished female voice answered. Hi, I’m

Sophie Miller. I I think I was selected. Pause. Oh, you’re the third one. Please come in. The gate opened. Sophie took a deep breath, looked at the duck on the cover, and whispered, “Well, here we go.” And she walked in, not knowing she had just met the man who would change everything.

 Not knowing the two rivals were already inside, sharpening their claws, not knowing that her stepmother at that very moment was celebrating on social media as if she’d already won the lottery. But Sophie knew one thing. The book had stopped running away. And maybe, just maybe, that was a sign.

 The floor of Harrington House was so shiny that Sophie could see her reflection staring back at her, judging her life choices. “Did you really walk in here with sand in your socks?” the reflection seemed to ask. Sophie dragged her wobbly suitcase, the one with the wheel that spun the wrong way, and tried not to slip on the marble floor, as she followed the immaculate assistant who had opened the door.

 The woman wore high heels, had her hair pulled into a bun so perfect it seemed to defy gravity, and walked like she was in slow motion from an action movie. “This way, Miss Miller,” she said without looking back. Sophie hurried to keep up. The suitcase rolled left, then right, then decided to just fall over.

 “Sorry,” Sophie whispered to it as if it could hear. The assistant stopped in front of two enormous wooden doors carved with details that probably cost more than Sophie’s entire house on Ashford Street. The other finalists are already in the living room. She opened the doors with a dramatic gesture, “Good luck!” and left.

 Sophie stood in the doorway, clutching the suitcase handle tightly, trying to take it all in. The living room was absurd. Ceilings tall enough for another floor. Crystal chandeliers that looked like they came from a European palace. White sofas so spotless Sophie was afraid to even look at them.

 And a fireplace burning brightly even though it was summer because apparently billionaires didn’t follow the laws of physics. and sitting on those sofas with posture so perfect it looked rehearsed were them. The first woman was tall blonde wearing a white tailored suit that practically screamed, “My lawyer costs more than your kidney.” She held a glass of wine like it was a scepter.

 When Sophie walked in, the woman slowly lifted her eyes, scanned her from head to toe, and smiled. Not a cruel smile exactly, but definitely a calculated one. “Oh,” she said in a smooth, dangerous voice. You must be the third one. Sophie swallowed hard. Hi, I’m Sophie. Charlotte Davenport. The blonde tilted her head slightly. Nice to meet you.

 

 

 

 

 The second woman, sitting in the chair beside her, didn’t even bother to smile. She had dark, perfectly wavy hair, wore a tight red dress, and held her phone like she was about to post something that could ruin someone’s reputation. When she looked at Sophie, her eyes scanned her so quickly and sharply that Sophie could almost hear the beep of a scanner.

 “Vivien Hartwell,” she said without looking up from her phone. “You’re soaked, Sophie glanced down.” “Yes.” There was still sand stuck to her sneakers. The hem of her pants was wet, and her hair, well, her hair looked like it had given up on life. Had a little problem at the beach. Sophie tried to smile, but it’s fine now.

 How cute, Vivienne said in a tone that clearly didn’t mean cute. Charlotte took a sip of wine, studying Sophie with that analytical gaze of someone calculating odds. Sophie. She crossed her legs. Tell me, what brought you here? Sophie blinked. The bus. Silence. Viven looked up from her phone for the first time. Her expression caught somewhere between confusion and amusement.

 Charlotte coughed, hiding a small laugh. No, dear. I meant what made you apply for this? Oh, Sophie felt her cheeks burn. Actually, I didn’t apply. It’s complicated. Complicated. Viven repeated, testing the word. Interesting. Before Sophie could explain, or at least try without sounding ridiculous, a deep, steady male voice echoed through the room. I hope you’re all comfortable.

 Sophie turned and her heart nearly leapt out of her chest. It was him, the man from the beach, but now completely different. Blake Harrington walked into the room with a presence that changed the entire atmosphere. A perfectly tailored dark suit, tie straight and crisp. Every step was firm, controlled, deliberate. His hair was styled flawlessly, his posture confident, his gaze serious, almost unreachable.

 There was no trace left of the barefoot, easygoing man from the beach. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a corporate magazine cover. Sophie froze. That’s the same guy who saved my book. Impossible. Blake looked at Charlotte, then at Viven, and finally his eyes landed on Sophie. There was a flicker of recognition, but he didn’t smile, didn’t nod, just kept that neutral, professional expression. Sophie felt herself shrink three sizes.

 Charlotte immediately stood, extending her hand with practiced elegance. “Mr. Harrington, it’s an honor to be here, Miss Davenport.” Blake replied, shaking her hand firmly, his voice calm and formal. Vivien stayed seated but smiled in a way that looked heavily rehearsed. “Blake, lovely home. Thank you,” he said, polite, but distant.

 Then his gaze returned to Sophie. “Miss Miller,” his tone was different now, “Controlled, business-like. I see you arrived safely,” Sophie blinked. “I, yes, I did. Thank you.” No mention of the book. No mention of the beach. Nothing. It was as if that moment had never happened. Vivian frowned, glancing between them.

You two have met before? Blake kept his expression unrable. Not formally. Charlotte watched everything with surgical precision like she was assembling a mental puzzle. Blake finally moved to the fireplace, resting one hand on the marble as he looked at the three of them with quiet authority. You’re probably wondering how this will work. His voice was firm, direct, leaving no room for doubt.

 Let me be clear. You three were chosen from thousands. You’ll stay here for the next few days. You’ll take part in events, conversations, and activities, and at the end, I’ll make a decision. Sophie’s stomach twisted. Charlotte kept her perfect composure. Vivien smiled like she had already won.

 “Make yourselves at home,” Blake said before leaving the room as confidently as he entered without looking back. As soon as he was gone, Viven turned to Sophie with a sharp smile. “So, you already knew him?” Sophie quickly shook her head. No, I just we bumped into each other briefly.

 What a lovely coincidence, Charlotte said, though her tone made it clear she didn’t think it was lovely. Not at all, Vivienne raised her glass. Well, may the best woman win. Sophie looked at both rivals, took a deep breath, and muttered under her breath. I’m so doomed. And somewhere in the mansion, an elevator door opened. Then it spoke. Welcome to Harrington House, third floor, main suites. Have a productive day. Sophie froze.

 The elevator talks. Viven, honey, even the fridge talks here. That’s when Sophie realized she’d stepped into a world where she definitely didn’t belong. But something inside her, maybe the memory of that kind man on the beach still whispered that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.

 Even if now he seemed completely out of reach. At 7 that evening, Sophie discovered there were six types of forks, and she didn’t know a single one of them. six, not three, not four, six forks arranged around the plate like like part of an IQ test she was about to fail spectacularly. After the meeting in the living room and the traumatic realization that even the appliances could talk, Sophie had been shown to her room, which was bigger than her entire house on Ashford Street, took a quick shower, put on the only decent dress she

brought, a simple navy blue one, no sparkle, no drama, and went down for dinner. Before entering the dining room, she’d signed that contract. Three pages of legal terms that basically said, “You will be filmed. Everything will be broadcast. Smile for the cameras.” Sophie had signed it with trembling hands, thinking, “Great.

 Now the whole world will watch me make a fool of myself.” And now she was sitting at the table, staring at the forks like they were personal enemies, painfully aware that small discrete cameras were positioned strategically around the room. Almost invisible lenses capturing every movement, every expression, every word.

 Everything streamed live through an exclusive online channel, part of Blake Harrington’s corporate transparency strategy. Meanwhile, 200 m away in the house on Ashford Street, Elaine was glued to the living room TV as if it were the sports event of the year. There, there she is. Elaine pointed at the screen where Sophie appeared, trying to figure out the forks. Look, at least she’s there. That’s something.

 Briana, sitting on the couch beside her with a tub of ice cream, rolled her eyes. Mom, do you really think she has a chance? Look at her. She looks like a lost child at the mall. Elaine bit her lip watching intently. Her naive charm might work. You know, men like that touch of vulnerability. She paused.

 But I should have signed you up, Brianna. You would have nailed it. Elegant, confident, wellspoken, Briana smiled. Obviously, Sophie is just too clumsy. Elaine sighed, shaking her head. This isn’t going to work. I know it’s not. On screen, Sophie picked up a fork and murmured something to it. Brianna burst out laughing. She’s talking to the utensils now.

 Seriously? Elaine covered her face with her hands. Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sophie. Then she peakedked through her fingers. But I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe he’ll think it’s cute. Brianna rolled her eyes again. Mom, you’re delusional. Back at the mansion, Sophie was still fighting her private battle.

 Which one do I use first? She whispered to the napkin as if it might reveal the secrets of the universe. The napkin, of course, didn’t answer, but Sophie knew the cameras had caught that. Great. Now thousands of people had seen her talking to herself. The Harrington House dining room looked like it was set for a royal banquet. A flawless white tablecloth.

 Crystal glasses that caught the chandelier’s light like tiny suns. Porcelain plates so thin Sophie was afraid to breathe near them. And in the center, a floral arrangement so elaborate it probably had its own name. Charlotte sat to Blake’s right, her posture carved from marble.

