PART 3 — THE SECRET SOPHIA COULDN’T KEEP ANYMORE
I read Sophia’s message three times.
Paula, that picture wasn’t taken the night he posted it.
It was taken eight months ago.
And you need to know what else happened that night.
For a few seconds, everything around me disappeared.
The office.
The muted ringing of phones outside my boss’s door.
The hum of the air conditioner.
The voice of the receptionist downstairs telling someone they couldn’t come up without an appointment.
Eight months.
I had spent eight months kissing Adrian after that photograph had been taken.
Eight months sleeping beside him.
Eight months cooking dinner in the apartment we shared.
Eight months listening to him tell me I was paranoid whenever Sophia’s name came up.
My stomach turned.
My boss, Rebecca, was still standing beside her desk.
“Paula?”
I looked at her.
“There’s still a man downstairs claiming he’s your brother.”
I forced myself back into the room.
“I don’t know who he is.”
Rebecca immediately picked up the phone.
“Security is already with him. I’ll have them remove him.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you want the police called?”
I thought about Adrian.
About his twelve emails.
About him going to my old office repeatedly.
About strangers now appearing at my new workplace.
“Yes.”
Rebecca didn’t hesitate.
“Okay.”
That single word made something loosen inside me.
No accusation.
No What did you do to make him act like this?
No You’re probably overreacting.
Just okay.
While Rebecca spoke to security, my phone buzzed again.
Sophia.
Please answer me.
I stared at the screen.
Eight months ago.
My thumb moved before I could talk myself out of it.
What happened?
The typing bubbles appeared almost immediately.
Then disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally:
Not over text.
Meet me.
I almost laughed.
Absolutely not.
Her response came quickly.
I understand.
Then tell me here.
Another pause.
I can’t.
Why?
Because if Adrian ever gets access to my phone, I don’t want this written down.
That sentence chilled me more than anything else she had said.
I typed:
Why would Adrian have access to your phone?
No answer.
Thirty seconds.
A minute.
Two.
Then:
Because I’m leaving him.
I stared at those words.
Leaving him.
Not ending some casual fling.
Not stopping whatever had happened between them.
Leaving him.
As if there were something established enough to leave.
I typed:
How long have you been together?
Her answer came thirty seconds later.
Longer than you think.
My chest tightened.
Rebecca hung up.
“Security is escorting the man outside. Police are on the way.”
“Did he give a name?”
“Dylan Mercer.”
I frowned.
I had never heard that name.
“What did he want?”
“He said he needed to give you something from Adrian.”
My blood ran cold.
Rebecca studied me carefully.
“Do you know an Adrian?”
“Yes.”
“Is he your ex?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know where you work?”
“He shouldn’t.”
Rebecca’s mouth tightened.
“Then we need to document this.”
That afternoon, for the first time in my life, I made a police report about someone I had once planned to marry.
The officer took notes while I explained the emails.
The office visits.
The attempts to get my address.
The fake brother.
I hated hearing it out loud.
Each incident sounded small when isolated.
Together, they formed something uglier.
“What exactly was Mr. Mercer trying to deliver?” the officer asked.
Security had confiscated a white envelope before escorting him outside.
The officer placed it on the desk between us.
My name was written across the front.
PAULA.
Adrian’s handwriting.
I recognized it immediately.
My fingers stayed in my lap.
“Do I have to open it?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t want to.”
The officer nodded.
“We can photograph it and document it with the report.”
I almost smiled.
There had been a time when anything from Adrian would have consumed me.
A note.
A voicemail.
A single missed call.
I would have torn the envelope open with shaking hands.
Now it sat three feet away from me, and I wanted nothing inside.
That evening, I went home exhausted.
Matthew was sitting on the stairs between the fifth and sixth floors, tightening a loose railing.
He looked up when he heard me.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“I meant emotionally.”
“Somehow worse.”
He put the wrench down.
“What happened?”
I sat two steps below him.
“Someone came to my job pretending to be my brother.”
