Model Wife's Secret Performances - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
You are reading Model Wife's Secret Performances, Chapter 5: Chapter 5. Read more chapters of Model Wife's Secret Performances.
I spent a week in the hospital recovering.
Luckily, my injuries weren't too bad—just a mild concussion and some scrapes. My parents wanted to visit, but I brushed them off, claiming I'd taken a nasty fall.
Sophia, maybe out of guilt, never left my side. She slept on that awful cot in my room, fussing over me like a devoted nurse. Everyone who visited—friends, doctors, even the nurses—gushed about how lucky I was to have her.
But no matter how perfect she acted, I couldn't shake the unease gnawing at me.
Her past was a landmine, and I was just waiting for it to blow.
I'd suggested going to the police, but the second I brought it up, she broke down. She swore I was judging her, terrified that if we pushed back, those people would leak her old photos and videos. Since the debt was paid, she promised to cut ties completely. I let it drop.
By the time the bandages came off, all I wanted was a hot shower and my own bed.
After helping me wash up, Sophia curled into me, her warmth familiar and comforting.
Then, well—youth and impulse took over. My hands wandered.
At first, she resisted, insisting I needed rest. But soon, whether from frustration or something else, she matched my hunger—then outdid it.
Just as we lost ourselves—
Ding.
A message lit up Sophia's phone.
Annoyed, I grabbed it. Isabella's name flashed on the screen:
"Ready for tomorrow's act? Treat your man well tonight. I'll pick you up in the morning!"
Sophia's face drained of color as she snatched it back.
That reaction? Instant fuel to the fire.
"What the hell is this, Sophia? Still lying to me?"
"No!" Her eyes welled up. "It's not what you think! I'll call her—she'll explain!"
I yanked the phone away with a cold laugh. "So you can feed me more rehearsed bullshit?"
Isabella was a model, just like Sophia. Who knew what kind of modeling she'd done?
"Delete every shady contact. Now."
I knew I was being irrational. But rage had taken the wheel.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Isabella wasn't talking about that! She's never done body art! I was going to tell you—"
I cut her off. Under my glare, she reluctantly blocked every former colleague.
Then another message popped up:
"Heard tomorrow's blind date is loaded. Might be my type! Play along—don't mess this up!"
Also from Isabella.
My jaw tightened. "Blind date?"
Sophia scrambled to explain. "Her parents set her up. She just wants me to help fake an excuse if the guy's a creep. It's not what you think!"
According to her, Isabella was sick of her family's matchmaking but couldn't say no. Sometimes, she dragged Sophia along as backup—either to bail her out if the guy was awful or to hype him up if he was decent.
Worried I'd stop her, Isabella had joked about "keeping me happy" first.
Sophia pressed my hand to her chest. "You don't have to believe me, but I swear it's the truth. If you're still mad, I'll delete her right now—everyone!"
A flicker of guilt hit me.
But pride won. I tossed the phone aside and spent the rest of the night "apologizing" with my body.
Sophia melted into it, whispering promises that she was only mine.
Yet when her breathing finally steadied in sleep, I reached for her phone again.
Luckily, my injuries weren't too bad—just a mild concussion and some scrapes. My parents wanted to visit, but I brushed them off, claiming I'd taken a nasty fall.
Sophia, maybe out of guilt, never left my side. She slept on that awful cot in my room, fussing over me like a devoted nurse. Everyone who visited—friends, doctors, even the nurses—gushed about how lucky I was to have her.
But no matter how perfect she acted, I couldn't shake the unease gnawing at me.
Her past was a landmine, and I was just waiting for it to blow.
I'd suggested going to the police, but the second I brought it up, she broke down. She swore I was judging her, terrified that if we pushed back, those people would leak her old photos and videos. Since the debt was paid, she promised to cut ties completely. I let it drop.
By the time the bandages came off, all I wanted was a hot shower and my own bed.
After helping me wash up, Sophia curled into me, her warmth familiar and comforting.
Then, well—youth and impulse took over. My hands wandered.
At first, she resisted, insisting I needed rest. But soon, whether from frustration or something else, she matched my hunger—then outdid it.
Just as we lost ourselves—
Ding.
A message lit up Sophia's phone.
Annoyed, I grabbed it. Isabella's name flashed on the screen:
"Ready for tomorrow's act? Treat your man well tonight. I'll pick you up in the morning!"
Sophia's face drained of color as she snatched it back.
That reaction? Instant fuel to the fire.
"What the hell is this, Sophia? Still lying to me?"
"No!" Her eyes welled up. "It's not what you think! I'll call her—she'll explain!"
I yanked the phone away with a cold laugh. "So you can feed me more rehearsed bullshit?"
Isabella was a model, just like Sophia. Who knew what kind of modeling she'd done?
"Delete every shady contact. Now."
I knew I was being irrational. But rage had taken the wheel.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Isabella wasn't talking about that! She's never done body art! I was going to tell you—"
I cut her off. Under my glare, she reluctantly blocked every former colleague.
Then another message popped up:
"Heard tomorrow's blind date is loaded. Might be my type! Play along—don't mess this up!"
Also from Isabella.
My jaw tightened. "Blind date?"
Sophia scrambled to explain. "Her parents set her up. She just wants me to help fake an excuse if the guy's a creep. It's not what you think!"
According to her, Isabella was sick of her family's matchmaking but couldn't say no. Sometimes, she dragged Sophia along as backup—either to bail her out if the guy was awful or to hype him up if he was decent.
Worried I'd stop her, Isabella had joked about "keeping me happy" first.
Sophia pressed my hand to her chest. "You don't have to believe me, but I swear it's the truth. If you're still mad, I'll delete her right now—everyone!"
A flicker of guilt hit me.
But pride won. I tossed the phone aside and spent the rest of the night "apologizing" with my body.
Sophia melted into it, whispering promises that she was only mine.
Yet when her breathing finally steadied in sleep, I reached for her phone again.
End of Model Wife's Secret Performances Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to Model Wife's Secret Performances book page.