 She held her wine glass with such elegance Sophie thought it should be taught in college. Her white suit had been replaced by a champagne colored gown, modest neckline yet powerful. Viven on his left looked stunning in a fitted black dress that matched the silverware perfectly. She glanced at Sophie, smiled faintly, and picked up the outer fork with effortless grace. Ah, so the outer one first.

 Sophie grabbed the outer fork, looked at it, frowned. “Sorry,” she whispered to the fork. “I’ve never done this before.” At the Ashford house, Brianna nearly spat out her ice cream. “She apologized to a fork,” Elaine groaned. “I should have sent you, Briana. This is going to be a disaster.” Charlotte coughed, trying to hide a laugh. Vivian raised an eyebrow.

Blake, sitting at the head of the table, watched everything in silence. He had swapped his dark suit for a navy one that looked even more flawless. if that was possible. His tie was perfectly straight, his expression hard to read. He looked more distant than he had in the living room, as if he’d put on a corporate mask he couldn’t take off.

 A waiter entered, setting the first course in front of each of them. It looked like edible art. Three green leaves arranged in a spiral, a tiny coin-sized piece of cheese, and something golden Sophie couldn’t identify. Arugula salad with smoked goat cheese and a pistachio crust,” the waiter announced as if presenting an exhibit at a museum.

Sophie looked at the plate, then the fork, then at Charlotte, who was already eating with precise, delicate movements. “Okay, you can do this. It’s just a salad. A very small, very expensive salad, but still a salad. And yes, you’re being filmed. Don’t mess this up.” She cut a piece, lifted the fork to her mouth, and bit the air.

 because the cheese had slipped off the fork and landed back on the plate with an audible plop. Viven looked up. Charlotte stopped chewing. Blake didn’t look away. On Ashford Street, Brianna burst out laughing. She can’t even eat properly. Elaine covered her eyes. It’s over. It’s all over. He’s sending her home tonight.

Sophie felt her face burn. The cameras caught it. Everyone saw it. Congratulations, Sophie. You’re officially the internet’s joke. Sorry. The cheese has a mind of its own, Charlotte smiled. Happens to the best of us. Liar, Sophie thought. Bet you’ve never dropped a piece of cheese in your life.

 Before the silence could grow too awkward, Blake spoke, his steady voice cutting through the tension. I’d like to start with a simple question. He set his fork down. Why are you here? Charlotte didn’t hesitate. She dabbed her lips with her napkin, turned slightly toward Blake, and answered with the confidence of someone who’d rehearsed in front of a mirror.

 I believe in building legacies, Blake. My family has always valued strategic alliances that benefit both sides. I see this marriage as an opportunity to unite two powerful visions. She smiled. And of course, I have deep respect for what you’ve built. Blake nodded, expressionless. Interesting. Viven went next.

 She rested her elbow on the table gracefully, not sloppily, and tilted her head with a polished smile. I love what you represent, Blake. Innovation, strength, presence. She paused dramatically. And I believe that by your side, I could amplify all of that. Imagine the possibilities, the image, the events, the cultural impact. We’d be unforgettable. Blake took a sip of wine. I see. Then his eyes turned to Sophie.

 The silence grew heavy. Charlotte and Vivienne looked at her like two hawks eyeing their prey. On Ashford Street, Elaine leaned forward. Say something smart, Sophie. For heaven’s sake, say anything that isn’t ridiculous. Brianna snickered. She’s probably going to talk to her napkin again. Just watch. Sophie swallowed hard. The cameras are on you.

The whole world’s watching. Say something intelligent, something impressive, something that doesn’t involve runaway cheese. But when she opened her mouth, what came out was, “I don’t know. Blake frowned slightly. You don’t know? Sophie shook her head, panic rising. I I didn’t sign up. My stepmother did. And I honestly I don’t even know what I’m doing here. She took a deep breath.

 But if you’re asking what I want, I guess I just want a place. A place where I don’t have to apologize for existing. The silence that followed was different. Not awkward. Charged. Charlotte looked at Vivienne. Vivienne looked at Charlotte. Both sensed something shift in the air. Blake didn’t take his eyes off Sophie. He didn’t smile or nod, but something in his gaze, subtle but real, had changed. A place, he repeated slowly. Interesting.

 On Ashford Street, Elaine’s mouth fell open. Briana had stopped eating her ice cream, staring at the screen. Mom, Briana whispered. He’s looking at her weird. Elaine blinked. Weird how? Like interested? Elaine tilted her head, studying Blake’s expression on the screen. No, it can’t be. She dropped cheese. She talked to Cutlery. She But on the screen, Blake was still looking at Sophie.

 And Elaine felt something she hadn’t expected. A tiny spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe. Vivienne cleared her throat, trying to regain control. Well, we all have our reasons, don’t we? What matters is that we’re here now. Charlotte agreed, but her expression was tense.

 The rest of the dinner went by in a blur of tiny dishes and polite conversation. Sophie tried not to spill anything else, but managed to confuse the dessert spoon with the soup spoon and almost drank from the saucer. “When dinner finally ended,” Blake stood up. “It’s been an enlightening evening,” he said, looking at the three of them. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we have more activities.

” He left the room with that steady presence of his, leaving the three women alone. As soon as the door closed, Viven turned to Sophie with a sharp smile. So, you didn’t sign up? What a touching story. Charlotte crossed her arms, studying Sophie like she was analyzing a chess piece.

 You do know he noticed you, right? Sophie blinked. Noticed me? I spelled cheese, mixed up forks, and basically admitted I have no idea what I’m doing here. How is that being noticed? Viven laughed, but it wasn’t a kind laugh. Exactly. Because of that, dear Charlotte stood, smoothing her dress. You’re different and different stands out. Sophie felt a chill in her stomach. I don’t want to stand out.

 Too late, Vivien said, grabbing her purse. You already did. The two of them walked out, leaving Sophie alone at the huge table, surrounded by empty plates and a collection of forks she still didn’t fully understand. She looked up at one of the discrete cameras in the corner and whispered softly, “I messed everything up, didn’t I?” But out in the hallway, Blake had stopped by a window, looking out at the sea. And for the first time that night, he smiled.

 At Ashford Street, Elaine slowly turned off the television, still processing everything. Brianna looked at her. “So, what did you think?” Elaine stayed silent for a long moment. Then she sighed. “I still think I should have sent you,” she said, shaking her head. “But I don’t know. Maybe her innocence will work. Maybe.

” She didn’t sound convinced, but deep down, very deep down, Elaine was hoping because $5 million depended on it. Sophie woke up to persistent knocking at her bedroom door. Three knocks. Pause. Three more. She opened her eyes slowly, still foggy from sleep, and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 7:00 in the morning. Who knocks at 7:00 in the morning? Miss Miller? The assistant’s voice came from the other side.

 You need to come down for breakfast. It’s urgent. Sophie sat up, confused. Urgent? Why? Please just come down. Sophie got dressed quickly, splashed water on her face, and went downstairs, still half asleep. When she entered the breakfast room, she found Charlotte and Vivienne already seated, but they weren’t eating.

 They were staring at a tablet. And their expressions couldn’t have been more different. Charlotte looked tense, as if calculating odds, while Vivienne looked furious, like someone who had just lost a big bet. Good morning, Sophie said hesitantly. Charlotte looked up. Ah, the star has arrived. Sophie frowned. Star.

Vivien turned the tablet toward her with a sharp movement. Look at this. On the screen was a video. A video of her. Sophie stepped closer, her stomach turning as she recognized the scene. It was from the dinner the night before. the exact moment when the goat cheese slipped off her fork and plopped back onto the plate with that awful splat.

 The camera had perfectly captured the look of pure horror on her face, followed by the accusing glare she gave the cheese as if that little golden piece had just committed a serious crime and then that nervous, awkward, completely genuine laugh as she muttered, “The cheese has a mind of its own.

” The caption read, “When you try to be elegant, but even the food turns against you, Sophie Miller is everything.” and below it, a flood of comments. She’s so real. I love this girl. Finally, someone normal on this show. Sophie is better than all the others combined. No question. This cheese will go down in internet history. If he doesn’t pick her, I’m going to lose it.

 Sophie read the comments twice, then three times, and then looked at the cheese being served at breakfast like it was part of an international conspiracy. You, she pointed at it. This is your fault. Charlotte coughed, hiding a dry laugh. Vivienne just rolled her eyes so hard Sophie thought she might hurt herself.

 2 million views, Vivienne said slowly, each word sounding like she was chewing glass. 2 million in less than 12 hours. Sophie blinked. 2 million? Yes, Charlotte confirmed, closing the tablet with a sharp click. Congratulations, Sophie. You’re a meme. Sophie sat down slowly trying to process. I I became a joke. Not exactly. Charlotte tilted her head, studying Sophie with that calculating look. You’ve become darling. People find you adorable.

 Adorable? Sophie repeated as if testing the word in another language. Yes, Vivienne confirmed, but her tone was sharp as a blade, like a puppy tripping over its paws. Cute, but pathetic. Sophie felt her face grow warm. She looked down at the cheese plate on the table and whispered softly, “I knew this would go wrong.” Charlotte and Vivienne exchanged a quick, tense look.

