The Call Boy I Met in Paris – Episode 3

📖 The Story Continues

The Call Boy I Met in Paris – Episode 3

Sophie had barely made it beyond the hotel suite when Stella blocked her path. Her sister’s smile carried the satisfaction of someone who had been waiting for evidence, not answers, and the phone in her hand was angled like a weapon. Sophie’s stomach tightened before she even saw the photographs glowing on its screen.

The images showed Sophie with Justin the previous night, close enough to erase any innocent explanation. Stella scrolled through them slowly, savoring each one. “If your fiancé finds out about your little one-night stand, do you think he’ll still marry you?” she asked.

For years, Sophie had endured Stella’s sweet voice and sharpened intentions for the sake of a family that rarely returned the favor. This morning, however, humiliation had burned away her patience. Derek had already betrayed her with the woman now threatening to expose her.

“You still think I’d marry that lying, cheating, tiny-dick man-whore?” Sophie demanded. The words echoed down the elegant corridor, but she no longer cared who heard. “Since you like sleeping with him so much, why don’t you marry him?”

Stella’s expression flickered before hardening again. She had expected shame, perhaps tears, and Sophie’s defiance ruined the performance she had prepared. Still, the photographs gave her leverage, and leverage was the only language their family truly respected.

“I’m going to show Derek and Daddy these photos,” Stella said, raising the phone. “We’ll see what they have to say.” Her thumb hovered over the screen, confident that the threat would finally make Sophie beg.

Instead, Sophie lunged. “Hey, psycho!” Stella cried as Sophie caught her wrist. The sisters struggled for a second, Stella trying to protect the device while Sophie fought to tear it from her grip.

“What are you doing?” Stella shrieked. Sophie twisted free with the phone in her hand, her anger lending her a calm that felt almost dangerous. This was not merely gossip; it was another attempt to steal the future Sophie’s mother had left her.

She dropped the phone to the marble floor and brought her heel down hard. The screen cracked beneath her shoe. “Oops,” Sophie said, looking at the ruined device. “Looks like you need a new phone.”

Stella stared at the shattered glass in disbelief. Sophie pulled cash from her purse—the same purse from which she had so awkwardly paid Justin—and pressed it into her sister’s hand. “Here. Go buy one.”

The gesture made Stella’s face redden with fury. Sophie stepped closer before her sister could recover. “Now get out before I call security,” she warned, and for once Stella seemed to understand that pushing further would not end in her favor.

Stella retreated with the broken phone, but the threat did not disappear with her. Sophie knew copies of the photographs might already exist, and her father would choose outrage over listening to the truth. She exhaled slowly, trying to prepare herself for the storm waiting at home.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said behind her. Sophie turned and found Justin approaching, composed and impeccably at ease in the hotel corridor. The sight of him brought back far too much of the previous night, along with the mortifying transaction that morning.

Her gaze traveled over the polished surroundings, and her assumption settled even more firmly into place. “So you work the hotels, huh?” she asked. It seemed logical that a male escort would maintain relationships with luxury establishments where wealthy clients stayed.

“Actually, this is just one of the many hotels—” Justin began. He had decided it was time to correct her before the misunderstanding became impossible to untangle. Yet Sophie was already checking the arrival notification on her phone.

“Oh, my car’s here.” She opened her purse and pressed more money into his hand before he could finish. “Keep this. You did really good last night.”

Justin looked down at the cash, then at Sophie, speechless for the second time that morning. She gave him a brisk nod meant to look worldly, although the color in her cheeks revealed how badly she wanted the conversation to end.

The elevator doors opened, and Sophie hurried inside. Justin recovered just as the doors began to close. “One of the many hotels that I own,” he finished, but the words reached only an empty corridor.

He stared at the second payment in his palm. “This woman is always giving me money,” he murmured. Seven years ago, her generosity had rescued him; now it had transformed into a bewildering habit of compensating him for services he had never sold.

As the elevator carried Sophie away, the full absurdity finally landed. “Wait,” Justin said to no one, half amused and half appalled. “Does she really think I’m a call boy?” Judging by the money in his hand, there could be only one answer—and Sophie had no idea the man she had just paid owned the hotel beneath her feet.