Matthew’s expression changed instantly.
“The ex?”
“Sent him.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I glanced at him.
“You’re not going to tell me I’m overreacting?”
“No.”
“You didn’t even hear the whole story.”
“I don’t need the whole story to know pretending to be someone’s relative to get into their workplace is not normal.”
I looked down at my hands.
“I used to think Adrian was harmless.”
Matthew stayed quiet.
“I mean, difficult sometimes. Selfish. Arrogant. But harmless.”
“People can be harmless until they stop getting what they want.”
The words sounded personal.
I looked at him.
“You really are experienced.”
His jaw shifted.
“My ex-wife used to show up wherever I was after our separation.”
I waited.
This time, he continued.
“She called my clients. My coworkers. My sister. Told them I was having some kind of breakdown because I wouldn’t answer her.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“She wasn’t violent.”
He looked at the railing.
“But she needed control. Sometimes control is enough.”
I understood exactly what he meant.
My phone buzzed.
Sophia again.
I’ve booked a room at the Riverside Hotel tonight.
Room 418.
I’m not asking you to come alone. Bring anyone you want.
I showed Matthew.
His eyebrows rose.
“You’re thinking about going.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
I read the message again.
Eight months.
Longer than you think.
I’m leaving him.
“I need to know.”
Matthew nodded.
“Then don’t go alone.”
I looked at him.
“You offering?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you barely know me.”
“That’s actually a good reason for me to come. I’m less likely to get dragged into the emotional part.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
“You’ve thought this through.”
“I’m an architect. Thinking about structures that may collapse is literally my job.”
At eight thirty, Matthew and I entered the Riverside Hotel.
Sophia opened the door before I finished knocking.
I barely recognized her.
The woman from Adrian’s Instagram picture had looked confident.
Perfect hair.
Perfect makeup.
Perfect smile.
The woman standing in front of me looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
Her eyes were swollen.
Her hair was tied into a messy knot.
There was a bruise on her left wrist.
I saw it immediately.
So did Matthew.
Sophia noticed us looking and pulled her sleeve down.
“Come in.”
Matthew stayed near the door.
Sophia looked at him.
“He’s with me,” I said.
She nodded.
“Good.”
I folded my arms.
“You have ten minutes.”
Sophia almost smiled.
“I deserve less.”
“Yes.”
She sat on the edge of the bed.
I remained standing.
“Eight months,” I said.
She looked down.
“Yes.”
“You slept with my boyfriend eight months ago.”
“Yes.”
The directness of it hurt more than denial would have.
“How many times?”
“Paula—”
“How many?”
She swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
My throat tightened.
“You don’t know?”
“It wasn’t just once.”
“Clearly.”
Matthew said nothing.
He stood like a quiet witness.
Sophia rubbed her hands together.
“It started almost a year ago.”
I felt something crack inside me.
Almost a year.
Nearly one-third of my relationship with Adrian had been a lie.
“You knew about me.”
“Yes.”
“You sat across from me at dinners.”
“Yes.”
“You let me defend him.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.”
“You watched him call me insecure.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I’m sorry.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Do you understand how useless that sounds?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I turned toward the door.
Sophia stood quickly.
“Wait.”
I stopped.
“The photograph wasn’t the worst thing.”
I looked back.
“What is?”
Her hands were shaking.
“The reason Adrian posted it now.”
Silence.
“He didn’t post it because he suddenly chose me.”
I stared at her.
“He posted it because he wanted you to see it.”
“I already figured that out.”
“No. You don’t understand.”
Her voice dropped.
“He wanted you to come back.”
That made no sense.
“He posted another woman on his chest because he wanted me back?”
“Yes.”
“You’re insane.”
“That’s what he does.”
She looked toward Matthew and then back at me.
“He makes people panic, and when they panic, they chase him.”
My stomach tightened.
“He told me you’d call before his birthday.”
I remembered the comment.
I bet the day after tomorrow, on my birthday, she’ll panic and come back crying.