 Before either of them could say anything, Blake walked into the room. He looked as impeccable as ever. Dark gray suit, perfectly straight tie, steady posture. But there was something different in his eyes. Something amused. “Good morning,” he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Good morning, Blake.

 Charlotte replied immediately, sitting up straighter and forcing a flawless smile. Vivienne smiled too, the way she always did when Blake was around. Calculated, rehearsed like a performance. Have you seen the social media? Blake took a sip of coffee. I have. Sophie sank deeper into her chair, trying to literally disappear into her blouse. Blake looked straight at her.

Looks like you’ve gained a few fans. Sophie let out a nervous laugh that sounded more like a cough. fans. I I just dropped the cheese. It wasn’t It wasn’t on purpose. I know, Blake said in a neutral tone, though there was a faint sparkle in his eyes, but it was genuine, and people respond to that.

 Charlotte drank her orange juice so hard that Sophie thought the glass might crack in her hand. Viven kept her smile, but her fingers gripped the edge of the table so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Sophie, on the other hand, looked genuinely lost. So, they’re not laughing at me.

 Blake slowly set his cup down, his movements deliberate. Some might be, but most are laughing with you. There’s a difference. Sophie took a moment to process that, then looked back at the cheese on the table. Maybe I should thank you. She murmured to the piece of cheese. Blake almost smiled. Almost. Before he could say anything, the house assistant entered quickly, holding a tablet and looking slightly worried. Mr.

Harrington. Sorry to interrupt, but the press office is sending updates. The show’s official channel has seen a 340% increase in engagement over the last 12 hours. She hesitated, glancing at Sophie, and 89% of the comments specifically mentioned Miss Miller. Sophie froze. Me? Why? The assistant looked uneasy. Well, the video went viral. People want to know more about you. They’re making fan pages.

 Viven let out a disbelieving, almost hysterical laugh. fan pages because of a piece of cheese. Charlotte clenched her teeth but kept her composure with visible effort. Her hands tight in her lap. Blake, however, stayed calm. His voice came out steady and controlled. Understood. Keep monitoring, but don’t release any official statements yet.

 The assistant nodded quickly and left the room. Blake looked at Sophie once more, his gaze serious now, but not cold. Are you okay? Sophie slowly shook her head, still trying to make sense of everything. I I don’t understand. Why do people care about this? Blake took a step toward her. Not too close, but close enough for Sophie to feel his presence.

 Because you’re not trying to be someone else, and that’s rare. He left the room soon after, leaving the three of them in silence. The quiet that followed was sharp, heavy, almost suffocating. Charlotte spoke first, her voice controlled, but laced with restrained tension. Congratulations, Sophie. Looks like your strategy is better than I thought.

 Strategy? Sophie turned to her completely confused. I don’t have any strategy. I just exist. Viven stood abruptly, grabbing her purse with quick, angry movements. And apparently, that’s enough. She left, shutting the door with restrained force.

 Charlotte stayed seated for a few more seconds, watching Sophie with that analytical, dangerous look, like someone recalculating an entire plan in her mind. “You really don’t see it, do you?” Charlotte said, sounding both impressed and irritated. “He’s interested in you.” Sophie blinked rapidly. “No, he’s not. He barely talks to me.” Charlotte smiled, a small, tired, resigned smile. “Exactly.

” She stood up gracefully, smoothed her dress, and walked out without looking back. Sophie was left alone in the breakfast room, surrounded by empty plates, steaming coffee cups, and one innocent piece of cheese on the tray. She looked at the cheese with a mix of confusion and resignation. “I swear,” she whispered softly.

 “If you cause any more trouble, I’m never eating cheese again.” But upstairs in the second floor office, Blake was watching the viral video for the third time. And for the second time that morning, he smiled. Because Sophie had done something Charlotte and Viven, with all their preparation and strategy, could never do.

 She had been completely, unmistakably herself, and that was impossible to fake. Sophie was talking to a little illustrated duck when she realized she wasn’t alone anymore. The afternoon was quiet. The sound of the Atlantic waves drowned almost everything. She had left the mansion after the chaotic breakfast. She needed to breathe, to think, to process the fact that she had become an international meme because of a rebellious piece of cheese.

 Now she was sitting barefoot in the sand, an old children’s book open in her lap, murmuring softly to the faded illustration. See, little duck, at least you tried to fly. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. She turned the page. I mean, I went viral viral for dropping food. That’s That’s basically the story of my life. The duck, as always, didn’t answer. Sophie sighed. You’re a terrible therapist. And that’s when she heard it, a laugh.

 Low, low, male, controlled, but definitely real. Sophie froze. She slowly turned her head and found Blake Harrington standing a few feet away, his hands in his pockets, watching her with an expression that mixed amusement and genuine curiosity. He wasn’t wearing a suit, just a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark pants.

 barefoot, his hair slightly tuzzled by the wind. And there was a discrete camera set up on a wooden structure in the distance. Part of the continuous recording system for the show. Great. He heard me talking to a children’s book, and the cameras did, too. Sophie snapped the book shut and stood quickly, brushing the sand off her pants. I was I was just talking to the wind.

It’s a meditation technique. Very popular in California. Blake raised an eyebrow. California meditation? Yes, super effective. Sophie nodded with fake confidence. You should try it. I’ll consider it. He took a slow step toward her. Mind if I sit? Sophie blinked.

 Here in the sand? Unless you’ve reserved the whole ocean. Sophie let out a nervous laugh. No, I sure. Go ahead. Blake sat beside her, keeping a respectful distance, but still close enough for Sophie to feel his presence filling the space. He looked at the book she was holding tightly. It’s the same one from the beach, he observed. Sophie glanced at the worn cover. Yeah, it tends to show up in the most embarrassing moments of my life. Blake smiled faintly.

 Sounds like a good friend. Sophie hadn’t expected that answer. She looked at him, trying to tell if he was being sarcastic, but his expression was sincere. It was my dad’s, she said softly. He used to read it to me before bed. Always the same story.

 the duckling who didn’t know how to fly, but in the end found out he could swim better than anyone else. Blake nodded slowly. “And you see yourself in the duckling?” Sophie gave a bitter little laugh. I relate to the part about not knowing how to fly. The swimming part hasn’t happened yet. There was a comfortable silence, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled. Until Blake asked in that firm but gentle voice, “Why are you really here, Sophie?” Sophie looked at him surprised. You asked that at dinner.

I know, but I want to hear it again. No cameras pointed at you. No Charlotte and Vivien analyzing every word. He paused. Just you and me. Sophie swallowed hard, but there’s a camera over there. He knows it. I know it. Yet somehow it feels different. I didn’t have a choice. Sophie finally admitted. My stepmother signed me up.

 She saw a financial opportunity and sent me here like a lottery ticket. She looked toward the sea. And I never had the courage to dream about anything beyond surviving because every time I tried, someone reminded me I didn’t have the right to. Blake stayed quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost protective.

 “You have the right to dream, Sophie.” Sophie felt her eyes sting. She blinked fast, trying to hold it back. “I don’t even know what to dream about. Then start small,” Blake said. “A small dream is still a dream.” Sophie looked at him and for the first time since she arrived at that absurd house, she felt truly seen, not as a contestant, not as a chess piece, not as a viral meme, just as Sophie.

 But before she could answer, a sharp voice cut through the moment. What a touching scene. Viven stood at the edge of the wooden staircase leading down to the beach, arms crossed, a poisonous smile on her face. Charlotte was beside her, watching everything with that calculated expression of hers.

 Blake slowly stood up, regaining his formal posture instantly. Sophie stood too, holding the book like a shield. “We were just talking,” Sophie said defensively. “Of course you were,” Vivienne said, walking down the stairs with firm steps. “How convenient! A private talk on the beach alone.” Charlotte didn’t say a word, but her eyes said everything. “You’re playing the game better than I thought.

” Blake looked at the three of them with that neutral expression he always wore when he was in CEO mode. Meet me in the main hall at 8 tonight, he said, his tone firm. I have an announcement to make. Then he walked away without looking back. At exactly 8:00, the three women were seated in the main hall. Sophie sat on the left sofa, nervous, twisting her hands in her lap.

 Charlotte sat in the center chair, posture perfect, though her shoulders showed a trace of tension. Viven sat on the right sofa, wearing that confident smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The cameras were positioned strategically. The live stream was on. Millions were watching. Blake entered the room serious and composed. Thank you for being here.

 He stopped in the middle of the room facing them. I brought each of you here because I believed you had something unique to offer. But now it’s time for the first decision. Silence filled the room. Sophie could barely breathe. Charlotte didn’t move. Viven kept smiling, though her hands clutched her purse tightly.

Blake looked at each of them slowly. Vivien, he said finally. The socialite stood, her smile intact. Yes, thank you for being part of this, but I have to be honest. I don’t see a future between us. Vivienne’s smile trembled for one second, just one, the mask fell, but she recovered quickly. I understand.

 She picked up her purse and smoothed her dress. It was an interesting experience. She glanced at Sophie and Charlotte. Her look was sharp as glass. Good luck, girls. You’ll need it. Then she walked out head high, though her steps were far too fast. Blake waited for the door to close. Then he turned to Sophie and Charlotte. Now it’s just the two of you.

