—SophiaI didn’t ask him if he was okay.I didn’t need to.Ethan stared at the photo for two full minutes before placing the file gently on the table, like it was a glass he didn’t want to shatter yet.Liam.Warren.Same frame. Same night.No words.No explanations.Just one picture that made my chest lock up.“You knew?” I asked quietly.“I suspected.”That was all he said.And then he moved.Fast.Efficient.Pulling out his phone, typing something, sending it off without blinking. I didn’t ask who.He was back in his world now—the one where emotions didn’t cloud judgment.Just facts.Just strategy.“Go upstairs,” he said.“No.”“Sophia—”“I’m not leaving you.”He paused.Then his eyes shifted to me. Not with annoyance.With calculation.Like I had become part of the equation now.Not just something to protect—but something to use… maybe even trust.He didn’t argue again.****The boardroom in his private office was colder than the rest of the penthouse.Walls of glass. Empty seats.
—SophiaI didn’t open the door right away.Ivory stood there, her lips painted red, hair tied up like she hadn’t just disappeared for weeks. The blood on her sleeve didn’t look accidental.She tilted her head at the security camera like she knew exactly where it was.And smiled.Like a game had just started.I stepped back.I didn’t panic. Not this time.I walked to the wall console and pressed the emergency alert key. Silent.Ethan would know. Wherever he was—he’d be alerted. Tracked. Traced.The doorbell rang again.A slow, dragging sound.She wasn’t leaving.Not until someone let her in.I stood there, heart steady for once.“You don’t get to rattle me,” I whispered to myself.I pressed the speaker button. “You’ve got five seconds to get off this floor before the system locks down.”She laughed. “I’m not here to fight, sweetheart.”“Then why are you here?”“To talk.”My fingers hovered over the security lockdown button. She knew what that meant.And still… she didn’t flinch.“Let m
The doll was gone.Russ had burned it.No trace left behind.And yet, the lingering smell of plastics, scent of burnt cloth, gas odors that did not have to be translated—the stench still clung to the atmosphere like a promise we could not erase.Ethan leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window again, his arms crossed, staring out over the city as though he could reduce it to ashes with a look.No words.Not a single one.I sat on the couch, my hand resting on my stomach, feeling more than motion.Fear was dwelling within me now.Not the kind that yelled.The kind that made you silent.Too silent."Was it Luna?" I at last spoke, at last shattering the quiet.Ethan's head turned slightly."No," he answered.I blinked. "You're sure.""She's not imaginative like that," he growled. "She doesn't have precision. That—he jerked his finger in the direction of the elevator—was done on purpose. Symbolic. That's Maurice."I gulped hard.Maurice.The knife-eyed cousin and the smile that never did
The silence in Ethan's penthouse wasn't peaceful—it was noise. The silence was suffocating, the crushing unspoken words hanging in mid-air.I stood before the huge floor to ceiling window in the hallway, watching the raindrops slide down the glass, the city lights smeared behind the window, making everything that passed by invisible.Everything felt fuzzy, even my thoughts.But Ethan?He was unnervingly calm, typing away on his laptop, the blue screen light cutting sharp shadows across his sharp features."Do you ever stop thinking?" I demanded, my arms crossed over my chest.He did not look up."No," he said.I spun fully to him. "Even for a second?"He paused—then shut down the laptop.Glared straight at me."My mind is the only thing that keeps me alive," he said quietly.I didn't respond.What was there to say?It wasn't even morning, but we'd spent the whole night up, digging through files Carla had acquired—bank records, CCTV photos, encrypted emails Luna hadn't even bothered t
—SophiaMy eyes were closed. Sleep was not close.Not quite.Not when chaos echoed around me. Not when the only thing that kept me strong seemed to be in danger. I lay in bed for hours with the wind crashing against the walls of Ethan's penthouse apartment, my thoughts twisting and turning within the silence like a snake.Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw her face—her mocking smile and the poison within it. Her voice echoed around me as a sentence.I won't go alone the next time.She wasn't joking.And that frightened me more than anything else.Because I trusted her.The sheets felt warm against me, the bed snug and warm as the battle raged within me. It took me a long time finally to rouse and sit up, pull my knees up to my chest and look out into the night.It is already 4 am, but I could not stand the silence. It was suffocating me.I sneaked barefoot out of the room wrapped in one of Ethan's enormous shirts that wrapped around me entirely. His smell lingered on it like somethin