“He said he knew exactly how far he could push you.”
Sophia’s voice broke.
“He said you always came back once you thought you were losing him.”
I felt sick.
“He told you that?”
“Yes.”
“And you agreed to help him?”
Sophia looked ashamed.
“At first.”
I stared at her.
“What do you mean, at first?”
“He told me the picture would force you to call him. He said once you came back, he’d make you apologize for accusing us all those months.”
My fingernails dug into my palms.
“He planned that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Sophia looked at me as though the answer should have been obvious.
“Because you stopped chasing him.”
The room went silent.
That month of cold war.
I thought we were both waiting.
Adrian had apparently viewed it differently.
I had broken the pattern.
For the first time, I had not called.
He needed to restore it.
So he had used another woman.
Sophia continued quietly.
“His birthday was supposed to be the deadline. He kept saying there was no way you’d let his birthday pass.”
“And when it did?”
“He lost it.”
I remembered Hannah saying Adrian had come to the office.
Angry.
Shocked.
“He kept checking his phone,” Sophia said. “Every few minutes. He told everyone you were being dramatic, but when midnight passed without you calling, he threw his phone against the wall.”
I felt a strange emptiness.
Not satisfaction.
Not revenge.
Just clarity.
“So why are you leaving him?”
Sophia looked at her wrist again.
“Because then he started doing it to me.”
I said nothing.
“At first, Adrian made me feel like I was different from you.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“He said you were too emotional. Too demanding. Too jealous. He said being with me felt peaceful.”
I almost laughed.
Those were the same words Adrian had used when we first started dating.
My ex before him was too complicated.
You’re different, Paula.
You’re easy to be with.
Sophia wiped her cheek.
“Once you disappeared, he changed.”
“How?”
“He blamed me.”
“For what?”
“For you leaving.”
I stared at her.
“He said if I hadn’t been in the picture, you might have come back.”
“But the picture was his idea.”
“I know.”
“He told you to do it.”
“I know.”
I could see the realization in her face.
She had heard herself saying it too.
Matthew spoke for the first time.
“That isn’t why you asked Paula here.”
Sophia looked at him.
“No.”
He crossed his arms.
“So tell her.”
Sophia reached for a backpack beside the bed.
She pulled out a laptop.
“I found something.”
My heart began beating harder.
“What?”
“Adrian left his computer open yesterday.”
She turned the laptop toward me.
“I was looking for messages because I thought he might be seeing someone else.”
The irony was almost unbearable.
Sophia noticed my expression.
“I know.”
She opened a folder.
Inside were dozens of screenshots.
My screenshots.
Photos of me.
Old messages.
Social media posts.
Pictures I had sent Adrian privately.
My skin crawled.
“What is this?”
“I don’t know why he saved everything.”
She clicked another folder.
It was named P.
Inside were subfolders.
WORK.
FAMILY.
FRIENDS.
PASSWORDS.
I stopped breathing.
“Passwords?”
“I didn’t open everything.”
I stepped closer.
“You should have.”
Sophia clicked it.
A document opened.
Old passwords.
My old email.
Streaming accounts.
Banking hints.
Security questions.
Names of childhood pets.
My mother’s maiden name.
“Where did he get this?”
Sophia shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
I did.
Three years of convenience.
Can you log into Netflix for me?
What was the Wi-Fi password again?
What bank do you use?
What was your first dog’s name?
What street did you grow up on?
Tiny pieces.
Information I had given him without thinking.
Matthew moved closer.
“You need to change every account you have.”
“I already changed most.”
“Change them again.”
Sophia clicked another document.
This one contained names.
Hannah.
My parents.
Former coworkers.
My old landlord.
People Adrian could contact to find me.
My mouth went dry.
Then I saw something else.
One line near the bottom.
NEW CITY?
Unknown.
Below it:
Possible contact: Hannah.
Workplace maybe connected through tax/employment records?
I backed away.
“He’s trying to find me.”
Sophia nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said you knew.”
“I know part of it.”