Sophie felt her heart race. Charlotte smiled, but it was a dangerous smile because now the war was officially on. Sophie stared at a microphone as it were some alien creature about to explode. The morning after Viven’s elimination brought a new dynamic. Only two remained, Sophie and Charlotte.

 And the tension in the mansion was so thick it could have been cut with a knife or maybe with a rebellious fork escaping the plate. Blake had called them both to the library at 9:00 a.m. When they arrived, they found a formal setup, a long table, leather chairs, and in the center, two microphones on elegant stands. Discrete cameras were placed in the corners recording everything. Good morning.

 Blake stood by the table dressed in a flawless navy suit, posture study. Today, you’ll present a cultural proposal for the company. Sophie blinked. Cultural? Yes. Harrington Books has always supported reading initiatives. I want to hear ideas from both of you on how to expand that impact. He pointed to the microphones. 15 minutes each. Charlotte, you go first.

 Charlotte smiled confidently and walked to the microphone like she was stepping onto a Broadway stage. She carried an expensive leather folder filled with neatly organized papers and colored dividers. Sophie, on the other hand, held only her worn copy of The Little Duck who couldn’t fly and a crumpled notebook full of messy notes. “I’m doomed,” she thought. Charlotte adjusted the microphone effortlessly, lowering it to the perfect height.

 “Thank you, Blake. My proposal is simple but strategic. Partnerships with higher education institutions to create literary scholarship programs, universities, public libraries, cultural centers. This not only expands Harington’s reach, but also builds a measurable educational legacy. She opened the folder, revealing graphs, financial projections, and timelines. Sophie looked at her own notebook.

 It had three sentences and a doodle of a duck in the corner. I’m so doomed. Charlotte continued for 12 more minutes, quoting data, statistics, international partnerships. When she finished, Blake nodded seriously. Impressive. Thank you, Charlotte.

 Charlotte returned to her seat with a discreet smile, eyes shining with satisfaction. Blake turned to Sophie. Your turn. Sophie stood slowly, clutching the book like a life vest. She walked to the microphone, stopped in front of it, and tried to pull it down. The microphone didn’t move. Sophie pulled again. Still nothing. She looked at the stand, confused, trying to find the adjustment Charlotte had handled so easily.

 “You have to twist the lock first,” Blake said. his tone neutral, but his eyes amused. The lock, right? Sophie searched for it, found something that looked like a lock, and turned it. The microphone dropped all at once, and hit her chest with a loud thud. Ow! Sophie grabbed her chest, stepping back. You attacked me. Charlotte covered her face with her hands, trying and failing to hide her laughter.

 Blake walked over, adjusted the microphone to the right height with two precise moves. “There, try now.” Sophie eyed the microphone suspiciously. You promise it won’t attack me again? Blake almost smiled. I promise. Sophie took a deep breath and stepped toward the mic again, keeping a safe distance this time.

 Okay, so hi, she began, nervous. I don’t have charts or projections. I’m not even sure what a financial projection really is. Charlotte rolled her eyes quietly. Sophie took another breath. But I do have an idea. A small one. Maybe even a silly one, but it’s real. Blake leaned forward slightly, attentive. Sophie opened the little duck book, showing its worn cover. When I was a kid, my dad read me this every night.

 

 

 

 

 It wasn’t an expensive book. It didn’t have perfect illustrations, but it was ours. And he taught me that stories don’t have to be big or fancy to matter. They just have to be felt. She looked at Blake, then Charlotte, then back to Blake. My proposal is to create a program for donating used children’s books.

 Not new ones, not perfect ones. used ones with notes, folded pages, torn covers. Because those books have stories, they were loved by someone before. And when you give a book like that to a child, you’re not just giving a story. You’re saying, “This once mattered to someone, and now it matters to you.” The silence that followed was different. Charlotte sat still watching Blake with sharp attention.

 Because Blake Blake was moved, not in an obvious way. There were no tears, but something in his eyes changed. Something softened in that always controlled expression, and Sophie realized she had touched something deep inside him. “I know it’s not a big idea,” Sophie continued, her voice quieter now.

 “I know Charlotte has a much better plan, more professional, more everything. But I think sometimes the best things are the small ones, the ones that fit in your hand, the ones you can hold at night when you’re scared.” She closed the book gently. That’s it. Sorry if it was too simple. Blake didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he stood up, walked to her, and held out his hand.

 May I see the book? Sophie handed it to him, confused. He opened the first page. There was a faded handwritten note. For my Sophie, fly your own way, Dad. Blake closed the book carefully and gave it back. Thank you, Sophie, he said, and there was something in his voice that hadn’t been there before. something genuine, something human. Sophie returned to her chair, heartpounding, sure she had ruined everything.

 Charlotte, on the other hand, had gone pale, because she’d seen it. She’d seen the way Blake looked at Sophie. She’d seen the emotion he couldn’t quite hide. And for the first time since entering that house, Charlotte Davenport felt afraid. Blake looked at both of them. Thank you for the presentations. I’ll review them carefully.

 He left the library, closing the door behind him. Charlotte turned to Sophie with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. You’re good at this. Sophie blinked. Good at what? At pretending you don’t know how to play the game. Charlotte picked up her folder and stood. But I see you, Sophie. You’re more strategic than you look. I’m not pretending anything, Sophie said frustrated. I’m just being myself.

 Charlotte stopped at the door, glancing back. Exactly. And apparently that’s enough. She left. Sophie stayed alone in the library, looking down at the book in her lap. Did I do okay? She whispered to the little duck on the cover. In his office, Blake sat in his chair, staring out the window with his fingers intertwined.

 His assistant entered, holding a tablet. Mr. Harrington, the online reactions to the presentations are explosive. Blake didn’t turn. And 92% of comments mention Miss Miller’s proposal. People are really moved. Blake didn’t answer, but for the first time in a long while, a real smile crossed his face.

 Because Sophie hadn’t just presented an idea, she’d shown her heart, and he was completely lost. Two days had passed since the cultural presentations. Two days in which Charlotte barely looked at Sophie, still processing the fact that Blake had been moved, visibly moved by Sophie’s simple, heartfelt proposal about used books. And now the pressure had increased.

 That morning, Blake had announced there would be an official photo session for the show’s profiles, part of the transparency strategy. Sophie and Charlotte, the two remaining finalists, would pose with him in front of the fireplace in the main hall. It sounded simple, professional, controlled, until the giant vase of white orchids decided to challenge gravity.

 Sophie was standing next to Blake, trying not to look uncomfortable in front of the cameras, positioned strategically around the room. She wore a simple light blue dress with few details, which made her look even younger and more vulnerable. Her mind was still on the library, on the presentation, on the way Blake had held the duck book as if it were something precious.

 Charlotte stood on the other side, flawless in an emerald green dress, wearing that practiced smile she used like armor. But beneath the smile, something had changed. Something desperate. The photographer adjusted the lens. Okay. In three, two, crash. The vase fell off the side table with a violent thud. Water, flowers, soil, and shards of porcelain exploded across the floor as if a natural disaster had just hit the room, and Sophie was standing right beside it. “What?” Sophie jumped back, but it was too late. Water soaked the hem of her

light blue dress. Mud clung to her shoes, and an orchid branch wrapped around her ankle as if it were trying to climb her. “Hey, let go.” Sophie shook her leg. The branch didn’t let go. “Why are you attacking me?” Charlotte covered her mouth, but her eyes gleamed with something that wasn’t quite surprise.

 Oh my goodness, Sophie. Are you all right? No, I’m being attacked by a plant. Sophie kept fighting with the stubborn branch. Blake stepped forward quickly, kneeling to help her untangle herself. Easy. Don’t move too much or it’ll get worse. How could it possibly get worse? Sophie whed, freezing in place, while Blake carefully unwound the branch from her ankle with precise, gentle movements. The photographer lowered the camera, frozen. Mr.

 Harrington, should we clean this up and reschedule? Blake stood, helping Sophie to her feet. He looked around the wrecked room. Flowers scattered, water on the floor, shards of porcelain glinting under the chandelier. Then he looked at Sophie, soaked and covered in dirt, and at Charlotte, who remained flawless and dry. “No,” Blake said, surprising everyone.

 “We’ll take the pictures like this, just as it is,” Sophie blinked with the broken vase and me all wet. “Yes,” Blake confirmed, his tone neutral, but his eyes faintly bright. “Life isn’t perfect. Why should the photos be?” The photographer hesitated. Mr. Harington, with all due respect, that’s not very professional. It’s real, Blake corrected.

 And real is better than perfect. The assistant rushed in with towels, but Blake gestured for her to stop. That won’t be necessary, but bring two small bouquets, white flowers, something simple. The assistant hurried out and returned less than 2 minutes later with two modest bouquets of white roses, simple and delicate.

 Blake took both and handed one to Sophie and one to Charlotte. Sophie looked at the bouquet, then at her soaked dress, then at Blake. “Are you sure? I look like I fell in a puddle.” “You look real,” Blake said, standing between them again. Charlotte held her bouquet tightly, trying to keep her smile, but the tension in her shoulders was clear. The photographer adjusted the camera again.

