Page 17 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

He walks away toward the secondary office, already dialing his phone.

I hear the faint click of keys as he begins rerouting funds. She will not know it came from us until we decide to inform her.

Once more, Sophie dials.

When the call connects to her mother, Sophie’s entire demeanor shifts.

The exhaustion becomes warmth. Her voice is soft as she leans back against the sofa cushions. “How are you feeling?” She listens, a small smile curving her lips despite everything.

Then she looks at the ceiling. “Yes. Dad looked so handsome. I’ll send you pictures. I even took a video.”

How does she do this?

Protecting her father even now.

“You’d be so proud of him. He even got to shake hands with the mayor.”

Caleb returns, and I know he’s cataloging the fact she doesn’t mention us, her father’s outrageous gamble that cost her everything, or the fact there’s no money for the upcoming treatment.

Instead, she keeps her tone light, and I can’t mistake the fierce love for her mother that’s woven through every syllable. “I’ll come to see you soon. Promise.”

She clutches her lapels, as if to protect herself from her lies.

I rock onto the balls of my feet. “We’ve got you. I promise.” The words settle deep in my chest, solid as the city lights beyond the glass. She will visit her mother whenever she wants, in comfort, with every treatment secured and every worry lifted from her shoulders. That is part of what it means to be ours.

After ending the call, she drops the phone.

Then a minute later, she heads to her room.

On the bed, she pulls her knees close to her chest, then drops her head onto them. The towel around her head slips, allowing damp strands of hair to spill across her shoulders.

Her posture is pure vulnerability—small, curled in on herself, the weight of reality pressing her down.

My hand twitches with the need to reach through the screen, to pull her against me, to replace that cheap robe with the silk we will wrap her in soon. Instead, I watch, cataloging every rise and fall of her breath, the way her fingers tighten around her shins.

Enough.

I snap the feed off with a decisive press of the button. The screen goes dark, and the study feels suddenly quieter, the city hum more distant.

Moments later, Caleb enters.

His solid, reassuring presence fills the space beside me. “Transfers are live, and the clinic confirmed receipt.”

“Fucking Langford.” The words leave me on a low exhale, laced with the frustration that has built for months. She should not be in this position—alone in that modest apartment, carrying the weight of her mother’s illness and her father’s failures on her slender shoulders.

Then again, if he wasn’t a bastard, we might not be claiming Sophie as ours.

Caleb’s hand lands on my shoulder, brief and grounding. Without him in my life, I would not be this successful. “It won’t be long.”

“Yeah.” I let the word settle, then shift my thoughts deliberately to something warmer, something that eases the tension in my chest.

I prefer to remember her as she was at the event, in my arms on the dance floor. The way her body fit against mine—curves yielding yet resistant, the heat of her palm in mine.

We moved together seamlessly, her steps mirroring mine without conscious effort, as if some part of her already recognized the rhythm we would build between us.

She smelled of jasmine and something uniquely hers—warm skin, a faint trace of shampoo. The gown had clung to her hips when she turned, outlining the flare that my hands itched to map properly.

Tonight confirmed what I’ve always known: she will fit between Caleb and me like she was designed for it.