She took a breath.
“Adrian cannot stand losing control.”
Matthew’s eyes stayed on the screen.
“Save copies.”
Sophia nodded.
“I already did.”
She pulled a small USB drive from her pocket.
“This is everything.”
She held it toward me.
I didn’t take it.
“Why are you helping me?”
Her face crumpled slightly.
“Because I helped him hurt you.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
She swallowed.
“Because two nights ago, I told him I wanted to leave.”
I looked at her wrist.
“And?”
“He grabbed me.”
Matthew’s jaw tightened.
Sophia continued.
“He apologized afterward. Said he was stressed because of you.”
“Because of me?”
“I know.”
She closed her eyes.
“I know how that sounds.”
“No, Sophia. You know how Adrian made it sound.”
Her eyes opened.
That was the first kind thing I had said to her.
I almost regretted it.
Almost.
Then she whispered:
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
She opened another folder.
No name.
Inside was an audio file.
“What is that?”
“I recorded it yesterday.”
“Why?”
“Because I was scared.”
She pressed play.
Adrian’s voice filled the room.
“If Paula thinks she can just disappear and make me look like an idiot, she’s wrong.”
My whole body went still.
Sophia’s recorded voice answered:
“She left. Let her go.”
Adrian laughed.
“No.”
“Why do you even care? You have me.”
Silence.
Then Adrian said something that made Sophia close her eyes.
“You really think this was about choosing you?”
The recording continued.
“I posted you because she needed a reminder.”
“A reminder of what?”
“That I can replace her.”
My hands became cold.
Sophia’s recorded voice said:
“Well, she didn’t come back.”
Another silence.
Then Adrian:
“She will.”
“What if she doesn’t?”
He laughed again.
“She always does.”
“But what if she really doesn’t this time?”
Long pause.
Then Adrian’s voice became quieter.
“She owes me three years.”
I stared at the laptop.
Owes me.
Sophia paused the recording.
“What does that mean?” Matthew asked.
“I don’t know,” she said.
I did.
At least, I thought I did.
Three years of rent.
Three years of dinners.
Vacations.
Gifts.
Everything Adrian had ever paid for had eventually become ammunition during arguments.
I paid the rent.
I bought the couch.
I paid for Miami.
You think you’d have this life without me?
I had thought they were angry words.
Maybe they weren’t.
Sophia looked at me.
“There’s one last thing.”
She opened her email.
“Yesterday Adrian emailed a lawyer.”
My stomach dropped.
“What lawyer?”
“I don’t know. But the subject said PROPERTY RECOVERY.”
I frowned.
“I don’t have any of his property.”
Sophia slowly turned the laptop toward me.
The email was short.
I read it.
Need advice regarding recovery of assets and funds transferred to former domestic partner during three-year cohabitation. Significant financial contribution. She has disappeared and may have removed property belonging to me.
I almost laughed.
“I took two suitcases.”
“I know.”
“The furniture was his.”
“I know.”
“I left everything.”
“There’s an attachment,” Sophia said.
She clicked it.
A spreadsheet opened.
Dozens of rows.
RENT CONTRIBUTION.
VACATION.
DINNERS.
GIFTS.
UTILITIES.
FURNITURE.
Paula share.
Adrian share.
Estimated repayment.
At the bottom was a total.
$38,760.
I stared at it.
“He thinks I owe him thirty-eight thousand dollars?”
Sophia shook her head.
“He knows you don’t.”
“Then why?”
Matthew answered.
“Leverage.”
I looked at him.
“He doesn’t need to win,” Matthew said. “He needs her scared enough to contact him.”
Sophia nodded.
“That’s what I think too.”
Suddenly I understood.
The envelope.
The fake brother.
The emails.
The office visits.
Adrian wasn’t trying to recover a relationship.
He was trying to restore a hierarchy.
And as long as I refused to answer, he couldn’t.
I took the USB drive from Sophia.
“Send everything to a new email address too.”
“I will.”
