36. Sophie

36

SOPHIE

“ I told you, I can’t tonight,” I say, glancing up at Malik from where I’m sitting on the edge of my bed. My laptop’s open, and I’m pretending to type something important, but his stare is drilling into me.

He doesn’t respond at first, just leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed. His stance is casual, but there’s something too still about it. Too sharp. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Well, I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, busy going to parties.” His voice has that edge again, the one that makes my stomach twist. The accusation is clear; he’s not even attempting to mask it.

I pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He steps into the room without waiting for an invitation, his posture loose but his eyes pinning me in place. “It means you’ve been out every other night. Rooftops, private events, parties in the Hamptons. You think I don’t notice?”

I look up, trying to keep my voice flat, but I know it sounds off. “So what if I have? It’s almost Christmas.”

Malik shakes his head, his expression darkening. “This has nothing to do with Christmas…you’re not just hanging out, Sophie. And I think we both know it.”

I stand, shutting my laptop with more force than I intended. “What are you trying to say, exactly?”

My voice is too high-pitched, but I don’t care. I need him to stop staring at me like that, to stop digging.

His gaze narrows, his words are clipped. “Lily works for an escort service. And you’re always with her. You’ve been going to the same kinds of places. So, you tell me. What am I supposed to think?”

I freeze. The words don’t even register for a second, and all I can do is stare at him. My throat tightens. It feels like I’m choking on all the lies I haven’t told yet.

“You think I’m...you think I’m sleeping with people for money ?” My voice cracks on the last word. It feels like a punch to the gut, but it’s the truth. And it burns. Because I haven’t been sleeping with them. I’ve been murdering them.

Malik doesn’t flinch, just stares, his eyes unwavering. “You tell me.”

I can’t tell him.

His gaze doesn’t leave mine, digging deeper, waiting for something—anything. “Because I don’t know what’s going on with you. Maybe I never did.”

“You’re right,” I say, anger rising in me. “You don’t know anything.” I want to scream, to lash out. But I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to fix this.

“Then explain it to me,” he challenges, his voice rising. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s not looking very good.”

I laugh, bitter and hollow. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His eyes narrow, his voice cutting through the air. “Don’t I? You’ve been lying to me, Sophie. About something. I know it.”

I press my lips together, but the words come out weak. “I haven’ t been lying.”

He steps closer. “Then tell me the truth. What’s really going on? Why all the secrecy? The parties? Why don’t you ever invite me? You hardly answer my texts.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“You’re right,” he says, his voice suddenly calm, almost too calm. “You don’t. But if you’re not going to be honest with me, then maybe this—whatever this is—shouldn’t keep going.”

The words land like a punch, and my chest tightens. I stand there, watching him. “Fine.” The word comes out flat, colder than I intend. “Maybe it shouldn’t.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nods—each movement deliberate. Without another word, he turns to the door.

“Good luck, Sophie.”

The door clicks shut behind him, but he doesn’t look back, and the silence that follows is deafening. I sit back down on the bed, feeling like I might throw up.

Killing him would have felt better than just letting him walk out.

I stare at the door for what feels like forever, thinking he’s going to come back, thinking that he’s going to want the last word. He always wants the last word. But, of course, this time he doesn’t.

Mom’s voice echoes in my mind, her cold, matter-of-fact tone cutting through the chaos in my head. Relationships and double lives don’t mix.

She was right. Of course, she was right. She’s always right.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, trying to push thoughts of him away. But they don’t go.

They never do.