 “All right, in 3 2 1, click.” The photo captured everything. Blake in the center, flawless. Charlotte on the left, perfect and composed. And Sophie on the right, her light blue dress stained with water and dirt. Hair slightly messy, holding the simple bouquet with both hands as if it were a treasure.

 But there was something on her face, a sincerity, a genuine vulnerability that made the imperfection perfect. After a few more shots, Blake dismissed everyone. Thank you. That’ll be all. The photographer left. The assistant started to leave as well. Charlotte took a step toward the door, relieved it was over. Charlotte, wait a moment, Blake said calmly.

 Charlotte stopped, turning with a nervous smile. Yes. Blake walked to the table where the vase had been. Sophie noticed he was observing something carefully. Not the shards, but the base of the broken vase. And then he saw it.

 A thin transparent thread, almost invisible, was still attached to the base of the porcelain vase. The other end was looped around the leg of the nearest chair, the chair Charlotte had been sitting in just minutes earlier while the photographer set up his equipment. Blake picked up the thread carefully, holding it between his fingers. The room fell completely silent. Sophie stared at it, puzzled.

What is that? Charlotte visibly pald. Nylon thread, Blake said, his voice so cold the temperature in the room seemed to drop 10°. Used to pull the vase. Sophie’s stomach turned. Someone Someone did this on purpose. Blake looked straight at Charlotte.

 Not with explosive anger, not with dramatic accusation, just a calm, calculated expression that was somehow a thousand times more frightening than yelling. “The other end was tied to your chair, Charlotte,” he said slowly. Charlotte let out a forced, nervous laugh. “Blake, that’s ridiculous. Anyone could have done that.

 The cleaning crew, someone from production, even Sophie herself, to make it look like she’s a victim. Sophie’s heart pounded. I didn’t even know that threat existed. Blake kept his gaze on Charlotte, expression unchanged. Sophie’s been next to me the entire time since we came into this room.

 You, on the other hand, arrived 15 minutes early and asked to stay here alone to mentally prepare for the photos. Your words, not mine. Charlotte tried to keep her composure, but her hands trembled. That doesn’t prove anything. Blake handed the thread to the assistant standing near the door. Keep this. Then he turned to Sophie. Are you all right? Sophie nodded slowly, still processing everything.

 I I think so. Blake looked back at Charlotte, disappointment plain on his face. We need to talk now in my office. Charlotte tried to smile, but it came out broken. Blake, I can explain now. he repeated, leaving no room for discussion. Blake walked out.

 Charlotte followed, trying to hold her dignity, but her steps were stiff and tense. Sophie stayed behind in the wrecked room, staring at the simple bouquet of white roses still in her hands. The assistant approached gently. Miss Miller, would you like me to take you to change your clothes? Sophie nodded slowly, but her eyes stayed fixed on the door where Blake and Charlotte had gone.

 “She really tried to hurt me?” Sophie whispered. The assistant didn’t answer, but her expression said everything. Sophie looked at the flowers on the floor, the shattered porcelain, the bouquet in her hands. “I didn’t even do anything this time,” she whispered. “Why did she do that?” Meanwhile, in the office, Blake stood facing the window, his back to Charlotte, hands in his pockets. “I’m not going to ask if you did it,” he said quietly but firmly. “Because I already know.

” Charlotte tried to speak, but he raised his hand. I expected better from you, Charlotte. Competition is healthy, but sabotage that crosses a line. He turned, looking directly at her. You’re leaving tomorrow morning. Charlotte felt her world collapse. Blake, please. Tomorrow morning, he repeated. Final the decisions made. Charlotte left the office, trying to walk steadily.

 But when the door closed behind her, she leaned against the wall, eyes shut, because she had lost. and Blake knew exactly what she had done. The photo with the broken vase went viral in less than three hours. The morning after the photo shoot, the show’s media team released the official pictures across all platforms. The chosen image was exactly that one. Blake in the center, flawless.

 Charlotte on the left, too perfect. And Sophie on the right, wearing the light blue dress stained with water and dirt. her hair slightly messy, holding the simple bouquet with an expression so genuine it looked like she didn’t even know she was being photographed. The comments came instantly.

 The difference between trying to be perfect and just being is huge in this photo. Sophie with the wet dress looks more real than anything I’ve ever seen on this show. Charlotte looks like Photoshop. Sophie looks like life. I bet there’s a story behind that broken vase. and I need to know. Blake looking at Sophie in this photo. People he’s already chosen and doesn’t even know it yet.

 Sophie sat in her room looking at the tablet the assistant had left her under supervision of course still program rules reading the comments with a mix of confusion and embarrassment. “They’re praising the fact that I’m wet and dirty,” she murmured to the duck book open on her lap.

 “Does that make sense to you?” The duck, as always, remained silently philosophical. There was a knock at the door. Sophie quickly closed the tablet as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. Come in. The assistant opened the door with that flawless professional smile. Miss Miller, Mr. Harrington would like to speak with you privately on the private terrace.

 Sophie felt her stomach tighten. Now, now the assistant paused. And Miss Miller, the cameras will be positioned. It’s part of the show. But they’ll be discreet. Sophie nodded slowly. Of course, always the cameras, always recording. She stood up, smoothed the simple dress she was wearing, this time dry and clean, thank God, and followed the assistant through the mansion’s hallways to a glass door that opened onto a wide terrace overlooking the ocean. Blake was standing by the railing, looking out at the sea. Even without the full suit,

just a white long-sleeve shirt and dark pants. His posture was rigid, controlled. He looked like he was calculating something. As always, Sophie noticed the cameras, two of them, discreetly placed in the corners of the terrace, lenses aimed to capture everything.

 Millions of people are going to see this, she thought, feeling her stomach twist again. The assistant slipped out quietly, closing the door behind her. Sophie stood there, not sure what to do with her hands. Do you you wanted to talk to me? Blake turned. His face was neutral, business-like.

 That same cold, calculated expression he used in meetings, press statements, and corporate photos. Yes, please have a seat. There were two wicker chairs with soft cushions. Sophie sat down, placing her hands in her lap, trying not to look directly at the cameras, but feeling the weight of them on every movement. Blake sat in the other chair, keeping a careful, measured distance. He folded his hands over his knee with precision.

About yesterday, Blake began in a formal tone. Sophie quickly interrupted. I swear I didn’t knock over the vase. I didn’t even touch the table. I was standing still like a statue because I was afraid to ruin the photo and the incident has been cleared up. Blake said in that firm, even voice that revealed no emotion. The evidence was reviewed.

 You weren’t responsible, Sophie blinked. He was so formal, so different from the man who had gently held her book on the beach. “Thank you,” she said softly. Blake nodded, maintaining perfect posture. “I’d like to better understand your background, your story, so I can make an informed decision.” “Informed decision?” Sophie felt a chill.

 He sounded like he was in a board meeting, but then Blake added in a tone just barely softer, “Tell me about yourself. Who were you before you came here?” Sophie glanced briefly at one of the cameras, then back at Blake. Everyone would hear this. Her stepmother, Briana, millions of people. But when she looked at Blake, even with that composed expression, she saw something in his eyes. Something hidden but real.

 What? What do you want to know? Your family, your childhood. Why you agreed to participate? Blake said, keeping his tone professional, but his eyes were too focused to be just strategy. Sophie took a deep breath and then for the first time in front of cameras in front of millions she began to speak.

 My dad was he was everything to me. Sophie began her voice low but steady. He worked a lot but he always made time to read to me before bed. Always the same book the little duck who couldn’t fly. Blake listened in silence his expression neutral. But Sophie noticed he didn’t look away even for a second. When he passed away I was 13.

And suddenly the house that used to feel full of light became heavy. My stepmother Elaine, she never liked me. Sophie let out a bitter little laugh. And my halfsister, Briana, she always had everything. College, clothes, trips, and me. I took care of the house because that’s what I was to them. Useful.

 Blake kept his posture stiff, but Sophie noticed his fingers tightening slightly over his knee. And when the money ran out, my stepmother saw this show, saw a chance to win $5 million, and she signed me up. Sophie looked directly at Blake. I didn’t choose to be here. She sent me like I was a lottery ticket. On Ashford Street, Elaine was watching everything live, frozen on the couch.

 Briana sat beside her, her mouth open. She She’s telling everything. Briana whispered. Elaine didn’t answer because millions of people were listening. On the terrace, Blake stayed silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was controlled, formal. “And what do you hope to achieve here? What’s your ultimate goal?” “Ultimate goal?” Sophie almost laughed. He sounded like an executive reviewing a project.

 I I just want to have a place where I don’t have to apologize for existing. Sophie said honestly. A place where I can be enough. Blake nodded, his expression unchanged. Understandable. But then for a split second, so quick the cameras almost missed it, something changed in his eyes. Something soft, something human.

You are enough, he said. And even though his tone stayed neutral, there was weight in those words. Sophie let out a nervous laugh. I drop cheese. I fight with microphones. I talk to books. How is that enough? Blake kept his rigid posture, but replied, “Auentity is a valuable asset. You don’t pretend. That’s rare. Valuable asset.

