Chapter 274: The Man in the Room

Sophia willed her eyes to open.

She shouldn’t be asleep now. Shw should not be weak and in bed.

The room tilted and spun around her, slow and dizzy like a wheel that refused to stop, but she realized she was feeling... a little better. Not healed. Just less like she was drowning.

Her body still felt heavy, as though something invisible was pressing her down into the bed, but she managed to turn her head slightly.

To her side.

To the spot where the woman always sat.

But the woman wasn’t there.

Instead, someone else was.

Sophia blinked slowly, trying to focus, trying to see. The shapes were still blurry, like looking through water, but she knew at once that this was not the woman.

This was a man.

The last time she had stood at the window in this place, he had guided her back to the bed. He had carried her to the bed, holding her with care.

She still couldn’t make out his face properly, couldn’t see his eyes clearly, but she knew he was handsome. Not because someone had told her. Not because the woman had described him. But because his presence alone carried something gentle. Something soft.

And he always made her comfortable.

He just stayed with her, always sitting with her, like he understood that if he left, things might get worse.

Sophia wondered who he was. Why he was here. Why he was taking care of her like she was someone important. Like she was worth staying for.

His hair—she noticed his hair more clearly now. It was wavy and brown, not black like the woman’s.

She watched the way the strands curved slightly at his temples and near his ears. She wanted, for just one moment, to lift her hand and run her fingers through it. Just to see how it felt.

She wondered if it would be soft.

It wasn’t as beautiful as the woman’s hair. Not in the same sharp, terrifying way. But it was... special. It suited him. Like it belonged exactly where it was supposed to be.

She felt a tight ache in her chest at how easily he existed. How he didn’t need to force anything about himself. His hair didn’t have to be black like the woman’s. It didn’t have to be perfect.

It was perfect because it was his.

His hand never left hers.

He held onto her fingers as if they were something he needed to keep. The grip wasn’t painful. It wasn’t too tight. Just warm and steady.

And she liked that.

She liked how his hand covered hers.

She liked how when he was there, the room stopped feeling so cold.

Whenever he was near, the woman didn’t come.

And that was what mattered most.

The woman’s presence always filled her with anxiety and fear.

But him?

He quieted everything.

Her breathing evened.

Her heartbeat slowed.

Her mind didn’t feel like it was breaking into pieces.

He made the world feel... safer.

But even good things never lasted, did they?

There had been a time—a day—when he had let go of her hand. He had moved away from the bed, just for a moment. Just a little distance.

And she had felt it immediately.

She had heard the woman’s voice again, her footsteps getting closer as she wondered aloud if Sophia was awake now.

Sophia had shivered so violently she thought her bones would crack. Her fingers had curled into the blankets as her body convulsed in fear.

And then...

He had come back.

So fast it almost felt like he had never left.

His hand had returned to hers. His presence had wrapped around her like a shield. He spoke, but she couldn’t understand the words. They were too distant. Too faded.

Yet she knew one thing:

Everything was better when he was there.

Sometimes, a small, foolish thought crept into her mind.

What if he was someone from her future?

What if he was her husband?

The thought always made her heart do something strange. A quiet flutter. A small, shy smile tugging at her lips.

But she knew it wasn’t possible.

How could a man like that ever belong to her?

He was too handsome. Too tall. Too calm.

He looked like the kind of man people admired.

And she... she wasn’t beautiful.

The woman had told her that many times.

That no one would ever want her.

That she wouldn’t grow up to be pretty.

That no man would ever look at her twice.

The woman’s words always cut deep.

Still, Sophia had read stories. Sneaked pages when the woman wasn’t looking. Tales about girls who were unloved and unwanted, ending up with powerful, respected men who were alpha’s and leaders of their pack.

Men everyone admired.

Girls everyone ignored.

And somehow, they still found each other.

Sophia had secretly wished for that kind of story too.

She had secretly wished that someday, a man would look at her the way this man looked at her now. Like she wasn’t invisible. Like she wasn’t a mistake. Like she mattered.

Especially because she was always the one forgotten.

The one brushed aside.

The one the woman said nobody would ever choose.

The woman had told her it was her fate. And Sophia believed fate. She had no choice but to.

But still... she had hoped.

Even when she knew it was foolish.

But the hope started to fade again as she looked at him.

Because even if he made her feel safe, even if he stayed by her side, even if he held her hand like that...

He couldn’t be her future husband.

He couldn’t be someone meant for her.

Because she shouldn’t even be thinking about husbands.

She was too young for thoughts like that.

She remembered the last time she had shown the woman a drawing. Just a little sketch done in one of her books. A man she thought looked brave. Handsome in the way heroes in stories looked.

The woman had slapped her.

Hard.

Her face had stung for hours.

"Don’t you ever think about men," the woman had hissed. "You are such a a slut even at a young age that you are already thinking about men. You are too young for that."

The words stuck with her and the woman always repeated it any chance she got. She always told Sophia what she thought of her any chance she got.

Telling Sophia that she was a slut.

That one day she would spread her legs for anyone who looked at her.

That she was already filthy for even thinking such things.

Sophia swallowed.

The words burned inside her even now.

Maybe the woman was right.

Maybe she shouldn’t be thinking like this.

Maybe she shouldn’t be imagining futures.

Maybe she shouldn’t be looking at him and wondering.

She was too young.

She had always been told that.

Her mind slowly clung to that one certainty as everything else blurred.

She lowered her gaze.

She shouldn’t be thinking about men.

She shouldn’t be thinking about love.

She shouldn’t be thinking about being seen.

She was only six years old after all.

Six.

And she was already sick. Already weak. Already disappointing.

Perhaps that’s why the sickness hurt so much.

Because she didn’t deserve better. Because she had gone and gotten sick when the woman had told her to do something else.

She tried to think back to what the woman told her she should be doing. But her mind felt foggy. All the words were gone. Just echoes remained.

She lifted her eyes slowly to the man again. Just one last time. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

He was still there.

Still holding her hand.

Still watching her.

But he couldn’t be.

He couldn’t be someone from her future.

He couldn’t be someone meant for her.

He couldn’t be her partner.

Because people like him belonged with people who were better.

Not her.

Slowly, the weight returned to her eyelids.

The world softened again.

And the last thought that settled quietly in her chest before the darkness pulled her back under was cruel, familiar, and heavy:

She was a slut after all.

She was only six years old after all.

And she should be focused on getting better without help before the woman came again.