SophiaI did not see the black car across the street until we were already pulling away. It was parked too neatly. Too still.And for a moment… I could have sworn I saw a flicker. Like a flashbulb.I blinked. Shook it off. Told myself I was paranoid.But my skin tingled nevertheless.And in my gut… something whispered that this wasn't over.Not even close.—The silence in the car wasn't awkward—it was stifling.I fixed my gaze stubbornly on the dark sky outside the window, not daring to meet his eyes. Not because I was angry—God, no. It would've been easier. Cleaner. I was something messier. Torn between gratitude and shame. And the worst part? A tiny part of me felt. safe again.I hated it."You shouldn't have followed me," I finally spoke, voice low, just above the hum of the tires on asphalt.Ethan said nothing. His hand clenched slightly tighter around the steering wheel, the veins on his knuckles strained against the faint dashboard light."You shouldn't have gone there by yours
—SophiaI departed when Carla was asleep.I did not leave a note.Didn't even wear a jacket.The air nipped at my arms but I felt nothing. Nothing mattered. I was fueled now on a different fuel—fire. The type of fire that sears at the base of your back when someone has been tampering with your life.Naseera longed forShe would know.I gripped my phone tightly as I read the message from Luna I did not have a lot of faith in her.The location was a high-end-townhouse in uptown. Most likely rented out in someone else's name. Jude said he was used to the neighborhood, but it wasn't a so-safe neighborhood—I just had a place. A direction to go.Another activity other than running.I took the bus and walked the last half-dozen blocks. I was shallow-breathing by the time I got to the drop-off point, the baby kicking now and again as if commanding me to turn back. I couldn’t.This wasn't all about me anymore. It never was.She tried to erase me. To turn Ethan against me. She desired my child.
—SophiaI woke up to the smell of something warm. Cinnamon. Maybe nutmeg. The soft kind of spice that never punches, but waits politely, like Carla's voice.The small flat was still in darkness. Early morning, maybe. A narrow sliver of sunlight crept around the blinds, striating the carpet with a barcode pattern. Carla had insisted on keeping me in her bedroom, while she made use of the pull-out bed. Claimed the baby was first.I did not protest. I could not. Not when I was too tired to resist the courtesy.I rolled out of bed, toes on the cold floor. Carla was already up—her shadow moving quietly around the kitchen like someone who's been up for hours but doesn't want to wake up the house."Morning," she said, not turning around. "You slept like you haven't in days.""I haven't."She hummed and poured two chipped mugs full of hot water. "Chamomile for now. You need calm more than caffeine."I didn't struggle with that either.She handed me the mug and gestured toward the worn armchai
—SophiaThe walls here were too white. Not cream or beige or almond or any of those soft names paint companies like to assign. Just—white. Stark. Cold. The kind that stares back at you.I’ve never felt so unwelcome in a room that was temporarily mine.A single suitcase was tucked under the makeshift bed. I haven’t unpacked yet. There’s nothing to arrange. Just a couple dresses. A toothbrush. The ultrasound photo I slipped into my coat before bolting.I don’t know what this place is exactly. Someone owed the coffee shop owner a favor—an old friend of her late husband, apparently. Said I could crash here for a few days. No ID. No questions.I sat on the cold floor lost in thoughts, I stretched my legs out across the cold tiles. The place was too silent, but the silence felt like noise in my ears—too loud.I wanted to cry, but the tears in my eyes were stuck—not coming anymore. Maybe I used them all up.My phone vibrated again. Unknown number. This was the fifth call in ten minutes.I st