” Sophie almost rolled her eyes. He was being so CEO right now. I thought CEOs didn’t have a human mode, Sophie said, testing him. Like you’re built with only serious and intimidating modes. Blake raised an eyebrow, keeping his expression under control. Human mode exists. It’s just not appropriate in every context.

 In this context, is it appropriate? Sophie asked. Blake looked at her for a long moment. Then, in a low but steady voice said, “I’m evaluating.” The silence that followed was heavy. Inside, behind the glass door, Charlotte was watching everything through the window.

 She saw Blake, rigid, composed, formal, but she also saw the way he looked at Sophie, like he was holding something back. And Charlotte knew she had already lost. Because behind that cold mask, Blake felt something real. And Sophie was the only one who could break through that armor. The online comments exploded. Blake is trying to act cold, but his eyes don’t lie.

 He said, “You are enough, and I felt that.” Charlotte watching through the window. She knows she lost. The stepmother must be losing it right now. And on Ashford Street, Elaine turned off the TV with trembling hands because the whole world was on Sophie’s side now. 3 days had passed since the conversation on the terrace.

 Three days where Charlotte barely left her room, still processing the fact that Blake had looked at Sophie in a way he’d never looked at her. Three days where Sophie tried to understand what it meant when someone called you a valuable asset in that tone of voice. And now on the night of the annual Harrington Foundation charity ball, Sophie was trapped in a dress she hadn’t chosen and shoes that clearly hated her.

 I look like a Christmas tree, Sophie muttered, staring at the bedroom mirror. The dress was long, a deep, elegant blue, simple yet sophisticated. Nothing extravagant, nothing over the top. But for Sophie, who’d spent her life in secondhand clothes, it felt like a space suit. And the shoes, the shoes were a torture device invented by someone who hated feet.

 How do people walk in these? Sophie tried to take two steps and almost fell. Is this a balance test or a social event? She looked at the duck book on the dresser. You’re lucky you don’t have feet. There was a knock at the door, Miss Miller. It was the assistant’s voice. Mr. Harrington is waiting in the main hall.

 The cameras are already set to capture the entrances. Of course, the cameras. Always the cameras. Sophie took a deep breath, grabbed a small clutch, which had nothing inside. What would she even carry? the duck book and opened the door. The assistant smiled. You look beautiful. I look like I’m about to fall any second. That too, but still beautiful. The main hall had been transformed into a corporate fairy tale setting.

 Giant chandeliers, tables decorated with subtle floral arrangements, none tied with fishing wire, Sophie checked. live music from a string quartet and guests, lots of them, dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos that probably cost more than the entire house on Ashford Street. The cameras were perfectly placed, one at the main entrance capturing arrivals, two along the sides of the room, one discrete one above with a panoramic view.

 Everything was being streamed live. Sophie went down the stairs slowly, holding on to the railing like her life depended on it. Blake was in the center of the hall, his back to the staircase, talking with a group of executives. His tuxedo was flawless, as if it had been tailored just for him.

 His hair perfectly styled, his posture strong, his expression composed, professional. One of the executives looked up, noticed Sophie coming down, and smiled. He said something to Blake. Blake turned and the camera caught everything. The way he stopped mid-sentence, the way his eyes locked on her and couldn’t look away.

 The way for a fraction of a second, just a fraction, the corporate mask slipped completely off his face, revealing something raw, genuine, surprised. It was an expression Blake Harrington had never shown on camera before. Pure admiration. The show’s editors would later mark that moment as the second most watched of the season.

 Sophie felt her face grow warm under the weight of that look and almost tripped on the last step. Blake recovered quickly, putting his neutral mask back on, but the damage was done. The cameras had caught it. The internet had seen it. He apologized briefly to the group and walked toward her with measured, controlled steps.

 “Your,” he began, then stopped as if searching for the right word from his polished corporate vocabulary, one that wouldn’t make him sound too vulnerable. “Uncomfortable,” Sophie offered. “Because I am. These shoes are medieval torture devices.” Blake almost smiled. Almost? I was going to say beautiful. Sophie blinked. Oh, but uncomfortable works, too.

 On Ashford Street, Brianna pointed at the screen. Mom, did you see his face? He was drooling. Elaine leaned forward, eyes sparkling. I saw it. I saw everything. Before Sophie could answer, Charlotte appeared from across the room, and she looked flawless. a long fitted red gown with an elegant neckline, her hair pulled back in a sophisticated bun, discreet but expensive jewelry, and that smile, the confident one of someone who still believed she could win.

 She walked straight to Blake, completely ignoring Sophie, fully aware that the cameras were recording her every move. Blake. Charlotte extended her hand with practiced grace. You look wonderful. Blake shook her hand politely, but without the look he’d given Sophie. Charlotte, you look very nice, too. Charlotte held his hand a second longer than necessary. I was thinking maybe we could dance later.

 I’d love to talk in private. Blake nodded, neutral. Maybe. Charlotte shot Sophie a quick glance, one that said, “This isn’t over yet,” and moved away to greet other guests, perfectly aware the cameras were still following her. Sophie looked at Blake. “She’s still trying. She’s persistent,” Blake said, keeping his tone neutral for the cameras. “And I’m clumsy,” Sophie muttered.

 Blake looked straight at her, briefly, forgetting they were being filmed. “You’re real.” Before Sophie could process that, the music changed. The quartet began a slow waltz. Blake held out his hand. “Would you like to dance?” Sophie looked at his hand like it was a trap. I I don’t know how to waltz. I’ll teach you.

 I’ll step on your foot. I’m wearing Italian leather shoes. They can handle it. Sophie hesitated, then placed her hand in his. Blake guided her to the center of the room. Cameras caught every angle. Guests watched quietly. Across the room, Charlotte, also on camera, tightened her grip on her champagne glass. Blake placed one hand on Sophie’s waist and held her other hand firmly. “Follow my lead. Don’t overthink it.

” “Not overthinking is literally impossible right now. There are like five cameras pointed at us,” Sophie whispered. Then just look at me, Blake said. Forget the cameras. He took the first step. Sophie tried to follow and stepped on his foot. Oh, sorry. Sophie tried to pull back, but Blake held steady. It’s all right.

 Try again, she did, and stepped on him again. I warned you, Sophie groaned. I’m a public safety hazard. This should be illegal. You’re thinking too much, Blake said in that low tone that made her focus only on him. Look at me. Just me. Sophie looked up and suddenly the whole room disappeared. The guests, the cameras, Charlotte watching from afar, everything faded away.

 It was just Blake and the way he was looking at her. They began to move slowly. Sophie still missed a step here and there, but Blake adjusted smoothly, patient, almost smiling. See, he murmured. You’re dancing. I’m stepping in rhythm, Sophie corrected. That’s different. Blake smiled. A real one. Small but genuine. The cameras caught that too, and that’s when it happened. The music slowed. Blake pulled her just a little closer.

Sophie’s heart started racing. They were so close now she could see every detail in his eyes. The way he glanced at her lips for a second before looking back at her eyes. The entire room and millions of viewers held their breath. Blake leaned in just a few inches. Sophie closed her eyes and then Mr. Harrington.

A man in a gray suit appeared out of nowhere. a huge smile on his face, completely unaware of the moment he was ruining. We need a photo with the top donors right now. It’s urgent. Blake froze, took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second, clearly summoning patience he didn’t have. Of course, he said, his voice calmed but tight.

 One moment. The man was already pulling him by the arm. Just a second. Come on. Come on. Blake looked at Sophie, and in his eyes there was something. Frustration, regret, a silent promise. I’ll be back, he said, and was pulled away to the other side of the room.

 Sophie stood in the middle of the dance floor alone, trying to process what had almost happened. I almost, we almost, she murmured to herself. Charlotte appeared beside her, her smile cold. Almost doesn’t count, dear. Sophie looked at her. You still haven’t given up. I don’t give up, Sophie, Charlotte said, her voice low but sharp. I adapt.

 She walked away, leaving Sophie standing there alone. On Ashford Street, Elaine was practically glued to the TV screen. He was going to kiss her, Briana screamed. Mom, he was going to kiss her. Elaine smiled, a greedy, calculating smile. 5 million, Briana. 5 million or one kiss away.

 Back at the ballroom, Sophie looked at Blake, who was stuck taking photos with important donors, clearly annoyed, his body tense. Then he looked back at her and Sophie knew this wasn’t over. In fact, it was just beginning. The morning after the ball brought a cold, clear light through the office windows.

 Sophie sat in a leather chair, hands sweaty, wearing a simple beige outfit that made her look even younger. Charlotte sat in the chair beside her, flawless in a white suit, posture straight, chin lifted as if she were about to close a billion-dollar deal, which technically she was. The cameras were set up, three of them, capturing every angle, every expression, every breath.

 Blake stood in front of the unlit fireplace, hands in his pockets, his dark gray suit perfect, his face calm, but his shoulders heavy. Thank you for being here, he began, his voice steady, controlled. You’ve both made it to the end, and that in itself means something. Sophie’s stomach turned. This is real. This is actually happening.

