His Underground Mistress Fled Away

Sophia’s POV

Carlos released me instantly, sprinting toward the front hall without a backward glance.

"Sophie, amore, what is it?"

Sophie pointed to her bare neck, sobbing uncontrollably, her chest heaving for effect.

"Carlos... the necklace... It’s gone! That diamond choker your mother gave me... the family heirloom... It was on my neck just before I went to the powder room!"

Sophie locked eyes with me as I entered the room. She lunged forward, grabbing my arm with tear-filled eyes.

"Miss Johnson... just now, in the restroom, it was only you and me. I felt faint and took it off to splash water on my face. You were standing right next to me."

"I know you might hate me because of what happened today... but that necklace means everything to the Genovese Family."

"If you took it, please, just give it back. I won't tell anyone!"

Her words were a masterclass in manipulation. She didn't just accuse me of theft; she accused me of treason against the Genovese Family legacy.

The whispers from the surrounding crowd turned venomous.

"Sophie is too kind. 'If' she took it? Please. Once a gutter rat, always a gutter rat. Who knew the Boss's assistant had sticky fingers?"

"She's probably been skimming off the shipping manifests for years. Today she steals a necklace, tomorrow she tries to steal the Don himself."

"Look at her, dressed up like she belongs. But a stray cat will never be a lioness."

Accused by everyone, my face drained of color. I looked at Carlos, desperate for a lifeline. I reached out, grasping the sleeve of his tailored suit.

"Carlos..."

He shook me off violently.

I lost my balance and crashed onto the marble floor.

He loomed over me, his eyes burning with a mixture of rage and disappointment.

"Sophia! What is this stunt? Are you happy now that you've made Sophie cry?"

"How could you be so low? You dare steal the my family’s heirloom?"

"That necklace represents the honor of this house. It does not belong to you. Think carefully—I don’t have much patience for you."

My fingernails dug into my palms, drawing blood. I fought the urge to scream, to cry.

I would not cry.

That was the last shred of dignity I had left. If I cried now, they won.

"I didn't steal it."

Carlos’s expression darkened, his voice dropping to a lethal calm.

"Since you won't hand it over, I'll have you searched."

He snapped his fingers.

"Hold her down. Search her."

Two burly associates stepped forward, pinning my arms behind my back.

A waiter, a civilian who didn't know the rules, tried to intervene, looking terrified.

"Sir, perhaps it fell under a table? Is a body search really necessary? It seems..."

"Is there a misunderstanding?"

Carlos let out a cold, sharp laugh.

"My fiancée is the purest soul in this room. She doesn't lie. She doesn't frame people."

"There is no misunderstanding. Sophia is acting out of jealousy and malice. I will not let this disrespect stand."

My heart turned to ash.

A stranger—a waiter—was willing to give me the benefit of the doubt.

But Carlos? The man I had loved for five years? The man whose bed I warmed, whose secrets I kept?

He didn't hesitate.

Sophie’s flimsy lie was enough to shatter five years of loyalty. He didn't want the truth; he wanted to publicly break me to prove his devotion to her.

So this is the difference between being loved and being used.

I bit my lip until I tasted copper, but a choked sob escaped my throat. I closed my eyes as a single, treacherous tear slid down my cheek.

The associates patted me down roughly, their hands violating and humiliating, checking every pocket, every seam of my dress.

They found nothing.

Until Sophie gasped.

"Oh! It... it was in my blazer pocket all along. Oh, how silly of me."

She pulled the glittering diamonds out, looking innocent and flushed.

"Miss Johnson, I am so terribly sorry. I blamed you wrongly. Please forgive me..."

Before she could finish her performance, she covered her face and ran out of the hall, sobbing as if *she* were the victim.

Carlos looked down at me, his expression unreadable, a flicker of something—guilt? regret?—crossing his face.

But in the end, the choice was already made.

He turned his back on me and chased after Sophie.

Exhausted, broken, and humiliated, I picked myself up from the floor. Under the awkward, pitying gazes of the crowd, I walked out into the night.

I didn't go home.

I hailed a cab and said one word: "Airport."

Sitting in the departure lounge, waiting for the red-eye flight, my phone buzzed.

It was Carlos.

[Sophia, you went too far tonight. How could you make Sophie look so bad in front of the crew?]

[I just barely managed to calm her down. Tomorrow, come to the office and apologize to her in front of everyone. You two need to learn to get along. It’s a long life ahead.]

My thumb hovered over the screen. I wanted to type: [Let's break up.]

But then I paused.

Carlos had never publicly acknowledged me. I was never his girlfriend. I was just his shadow mistress.

How do you break up with someone you were never officially with?

I didn't reply.

I blocked his number. I blocked his email. I blocked him from my life.

I turned off my phone and boarded the plane.