— Ethan’s POVTen minutes.That’s what Marcus said. Ten fucking minutes until hell tore through these walls. And all I could hear was the hum of those pods.Aria‑02. Julian‑03.More versions of us than should ever exist.I stared at them, frozen. My breath fogged the pod glass, and inside lay a child no older than five—suspended in some nutrient fluid, eyes closed, lips the same as Sophia’s, eyes the same as mine. Even the bangle was replicated. A stolen memory locked inside glass.Sophia’s hand clutched mine harder. She hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t pleaded. I could feel the burning grief in her squeeze—an anger that ran deeper than fear.This wasn’t a lab.This was a crucible.And we were standing in its epicenter.“We don’t have time to shut them all down,” I muttered.She nodded, voice hollow: “Then we blow it up.”Her words weren’t desperate. They were inevitable. Words you spoke when the world had shattered beneath your feet and only ruin made sense.I moved fast. A wall of contr
— Ethan’s POVShe said it like a crown.Like the name meant something.Like A.J. wasn't a scar but a goddamn trophy.I didn’t move. Not at first. Because something inside me had gone very, very still. That kind of still you feel when a building starts to fall, and there’s no use running because it’s already too late.Clarissa fucking Wren.Alive.Looking at us like we were puppets that finally learned how to dance.And Sophia—no, Aria—was shaking beside me. I felt it. Not the tremble of fear.Rage.Grief.Something deeper. Like her soul had just been scraped raw.“You should be dead,” I said. Not loud. But clear.Clarissa smiled. She always smiled. That polished, sterile smugness she wore like perfume.“You should be grateful,” she replied. “You both exist because of me.”Sophia took a step forward. “We exist despite you.”Clarissa's eyes flicked to her belly. “Do you, though?”I moved between them before Sophia could throw something—because she would. Hell, I wanted to.Clarissa cock
—Sophia’s POVI stared at Ethan like I didn’t know him.Because right now, I didn’t.Not the man holding that weathered journal. Not the one looking at me like this wasn't the moment everything cracked.Like my whole life hadn’t just been rewritten in front of me."We were never random." he said.My heart stuttered."What did you just say?"His eyes didn’t flinch. Cold. Too calm. That calm that only ever shows up right before something explodes."She designed it. All of them, the clinic, the orphanage. The records. Everything about you and me."He hesitated, then said it.—"Us" It didn’t feel real.Not the silence that followed. Not the pressure blooming behind my ribs.Not the fact that Clarissa Wren—dead, buried, forgotten—was still pulling our strings like we were marionettes stitched together in her lab.I took a step back. Then another."So what, are we now an experiment now? Is that what we are now?”Ethan’s jaw clenched. "Sophia, you're not some experiment." "But you are?"
—Ethan’s POVI don't think she's after revenge. She’s after succession.Sophia was very correct, and that hit me like my father’s voice was coming back through the pages of that damned journal, I've kept for so many years. Clarissa didn’t want to destroy the family name.She wanted to rewire it.Rewrite it in her own ink.My ink.Our child.I closed the journal slowly, feeling every second thicken around me. Sophia leaned into me, her body trembling, but her grip on my arm never faltered. That grip was what kept me steady—what kept me from exploding.“She’s been building this for decades,” I muttered. “Underneath everything. The companies. The foundations. The clinic. It was all just... grooming. Preparing.”Sophia nodded, her lips pale. “Preparing for what?”I looked at her, and in that moment, I saw it clear as blood on snow.“For the perfect heir.”She swallowed. “Our Son, Irene?.”I couldn’t breathe.Not because I was afraid.But because I could feel the storm finally turning i
—Sophia’s POV I couldn’t breathe. The voice on the phone was calm—too calm. Measured like a scalpel. And every word sliced deeper than the last. “I was paid… but not by Maurice. He’s just the face.” A pause. Then a slow inhale, like she was savoring this. “There’s someone else behind this. Someone who’s been planning it longer than any of you realize.” I swallowed. Hard. My throat burned. My fingers dug into the armrest as Ethan leaned closer, trying to catch the voice. “Who are you?” I asked again, this time sharper. Louder. “I used to work at the clinic,” she replied, soft. Almost nostalgic. “I handled records. Samples. It was supposed to be just another job—until I got an offer I couldn’t refuse.” My heart pounded. “You… you were the one who switched the donor?” She chuckled. “Sweetheart, I did more than switch the donor. I buried the real paperwork. Scrambled the files. Do you really think a place like that doesn’t have a backup plan?” I pressed the ph
—Sophia’s POV And then— The doorbell rang. Three sharp chimes. Not frantic. Not hesitant. Calculated. Ethan didn’t move. Neither did I. But something inside me cracked. A thread pulled too tight for too long. Snapped. I stood. My knees didn’t feel like they were mine, but I walked anyway. Down the hall. Past the framed photos Ethan had never hung. Past the quiet portraits of a life we were barely holding onto. Ethan reached the door first. He didn’t ask who it was. He already knew. He pulled it open. And there she stood. Ivory. In black. Always black. Like grief she never had to feel. Like poison that knew it was beautiful. Behind her, two lawyers. And just over Ivory’s shoulder… Luna. In white. Pregnant. Except—she wasn’t. Not really. But the bump beneath her coat was too deliberate. Too round. Too planned. “You’ve got five seconds to walk away,” Ethan said. Ivory smiled like it was a compliment. “I’d reconsider threats, Julian,” s