 On Ashford Street, Elaine sat at the edge of the couch, so close to the TV that Briana was afraid she might walk right through the screen. “It’s today,” Elaine whispered, her hands trembling slightly as she held a cup of cold coffee. “Today he decides. Today we get $5 million.” “Briana sat beside her, biting her nails.

” “Mom, what if he doesn’t pick Sophie?” “He will,” Elaine said with forced conviction. “You saw how he looked at her at the ball. He was completely hooked. But Charlotte is so much more suitable, Briana murmured. Elaine shook her head. Doesn’t matter. Men like him don’t choose suitability. They choose what makes them feel.

 And that silly Sophie with her clumsy, pathetic way she makes him feel. Briana looked at her mother. You really think this is going to work? Elaine smiled. That same greedy, calculating smile. 5 million, Briana. 5 million will pay all the debts, buy a new house, get you into that private college you wanted, everything. She gripped the cup tightly.

Sophie will finally be good for something. Back in the office, Blake looked at Charlotte first. Charlotte, would you like to speak? Charlotte stood with practiced grace, smoothed her suit, and turned to Blake with that confident smile she had perfected over the years.

 Blake, she began, her voice firm and clear. I came here with a clear goal to build something greater than the two of us as individuals. My family has connections that could expand Harrington Books into international markets that haven’t even been explored yet. I have experience in highlevel corporate events.

 I understand the world you live in, the pressure, the expectations, the responsibilities. She paused deliberately. I can be your partner, not just your wife, your strategic partner. Together, we could build an empire that would last for generations. It was a perfect speech. Polished, powerful, convincing. On Ashford Street, Elaine scoffed. Too technical, too cold.

 He doesn’t want that. Blake nodded, expressionless. Thank you, Charlotte. Charlotte sat down, crossing her legs gracefully, but Sophie noticed her hands were tightly clasped in her lap. Blake turned to her. Sophie. Sophie stood slowly, her knees shaking. She reached into her coat pocket, looking for nothing. She frowned.

 I I had some notes, she admitted, checking her other pockets. I wrote like three pages, but I think I left them in my room or in my other coat pocket. Or I lost them. On Ashford Street, Brianna groaned. She lost the notes. Seriously? Elaine leaned forward. Quiet. Let her talk. Charlotte hit a small smile. Blake surprisingly almost smiled, too. Sophie took a deep breath.

Okay, then. No notes. She looked at Blake, then at Charlotte, then back at Blake. I don’t have international connections. I barely have national ones, Sophie began with brutal honesty. I don’t know how to organize corporate events. I can hardly organize my own life.

 And I definitely don’t understand the world you live in, Blake, because until a week ago, I thought red wine was just wine that happened to be red. Charlotte discreetly rolled her eyes. Sophie kept going, her voice growing stronger. But I know one thing. I know what it’s like to be invisible your whole life. I know what it’s like to wake up every day thinking you don’t matter. That you have no worth. That you only exist to serve others. She looked directly at Blake.

 And since I got here, for the first time in my life, someone saw me not as a problem, not as a burden, but as a person. On Ashford Street, Elaine was practically glued to the screen. Yes. Yes, keep going, Sophie. Blake didn’t look away. Sophie swallowed hard, her eyes stinging. I don’t know if I’m the right choice.

 I don’t know if I can be a strategic partner or help build an empire, but I know that if you choose me, I’ll wake up everyday grateful to have been seen. And I’ll see you back. Truly see you. Not the CEO, not the billionaire. You. The man who held my book on the beach like it was important.

 The man who danced with me even when I stepped on your foot five times. the man who looked at me like I was enough. The silence that followed was absolute. Charlotte didn’t move, but her eyes were wet. Elaine held her breath, hands clasped in a silent prayer. “Pick her! Pick her! Pick her!” Blake stood still for a long moment. Then he stepped closer, standing between the two. “Thank you,” he said, voice low but steady.

 “For your words, for your honesty, for being here.” He turned to Charlotte. Charlotte, you are extraordinary, smart, capable, strategic. Any man would be lucky to have you as a partner. Charlotte smiled, but it was a trembling smile because she knew what was coming next. Blake continued, “Gentle, but firm. But I’m not looking for a strategic partner.

” Charlotte closed her eyes. Blake turned to Sophie. I’m looking for someone who reminds me I’m human. Sophie’s heart raced. On Ashford Street, Elaine jumped off the couch, shouting, “He’s going to pick her, Brianna. He’s going to pick her. Blake took a step towards Sophie.

 Someone who talks to books, who argues with cheese, who makes me smile without trying. He stopped right in front of her. Someone real. Sophie could barely breathe. “You, you’re choosing me?” “Yes,” Blake said. And for the first time since the program began, he truly smiled. A full genuine smile that completely transformed his face. “I’m choosing you.” on Ashford Street.

 Elaine screamed so loud the neighbors banged on the wall. “5 million. $5 million.” She spun around laughing, crying, hugging Brianna. “We did it. That useless girl finally did something right.” Brianna laughed too, already calculating everything they could buy.

 Sophie let out a sound that was half laugh, half sobb. But I don’t even know what I’m doing. I know, Blake said, his voice full of warmth. And that’s exactly why I chose you. Charlotte slowly stood, picking up her purse with controlled movements. She looked at Blake, then at Sophie. “Congratulations,” she said.

 “And despite the pain in her eyes, there was sincerity there. Take good care of him, Sophie. He deserves someone who truly sees him.” Sophie nodded, unable to speak. Charlotte walked toward the door, her steps steady, dignified. She stopped at the doorway and looked back one last time. “And Sophie,” Charlotte said with a sad smile. You won not because you played better, but because you were never playing. Then she left.

 Sophie stood there processing everything, staring at Blake like he was a mirage about to disappear. This This is real. Sophie whispered. Blake held out his hand. Very real. Sophie took his hand, feeling the firmness, the solidity, the reality of it.

 And then in front of the cameras, in front of millions, she did the only thing that made sense. She laughed. a real relieved, disbelieving laugh. “I really need to stop losing my notes,” she said. Blake laughed, too. And for the first time in a long while, that laugh didn’t sound forced. It sounded like home.

 On Ashford Street, Elaine was already on the phone with the bank, checking when the money would come through as they celebrated. Two days had passed since Blake chose Sophie. two days in which Sophie woke up thinking she was dreaming, looked around the giant room in the mansion and whispered to her duck book, “This is real, right?” The duck, as always, neither confirmed nor denied.

Now, Sophie was sitting in Blake’s office, staring at a stack of papers the company lawyer had placed on the desk with an expression far too serious to be good news. Blake stood by the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. He wasn’t looking at Sophie. He was looking out at the ocean as if calculating something very, very complicated.

 The lawyer, a woman in her 50s, gray hair pulled into a tight bun, glasses resting on the bridge of her nose, adjusted the papers, and looked at Sophie with a mix of sympathy and professionalism. “Miss Miller, we need to clarify a few inconsistencies.” Her voice was firm, but not hostile. Sophie felt her stomach drop.

Inconsistencies. The lawyer pushed the papers toward her. During the process of transferring the $5 million to your family as outlined in the contract, our legal team performed a standard verification of the information provided in your initial application. Sophie stared at the papers as if they were a court sentence. The lawyer continued, “The information provided contains several discrepancies.

 To start, the application states that you graduated in business administration from the state university. Our records show you never attended that institution. Sophie closed her eyes. Oh no. It also says you work as an executive assistant at a consulting firm. The lawyer turned to Paige, a firm that apparently doesn’t exist.

 Blake turned slowly, looking at Sophie for the first time since she had entered the office. Sophie felt tears sting her eyes. I didn’t write that. The lawyer raised an eyebrow. You didn’t? It was my stepmother. Sophie said, her voice trembling. She filled out the form. She signed me up.

 I didn’t even know I was in the program until the letter came. Blake stayed silent, but his eyes were fixed on her with an intensity Sophie couldn’t quite read. The lawyer exchanged a quick glance with Blake, then looked back at Sophie. There’s more. The signature on the consent form, was it forged? Sophie shook her head quickly.

 No, that one’s mine. My stepmother made me sign it, saying that if I didn’t come, she would. Sophie stopped, realizing how that sounded. She said it was my duty to help the family. Blake’s hands clenched, not out of anger at Sophie, but at something much bigger. The lawyer side. Miss Miller, the contract states that any false information provided during the application process constitutes a breach of contract, which means that the payment can be cancelled. Blake finished, his voice low but firm.

 Sophie felt the world collapse around her. You You’re going to cancel everything. Blake didn’t answer right away. He looked at the lawyer. Give us a moment. Please. The lawyer nodded, gathered the papers, and left the office, closing the door behind her. The silence that followed was heavy.

 Sophie wiped her eyes quickly. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she had lied. I should have checked, but I I never thought I’d get this far. I thought I’d be eliminated on the first day. Blake walked to the desk, resting his hands on the wooden surface, looking directly at Sophie. You were sent here against your will.

 He said it not as a question, but as confirmation of something he had already suspected. Sophie nodded miserably. Yes, your stepmother lied on the form to improve your chances. Yes, and you never wanted to be here. Sophie hesitated. Then she looked straight at Blake. At first, no. But then she took a deep breath. Then I met you and I wanted to stay. Blake was silent for a long moment.

