Scared he'll snap out of it any second.

In a bar that had shut down early for the night.

Sophia lounged on the booth's sofa, her long legs crossed and swaying lightly to the beat of the music, giving off this effortless allure.

Her right hand cradled a glass of red wine, her gaze hazy as she stared into the crimson swirl.

"You seem off tonight." Alyssa slid into the seat across from her.

Sophia lifted her head slow, those eyes carrying a tipsy glaze, her lips curving into a half-hearted smile.

"Can't tell? I'm drowning my sorrows here."

Alyssa teased, "Well, look at you, Miss Moneybags with actual problems."

Sophia shot her a sidelong glance, half-laughing at herself. "Moneybags? Please. I'm just a pretty little bird begging for scraps with my palm up."

Alyssa figured it was all drama and pulled a slim cigarette from her pack, lighting it up and taking a deep drag before blowing out slow.

"You're moping? Girl, half the world would kill for your setup—kid, cash, and zero hubby duties. Total dream life."

Sophia took a sip of her wine. "Ethan's back."

"Huh?" Alyssa straightened up fast. "Wasn't he the one who went down in that plane crash three years ago?"

The Blackwood family hadn't gone public with Ethan's return yet.

They'd probably wait till he settled in, then throw a press conference for the big reveal.

So the world at large still thought he was gone for good.

Sophia's fingertip traced the rim of her glass, her voice flat as a board.

"Some fishing folks pulled him out—a dad and his daughter. He holed up on Sunset Island for three years. Showed up two days ago."

It was a bombshell packed into one line, and Alyssa chewed on it for a few seconds.

"For real?"

"Would I make up something this wild?"

Sure, she was a pro at spinning yarns, but she didn't pull that on Alyssa much.

Alyssa let out a low whistle. "Damn, guy's got nine lives. Survives a crash like that?"

"But if he made it, why wait three years to crawl back?"

That part didn't sit right with her.

"He bashed his head pretty good. Amnesia."

"Whoa, straight out of some cheesy rom-com." Alyssa cracked up.

"Wait, hold up. He loses his memory, and those two don't call the cops?"

Sophia swirled her wine, casual as ever.

"They figured he was some fugitive or illegal, too sketchy to risk it."

"So they dragged him home, patched him up, taught him the ropes—fishing, selling catches, woodworking. And boom, three years later..."

She ran through the basics she'd overheard at the Blackwood estate that day.

Alyssa sat there, jaw slack. "This story's got holes all over."

"Who hauls a potential criminal or border-jumper into their house?"

"My bet? They just wanted a strong back for the grunt work."

Sophia let out a soft chuckle. "Bingo. Same as what I figured."

"So it's legit?" Alyssa's face was pure shock.

Sophia shrugged. "Beats me. Ethan clams up whenever anyone pokes at those three years."

"Probably too rough to relive." Alyssa shook her head. "Your fancy hubby sounds kinda tragic, honestly."

Tragic?

Sophia brushed it off.

From Ethan's shoes, yeah, it sucked.

Golden boy slumming it in the sticks for three years.

But sympathy from her? Not a drop.

She was her own walking pity party—what right did she have to feel bad for some trust-fund prince?

Besides, none of his mess was on her.

"He's not my hubby anymore, so his sob story's not my problem."

Alyssa shot back, "You've got a kid together. What's that if not married life?"

"Huge difference, and that's exactly why I'm here knocking back drinks with you."

"You know the deal with Buddy. Ethan and I? Zero spark."

Her mind drifted back to three years ago, right there in the executive suite at Blackwood Group.

Sophia rested a hand on her belly. "Mr. Blackwood, I'm pregnant. It's yours."

Her voice shook just enough.

The room went dead still.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, all lazy, those dark eyes boring into her like he could see straight through.

"Get rid of it." His tone was cool, no feeling at all.

"What?" Sophia stared at him, stunned. "You don't want our baby?"

"Our baby?" A mocking smirk tugged at Ethan's mouth. "I'd have to take your word for that."

"You schemed your way in close, and those moves? Not exactly amateur hour. Bet you've run that playbook plenty."

Sophia's hands balled into fists. "You know damn well that night was my first time."

Ethan arched a brow, dripping disdain. "Yeah? Those can get fixed with a little surgery."

"I didn't. You're the only one—the first and the last. I swear it."

"Oh? Lucky me, then." He rose slow, closing the distance.

"But that doesn't change a thing. You're still terminating."

Sophia stumbled back a few steps. "You can't be this heartless."

"Why not?" Ethan gripped her chin hard, like he meant to crush the bone.

"It hurts."

Sophia clawed at his wrist, fighting to pry him loose, but he didn't budge an inch.

"Listen up." He leaned in, voice like ice. "Nine a.m. tomorrow. I've got someone lined up for the procedure."

Sophia's face drained white, her plea cracking with tears. "Can we wait? I'm not ready."

He tightened his hold. "The second you set your sights on me, you knew how this ended."

"The Blackwood bloodline isn't for just anyone to touch."

He let go, leaving her to crumple to the floor.

He yanked out his checkbook, scribbled a figure, tore it off, and flicked it at her face.

The paper was feather-light, but it stung like a slap.

It fluttered down, bold numbers staring up: five hundred thousand dollars.

Sophia's pupils shrank, her heart slamming, eyes glued to it.

Ethan caught her stare and sneered harder.

"Don't say I didn't warn you—if you try sneaking this kid into the world..."

His whisper was soft, but it chilled to the bone. "I've got ways to make you pay."

Sophia clenched her fist, then released, stooping to snatch the check. Her voice evened out.

"Mr. Blackwood, don't worry. I'll be there." She tucked the check carefully into her bag. "Thanks for the generosity."

Back in the now, Sophia glanced at her friend across the table.

"I took the money back then, figured I'd go through with it. But I couldn't. Kept the baby, planned to raise him solo."

Ethan's genes were top-shelf, and she craved family— that little one in her belly became her one shot at it.

First time she didn't see the kid as leverage.

"But then Ethan crashes, and I pivot—show up at the Blackwoods big as a house."

"Now he's home, and I'm back to walking on eggshells, scared he'll snap out of it any second."