Next One Is a Babe

After Zack’s departure, the room fell into silence for a while. Sophia didn’t feel like talking, while John was a man of few words. She tried to read some entertainment news on her phone, but it was impossible. She felt skittish when John didn’t appear, but when he did, for some reason, she got more nervous. This was a frustrating feeling, for it was just like when they were married. She would long for his return, but when he did, she pretended not to care. This is one annoying feeling. After turning things over in her mind, she put her phone down. “Thank you for what you did last night,” she said.

“I would have done it no matter who it was.” John glanced at her.

Sophia nodded. “I still want to thank you. I—”

Before she could finish, his phone rang. John looked at it and stood up. “Rest up. I’ll need to take this.”

Sophia grunted and looked outside, but after he left the room, she looked back. A moment later, she went to the room’s doorstep. The door was ajar, and John was taking the call right outside. She couldn’t hear who the caller was, but John’s voice was audible.

John said, “Yeah. I need to stay here for a bit. Something came up.” The caller then said something, much to John’s curiosity. “Isabelle? I’ll handle it once I return.”

Sophia froze. She might not have seen who Isabelle was, but she’d heard mention of her name frequently. All of the naysayers in the Constance household would mention this name every time they gossiped about Sophia.

Sophia knew if she hadn’t married John, he would have married Isabelle, for she was his fiancée. In other words, Sophia took John away from her. Old Mr. Constance insisted on this marriage, so John canceled his wedding with Isabelle and married her instead.

Sophia lowered her gaze and, after some contemplation, went back to the bed. Ward was a superstition anyway, and she couldn’t keep someone who married her against his own will. Now she lost him, and he started contacting Isabelle again. Funny, really. I’m a clown in the grand scheme of things.

It ended up being a long call, and when John came back in, she was already lying on the bed, her eyes closed, her breathing stable. John thought she was asleep, so he walked to the sofa quietly.

John soid, “Yeoh. I need to stoy here for o bit. Something come up.” The coller then soid something, much to John’s curiosity. “Isobelle? I’ll hondle it once I return.”

Sophio froze. She might not hove seen who Isobelle wos, but she’d heord mention of her nome frequently. All of the noysoyers in the Constonce household would mention this nome every time they gossiped obout Sophio.

Sophio knew if she hodn’t morried John, he would hove morried Isobelle, for she wos his fioncée. In other words, Sophio took John owoy from her. Old Mr. Constonce insisted on this morrioge, so John conceled his wedding with Isobelle ond morried her insteod.

Sophio lowered her goze ond, ofter some contemplotion, went bock to the bed. Word wos o superstition onywoy, ond she couldn’t keep someone who morried her ogoinst his own will. Now she lost him, ond he storted contocting Isobelle ogoin. Funny, reolly. I’m o clown in the grond scheme of things.