Chapter 7

Dominic’s pov ; After leaving Sophie’s ward, I pulled out my phone and dialed my assistant. As the line connected, I glanced back towards the door. Her request was a simple matter, one I didn’t need to personally handle. “Sort out the issue with Sophie’s university,” I said as soon as he answered. “Make sure everything is handled before her discharge. I don’t want any complications.” My assistant hesitated slightly, which wasn’t like him. “Mr. Dominic, I’ll handle it. But, sir, there’s something else…” I frowned, immediately suspicious. “What is it?” “It’s about what happened when we picked her up earlier. There were…incidents with her family. They made things quite difficult.” As he explained the details, my grip on the phone tightened, anger slowly building. I already knew she hadn’t been living well, but I hadn’t realized how miserable her life with her family truly was. I cut him off abruptly. “I understand.” Hanging up, I stared out the hospital window. What kind of parents would force their daughter into a marriage like this? Sophie was barely out of school, and yet, they sold her off to a man twice her age—just for the money. The sheer greed and cruelty of it all disgusted me. It made sense now. No wonder the girl seemed so weak and a crybaby. She’d been mistreated all this time. My jaw tightened as I thought about it. “Sir, about your wife, Mrs. Dominic…” “Dont call her that,” I corrected coldly. “This marriage was arranged on terms, nothing more.” The marriage is an obligation, not something I had chosen. Hearing her called ‘Mrs. Dominic’ felt inappropriate, considering the circumstances. “Yes, sir. I’ll refer to her as Miss Sophie.” “Good. Now handle the rest.” The matter was settled as far as I was concerned. Sophie had nothing to fear from her family now that she was under my care. I’d ensure that her future was secure, even if this arrangement wasn’t what either of us wanted. --- Two days later, the medical team I’d arranged from overseas arrived in London. I’d spared no expense bringing the best to ensure Sophie’s surgery was handled perfectly. When I entered the hospital room, she looked small and flimsy in the bed, her face pale with fear. As the doctors prepared to take her into the operating room, she reached out suddenly, her small hand grabbing onto the sleeve of my jacket. “Sir…I’m scared,” she whispered, her voice shaking like a frightened animal. The room fell silent. Everyone froze, watching us in stunned silence. I knew exactly what they were thinking. Sophie, this small, timid girl, had dared to touch me, and worse, I didn't yelled or banned her right away as I usually do with women who had dared touched me. I could feel the shock of their stares, disbelief radiating off them. It was no secret I hated physical contact, especially from women. Over the years, countless women—models, celebrities, all sorts of opportunists—had tried to get close, thinking they could have me. I had shut them all down ruthlessly, many banned from ever stepping foot near me again. But this time, with this foolish little girl, I didn’t feel the usual disgust or irritation. Instead, I looked down at her, whose eyes were wide and filled with fear. She wasn’t like those other women. She wasn’t trying to manipulate me; she was just scared. I surprised myself by saying, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” The room, already silent, seemed to grow even more still. Everyone exchanged glances, wondering if they had just witnessed something they weren’t supposed to see. Dominic William never comforted anyone, let alone a woman. The doctors finally wheeled her into the operating room, and I watched until the doors closed behind her. Then a nurse approached me, nervously holding out a clipboard. “Mr. Dominic, we need Miss Sophie’s family to sign the consent form for the surgery.” I glanced at the clipboard and took it without hesitation. “I’ll sign.” The nurse blinked, taken aback. “But sir…legally, you aren’t her direct relative. I’m afraid we can’t—” I cut her off with a cold glare. My silence was more intimidating than anything I could have said. She quickly backed down, flustered, and hurried back into the operating room to consult with her superior. By the time she returned, the issue was resolved. Apparently, being who I was had certain advantages, even when it came to matters like this. The consent form was signed without further objections. --- The surgery lasted four hours. I waited outside the operating room, my mind preoccupied with thoughts I hadn’t expected to have. Her life had been controlled by others for so long. Now, it was in my hands. And though our marriage wasn’t one born of love or desire, I felt a growing sense of responsibility for her well-being. When they finally took her out, I moved closer to take a look. She looked fragile and delicate. But there was something about the way she’d handled herself through this whole ordeal—that surprised me. Despite her young age, she hadn’t cried or panicked like I expected. She hadn’t clung to me with the desperation I’d seen from other women, women much older and supposedly wiser. She smiled softly, her eyes fluttering open, still groggy from the anesthesia. “Sir…” she whispered, her voice so faint I had to lean closer. “I didn’t cry once. Was I brave?” Her question made me pause. She had been brave, far braver than most people would have been. And I couldn’t help but feel something stir inside me. Admiration, maybe? It wasn’t something I gave freely, especially to someone as young and inexperienced as her. But here she was, surprising me at every turn. “You were very brave. And for that, I have a reward for you.” Her lips curved slightly, and she let out a soft breath, her body relaxing as she slipped back into sleep. I stayed beside her, watching the rise and fall of her chest, thinking about everything that had happened over the past few days. This marriage had been nothing more than an obligation and a transaction. I had no interest in love, no desire for a romantic relationship, especially not with a girl who was barely out of her teenage years. But she wasn’t what I expected. She wasn’t childish like the other people her age. There was a quiet strength in her, a maturity that most girls her age lacked. She hadn’t complained once about her situation, hadn’t begged for sympathy. She’d faced everything with a calmness that impressed me. But would that be enough? Could we really work, with me being almost ten years older than her? Our worlds were so different. I was used to control and power. She was young, naïve in so many ways. And yet, there was something about her that intrigued me. Maybe it was the way she looked at me—not with fear or awe, but with a quiet respect. She was obedient, always doing as she was told without question. I liked that about her. I wondered if she was this obedient with everyone or if it was just because I was older, because she saw me as an authority figure. It was hard to tell, but part of me didn’t care. As long as she continued to be this way—quiet, respectful, obedient—maybe this arrangement would work. Maybe, in time, I could shape her into the perfect wife.