All Chapters of A Twist of Fate with the Callous Billionaire : Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

—Sophia’s POVIt was late.Not the kind of late you can count. Not minutes ticking or hours dragging.This kind of late settled in your bones. Heavy. Still. The kind of late that made everything feel like an afterthought.Ethan was pacing on the balcony again. Shadow carved sharp against the pale of the moonlight.One hand in his coat pocket, the other clenching and unclenching like it wanted to hit something but didn’t know what.“Irene’s asleep,” I said quietly, holding the baby monitor close like it might protect me from what I already knew.He didn’t stop.Didn’t turn.Didn’t speak.“I said—”“I heard you, Aria.”I froze.That name.He hadn’t used it in months.It used to mean beginning. Now it meant something was unraveling again.“You’re angry,” I said.“No.”That one syllable felt like it weighed more than the air between us.“I know when you are.”He turned then. Finally.And I wished he hadn’t.Not because of what I saw, but because of what I felt.The way grief and fury sat

—Sophia's POVMorning didn’t arrive.It dragged.The kind of morning that doesn’t rise—it pulls you under.I woke with Ethan’s jacket draped over me. Warm. Worn. His scent still clinging to the collar like it had somewhere to stay.Between us, the boy—our boy—was curled in sleep. Breath shallow. Chest steady.No whimpers. No cries. Just… stillness.And that stillness hurt.Ethan sat across the room, elbows braced on his knees, hands knotted. He looked like he’d fought the night and lost, but refused to admit it.I pulled myself upright. Every bone in me ached.“He looks like you,” I whispered.He didn’t move.His voice came flat. Tired.“You say that like it’s supposed to make me feel better.”I ran a finger gently through the boy’s hair.“Doesn’t it?”Ethan stood. Shoulders taut. His mouth set in that line he wore when he was thinking too much and trusting too little.“It confirms what I feared,” he said. “They didn’t just take from us. They tried to build us. Rewrite us. Twist every

— Ethan's POV —Irene wouldn’t stop crying.Her tiny fists flailed in the warm room, her cheeks blotched red, breath hiccupping in panicked gasps. She wasn’t hurt. She wasn’t hungry. But something in her eyes…something shook me. That same look I saw in the mirror at eight years old when my world shattered and no one came to fix it.I didn’t know how to hold her right. My arms were stiff, mechanical. Sophia gently reached and adjusted my elbow, her voice low."Support her neck more. She’s… she’s just scared. We all are."Irene nestled closer to my chest, finally letting out a trembling sigh, her cries softening into little whimpers. My throat burned.I looked at Sophia. Her lashes were damp, her lips parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. She hadn’t said much since we buried the boy—Subject A‑17. My blood, but not my child. A clone? A stolen incarnation? Whatever he was… he died protecting Irene. Protecting us.The air between us crackled with a pain we

— Sophia’s POVI sensed it before I heard it, the heavy, suffocating silence, like even the sky had paused to listen.Ethan hadn’t spoken since last night. Not after that phone call. Not after Maurice’s voice slipped through the door.I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping, promise. But when Ethan froze, jaw tight, eyes squeezed shut, it pulled me in, unbidden."Irene is more valuable than you realize, Julian. She carries your blood. And blood... opens doors," Maurice had said.Ethan didn't argue. Just ended the call, set the phone down gently, and left without looking back.Now I stood beside Irene’s crib, brushing a soft curl from her forehead. She sighed in her sleep, delicate and perfect—and it ripped something open inside me.She’s everything. To both of us.But today, she stirred something darker. A question I wasn’t ready to voice: Why does she feel like a battleground?Ethan didn’t come to bed. I waited, too stupidly hopeful. I would have handled the silence, but this felt diff

—Sophia’s POV Ethan still stood by the window, even long after I returned to bed. Sleep was far from my eyes, I just took my gaze up, scanning every line in the ceiling, like I knew what every line meant. Every tiny noise in the wood, every rustle from outside, felt like a warning. It was like a whisper that the past wasn't finished with us yet.I paid attention to Irene’s breathing, shallow, steady, fragile, and I pressed a hand to his chest just to feel it rise. Just to convince myself that my child was still here.He was still ours, no matter how much they tried to take him away. He was still safe, safe with us. But safety was temporary, wasn't it? A borrowed thing.I slid out from the sheets quietly, wrapping Ethan’s oversized sweater around me, and padded barefoot across the wooden floor. He didn’t move when I stood behind him. He didn’t speak. He just stood, he was still, unreadable as always. “You haven’t blinked in five minutes,” I murmured.He gave a small, dry laug