“And keep copies somewhere he can’t access.”
“I already sent them to my sister.”
“Good.”
Sophia looked relieved.
Then frightened again.
“What are you going to do?”
I looked at the tiny drive in my palm.
“For the first time?”
I slipped it into my purse.
“I’m not going to react the way he expects.”
Matthew and I left the hotel just after ten.
In the elevator, neither of us spoke.
When the doors opened to the lobby, Matthew suddenly grabbed my elbow.
“Don’t move.”
My heart jumped.
“What?”
He looked toward the glass entrance.
A black SUV was parked across the street.
Engine running.
Headlights off.
“What is it?”
“I saw that car outside our building yesterday.”
My stomach dropped.
“Are you sure?”
“Same dent on the rear bumper.”
I looked through the glass.
A man sat behind the wheel.
I couldn’t see his face.
Matthew pulled out his phone.
“I’m calling the police.”
The SUV moved immediately.
It pulled away from the curb and disappeared through the intersection.
Sophia came running from the elevator behind us.
“What happened?”
Matthew turned toward her.
“Did Adrian know you were here?”
“No.”
“Anyone else?”
“My sister.”
“Would she tell him?”
“Never.”
I looked at Sophia.
“Does Adrian know your sister’s address?”
Her face changed.
“Yes.”
We called the police.
Again.
By midnight, I was sitting in apartment 601 with every lock checked twice.
Matthew sat at my kitchen table while I changed passwords.
Email.
Bank.
Cloud storage.
Medical portal.
Everything.
At 1:14 a.m., my mother called.
That alone was strange.
She never called after eleven.
“Mom?”
“Paula?”
Her voice was shaking.
I stood.
“What happened?”
“There’s a man outside the house.”
My blood froze.
“What man?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Dad there?”
“Yes.”
“Lock the doors.”
“They’re locked.”
“Call the police.”
“Your father already did.”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Mom, listen to me. Do not open the door.”
“Paula, who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
That was technically true.
Then my mother said:
“He left something on the porch.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“An envelope.”
Matthew was already standing.
“What does it say?”
My mother’s voice became smaller.
“It has your name on it.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Another envelope.
Another messenger.
Another attempt to force himself back into my life.
“Don’t touch it.”
“But—”
“Mom, please.”
Something clicked into place inside me.
Fear had been Adrian’s plan.
Fear would make me call.
Fear would make me ask what he wanted.
Fear would bring Paula Lane back to the old apartment, crying and apologizing for leaving.
But there was something Adrian had never planned for.
The woman he controlled for three years no longer existed.
“Mom, the police need to take it.”
“Paula, are you in trouble?”
I looked at Matthew.
At the USB drive on the table.
At the screenshots of Adrian collecting my passwords.
At the spreadsheet where he had assigned dollar values to our relationship.
At the emails.
At Sophia’s bruise.
“No,” I said slowly.
“He is.”
The police arrived at my parents’ house twelve minutes later.
The man outside was already gone.
The envelope remained.
This time, an officer opened it.
Inside was no letter.
No threat.
No demand for money.
Just a photograph.
My mother sent me a picture of it after police photographed the evidence.
I stared at my phone.
It was a photograph of me and Adrian.
Our second anniversary.
I remembered that evening perfectly.
Dinner downtown.
Wine.
His arm around my waist.
My head on his shoulder.
We had looked happy.
Someone had drawn a thick black line through my face.
On the back were six handwritten words.
You don’t get to erase me.
Matthew read them over my shoulder.
His expression hardened.
“Paula.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He looked directly at me.
“You need a lawyer.”
The next morning, I hired one.
Her name was Elena Brooks.
Forty-eight years old.
Sharp suit.
Sharper eyes.
She listened without interrupting while I showed her everything.
When I finished, she leaned back in her chair.
“Do not contact Adrian.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good. From now on, everything goes through me.”
She studied the spreadsheet.
“This thirty-eight-thousand-dollar claim is nonsense based on what you’ve shown me.”