 Then, surprisingly, he let out a short, humorless laugh. So, your stepmother lied, manipulated, falsified information. He shook his head and still expected to collect $5 million. Sophie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She’s always been optimistic. Blake looked at Sophie and for the first time she saw something different in his face. Not anger, not disappointment, determination. She’s not getting a single scent, Blake said firmly.

 Sophie blinked. What? Breach of contract due to false information. The legal team is already preparing the documents. Blake crossed his arms. Your stepmother won’t see that money. Sophie felt a strange mix of relief and guilt. But but she’s going to be furious. She’ll Sophie stopped.

 Then a small incredulous laugh escaped. Wait, so karma is real? Blake almost smiled. Almost. But here’s the thing, Sophie. He stepped closer, standing right in front of her. I’m not canceling anything because of her lies. I chose you, and now that I know you were sent here like you were some kind of property. He paused, his jaw tight.

 It only makes me more certain that cancelling the payment to your family is the right decision. Sophie looked at him, confused and relieved at the same time. You’re angry at her, not at me. Why would I be angry with you? Blake asked, genuinely puzzled. You’re the victim in all this, Sophie. You didn’t lie. You didn’t manipulate anyone. You just survived.

 Sophie felt her eyes burn again, but this time for a different reason. I thought you were going to give up on me on all of this. Blake knelt down in front of her, meeting her eyes with a gentleness she had never seen in him before, especially when no cameras were rolling. “Sophie, I chose you,” he said, voice steady but soft. “Not because a contract forced me, not because the cameras were on.

 I chose you because for the first time in years, someone reminded me that life exists beyond meetings, spreadsheets, and corporate strategies.” He held her hand firmly. Someone who talks to books, argues with cheese, and makes me laugh without even trying. Sophie let out a sound that was half laugh, half sobb.

 I’m really good at fighting with food. It’s basically my superpower. Blake smiled, a real full smile with no cameras to catch it. The best I’ve ever seen. Sophie wiped her eyes, still trying to process everything. But what about the money? The contract said the family of the chosen one would get 5 million. If you cancel the payment, aren’t you technically breaking the contract, too? Blake shook his head.

 The false information clause voids the payment to the party that committed the fraud. But he paused, choosing his words carefully. The money that was meant for your family. I want to give it to you directly so you can start your own life away from that house. Away from people who treat you like you don’t matter. Sophie froze completely.

 You You want to give me $5 million? Yes, Blake. That’s That’s insane. Sophie stood pacing. You barely know me. I dropped a wheel of cheese. I talked to books. I don’t even know what to do with $5, let alone 5 million. Blake stood too, gently stepping in front of her, blocking her path. Then learn. Use it to find out who you are when no one’s telling you what to do.

 Travel, study, open that used bookstore you mentioned during your presentation. He placed his hand softly on her shoulders. Be free, Sophie. Sophie looked at him, tears streaming freely now. But why? Why would you do that? Blake cuped her face in both hands, making her look directly at him. No barriers, no corporate mask.

Because I fell in love with you, Sophie Miller, he said quietly, firmly, truthfully, completely. and I want you to have the chance to live the life you’ve always deserved. Not as an obligation, not as payment, but because you deserve to be happy. Sophie couldn’t hold back anymore. The tears fell, but this time they were tears of relief, of joy, of something she didn’t even know she could feel.

 “So Sophie whispered, her voice shaky.” “Karma is really real, huh? My stepmother loses everything, and I I get a life.” Blake smiled. “Seems fair to me.” Sophie let out a wet laugh. “She’s going to hate me even more.” “She already did,” Blake said matterof factly. “At least now you don’t have to live with her.” And then Blake kissed her.

 No cameras, no audience, no live broadcast, no strategy, just the two of them in the quiet office with the sound of the ocean outside. And it was real. Completely perfectly real. When they finally pulled apart, Sophie was laughing and crying at the same time. a chaotic mix that perfectly summed up how she felt.

 “I still think you’re crazy,” she said, resting her forehead against his. “Probably,” Blake agreed, smiling in a way he never had in front of a camera. “But I’ve never felt so sane in my life.” Sophie looked at him, really looked and saw not the billionaire CEO, not the man from the magazine covers, but just Blake.

 The person who had held her book on the beach, the person who danced with her even after she stepped on his foot five times, the person who saw her when she was invisible. So, what happens now? Sophie asked. Blake smiled. Now? Now you sign a few boring papers with the lawyer, receive $5 million, and then he paused, looking at her with that gaze that always made Sophie forget how to breathe. Then we figure it out together.

” Sophie nodded, still not quite believing it. Together, I like that. So do I. But on Ashford Street, at that very moment, Elaine’s phone rang. It was a corporate number. Serious, formal. She answered with a huge smile, expecting confirmation of the transfer. What she heard was completely different. Mrs. Elaine Miller, this is Patricia Chen from the legal department at Harrington Corporation.

 I’m calling to inform you that due to serious inconsistencies and false information provided in the application form, the $5 million payment has been officially cancelled for breach of contract. You’ll receive the formal documentation in the mail within the next few days. Have a nice day. Click. Elaine froze.

 The phone still in her hand. Brianna looked at her confused. Mom, what happened? Are they sending the money? Elaine didn’t answer. She couldn’t because in one single call, everything she had planned, everything she had counted on, everything she thought was guaranteed was gone. And Sophie Miller, the stepdaughter she had always treated as nothing, had just gained everything.

 6 months had passed since that day in the office. 6 months since the kiss without cameras. Six months since Blake canled the payment to her family and offered the money directly to Sophie to start her own life. And in those months leading up to the big day, a lot had changed for everyone. Elaine and Briana had to sell the Asheford Street house to pay their debts.

 Now they lived in a small one-bedroom apartment, splitting expenses. Elaine worked as a cashier on the night shift at a grocery store. Briana served coffee at a local cafe, her first real job at 25. Sophie never called, never visited, never sent a scent. She had moved on. Meanwhile, Sophie used part of the money to make an old dream come true. She opened the Little Duck Library.

 The sign was simple, hand painted with a small yellow duck drawn in the corner. The space was small, two renovated rooms in downtown Portland, but it was full of life. Shelves packed with donated used books, colorful cushions scattered across the floor, a little table with crayons for kids to draw. Sophie was organizing books when a small girl walked in shily. “Can I borrow a book?” the girl asked softly.

 Sophie knelt down, smiling. “You can take as many as you want. And you know what’s even better? When you bring it back, you can write a little note inside saying what you thought of it. That way, the next person will know someone already loved that book before them.” The girl smiled and ran to the shelves. Sophie looked around the tiny but lively library.

 It was hers, her dream, her heart, and it was perfect. At Harrington Books, Blake had made a change, too. On the wall behind his desk, carefully framed, was the little duck book, torn cover, pages rippled from seawater, faded illustrations, and on the first page, visible through the glass for my Sophie. Fly your own way, Dad. Blake looked at the book several times a day, and he always smiled.

 That book had changed everything. And now, finally, it was the day. The beach in Portland looked exactly as it had the day they met. Waves crashing on the sand, cool breeze, blue sky with white clouds. There were no decorated chairs, no fancy floral arches, no cameras, just 20 people, close friends, the kind assistant, and a smiling justice of the piece.

 Sophie wore a simple white cotton dress, completely barefoot, holding a tiny bouquet of wild flowers, and the little duck book. Blake was barefoot, too. Beige linen pants, white shirt, hair tuzzled by the wind, exactly as he’d been the day they met. Sophie began walking through the sand. She took three steps, then tripped over an invisible hole. Blake laughed. I can’t even walk without creating drama, Sophie shouted.

That’s why I love you. Blake shouted back. The guests laughed. Sophie reached him smiling. You made it, Blake murmured. Barely, Sophie replied. The judge smiled. “This is the most genuine ceremony I’ve ever led.” Blake asked to speak first. “Sophie Miller,” he began, holding her hands. “I spent years building a life that looked perfect but was empty.

 Then you appeared arguing with a book on the beach, and I remembered what it felt like to feel something real.” He squeezed her hands. “You’re real. You’re honest. You’re beautiful and I promise to remind you every day that you are enough, that you always were, that you are the best gift I’ve ever received. Sophie wiped her eyes crying. “Blake Harrington,” she said, her voice trembling.

 “You saw me when I was invisible. You chose me when I thought I didn’t matter. You loved me when I didn’t even know I deserved it,” she smiled through the tears. “I still talk to books. I still argue with food. But I promise to love you for real. No pretending. No masks, just us. They exchanged simple gold rings. The judge smiled.

 By the power vested in me by the state of Maine, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You make tea. Blake was already kissing Sophie. The guests clapped. The ocean roared, and Sophie Harrington laughed against Blake’s lips, feeling that she had finally found her place, a place called home. Two misfits who found each other on the beach. Two souls who healed together.

 and a little duck book that proved the best stories begin with someone who doesn’t know how to fly, but discovers they can swim better than anyone ever imagined. And that the greatest gift isn’t being chosen for who you pretend to be, but being loved exactly for who you are. The end.