All Chapters of Billionaire Contract Marriage: Her Quest : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

David didn't sleep that night either. Sophia found him near dawn, sitting alone on the balcony despite the chill, the message from the unknown number still open on his phone screen where he'd apparently read it more times than either of them wanted to count. "You didn't wake me," she said, sitting beside him. "I didn't want you to see me like this." He didn't look up. "Furious at a man I barely remember. Furious at my mother for not asking more questions twenty years ago. Furious at myself for not being angry enough to hate him properly, because some stupid part of me still remembers him carrying me on his shoulders before he left." "You're allowed to feel all of that at once," Sophia said. "I've spent twenty years learning that grief doesn't organize itself into neat categories just because we need it to." He finally looked at her, and something in his expression cracked slightly, the careful composure he'd carried through every threat and every ambush finally showing its seams.

Chen arrived by seven the next morning, looking like he hadn't slept much better than they had, a folder tucked under his arm and the particular weariness of a man who'd spent the night chasing down records nobody had touched in twenty years. "The payphone's gone," he said without preamble, setting the folder on the kitchen island. "Removed years ago, along with most of the public phones in that area once cell coverage became standard. But the phone company still keeps archived call logs, even for decommissioned lines, if you know which department to ask and how patient you're willing to be at six in the morning." "And?" David asked, already reaching for the folder. "And there's a record. Call placed at 11:47 p.m. on the night of the accident, lasting fifty-two seconds. No name attached, obviously—payphones don't require identification. But the call was traced to a general location, cross-referenced against cell tower pings from any phones active in the area that night, back when yo

The garage lead went nowhere fast enough to satisfy either of them—Chen confirmed the vehicle's insurance had lapsed eighteen months ago, the registration reverting to an inactive status with no forwarding address, another door that opened onto another locked room. But it was a door, at least, close enough to home that David insisted on walking past the building himself every few days, as though proximity alone might shake something loose. Sophia let him have that. She had her own battles to fight, and one of them arrived in the form of a gala invitation she couldn't decline without drawing more attention than accepting it would. The Ashford Foundation's annual benefit had been scheduled months before any of this began, back when Sophia's biggest concern had been seating arrangements and a keynote speech about corporate philanthropy. Now it felt almost absurd—black tie and champagne while a killer watched from somewhere she couldn't see. But cancelling would look like fear, and fear

By nightfall, Evelyn's house had two unmarked patrol cars stationed on the street and a private security detail David had hired within the hour, over his mother's mild protests that it was "unnecessary" and "expensive" and "not something we've ever needed before." "We've never needed a lot of things before this week," David told her, gently but firmly, and Evelyn, watching Emma pace anxiously near the window despite trying to hide it, didn't argue further. Back at the penthouse, David paced a different kind of circle, one that had nothing to do with physical space and everything to do with the argument he and Sophia had been circling since Chen left an hour earlier. "I want a security detail on you too," he said. "Not optional. Not something we discuss and table for later." "I already have security," Sophia said. "I've had a detail since I was twenty-one." "A driver and a rotating lobby guard isn't the same as protection, Sophia, and you know it." His voice carried none of the ear

Forensics moved faster than Sophia expected, though the wait still felt endless, two days of half-answers and preliminary reports before Chen finally arrived at the penthouse with results that made his usual composure crack slightly at the edges. "We have a match," he said, setting his laptop on the kitchen island without his usual preamble. "DNA database hit. Not a direct suspect profile—this isn't someone with a criminal record on file. It's a familial match, run against a missing persons case that's been sitting cold for over two decades." Sophia felt her pulse quicken. "Whose blood was it?" Chen pulled up a photograph, old and slightly yellowed with age, a scanned copy of what looked like an employee badge photo—a man in his forties, weathered face, tired eyes, the particular look of someone who'd spent his life doing work that aged him faster than the calendar allowed. "His name was Walter Briggs," Chen said. "Mechanic. Worked at a private garage that serviced vehicles for sev