“Can he sue me?”
“Anyone can file something. Winning is another matter.”
She pointed to the screenshots.
“This concerns me more.”
“The passwords?”
“The pattern.”
She folded her hands.
“He’s not trying to collect money.”
“I know.”
“He’s trying to create reasons to reach you.”
“Yes.”
“And every time you refuse, he escalates.”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
Elena nodded once.
“Then we stop playing defense.”
I looked at her.
“How?”
She smiled without warmth.
“We give Mr. Shaw exactly what he claims to want.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“A formal response.”
She pulled a legal pad toward herself.
“We tell him through counsel that if he believes you owe him money, he can provide evidence and pursue it legally.”
“And?”
“And we tell him he is not to contact you, your employer, your friends, or your family except through my office.”
I understood.
No more emotional battlefield.
No phone calls.
No dramatic reunions.
No Paula crying at his door.
If Adrian wanted a fight, he would have to fight paperwork.
Elena continued.
“And if he continues sending people to your workplace or your parents’ home, we document everything.”
“For a restraining order?”
“If necessary.”
I nodded.
“Do it.”
She looked almost surprised by how quickly I answered.
Then she smiled.
“I think you’re going to be fine.”
I wanted to believe her.
At 3:40 that afternoon, Elena sent the letter.
At 4:12, Adrian received it.
At 4:19, he called Elena’s office.
At 4:21, he called again.
At 4:23, again.
He demanded my address.
Elena refused.
He demanded my number.
She refused.
He claimed I had stolen from him.
She asked him to provide documentation.
He hung up.
Then something remarkable happened.
Nothing.
No emails.
No strangers.
No calls to Hannah.
No envelopes.
For two days, silence.
Friday evening, I came home carrying groceries.
Matthew was outside his apartment.
“You survived the week.”
“Barely.”
“Celebratory takeout?”
“I have groceries.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
I smiled.
“Fine.”
We ordered Thai food.
We ate on my floor because I still hadn’t bought a dining table.
For two hours, we talked about everything except Adrian.
Matthew told me about his first architecture project, a community center where he had accidentally approved windows six inches too short.
I told him about the time I got trapped in a hotel elevator during a work conference and missed my own presentation.
It felt normal.
Dangerously normal.
At eleven, Matthew went home.
I washed the dishes.
I watered Lazarus.
I checked the locks once instead of three times.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I let it ring.
A voicemail appeared.
I almost deleted it.
Then I remembered Elena’s instructions.
Save everything.
Document everything.
I pressed play.
For two seconds there was only breathing.
Then a woman spoke.
Not Sophia.
Not Hannah.
Not anyone I knew.
“Paula Lane?”
The voice sounded older.
Nervous.
“My name is Margaret Shaw.”
My entire body went still.
Shaw.
“I’m Adrian’s mother.”
I had met Adrian’s mother dozens of times.
Her name was Cynthia.
Not Margaret.
The voicemail continued.
“You don’t know me.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“But I know who you are.”
Silence.
Then the woman said:
“Adrian told you his mother died when he was a child, didn’t he?”
I stopped breathing.
No.
Adrian had never told me that.
He had introduced Cynthia Shaw to me as his mother.
I had spent Christmas in her house.
I had bought her birthday gifts.
The woman continued:
“Cynthia isn’t his mother.”
My knees weakened.
“She’s his aunt.”
I sat down.
“And if Adrian has started looking for you,” Margaret whispered, “then you need to understand something before you make the same mistake I did.”
My heartbeat pounded in my ears.
She took a shaky breath.
Then said:
“I didn’t abandon my son, Paula.”
“He made sure no one could find me.”
The voicemail ended.
I stared at the phone.
For three years, I had believed I knew Adrian Shaw.
His family.
His childhood.
His fears.
His stories.
But suddenly, one horrifying thought replaced all the others.
What if Sophia wasn’t the biggest lie Adrian had ever told me?
What if our entire relationship had been built on a man who had never existed at all?……………
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4…
