Todos los capítulos de Never Meant to be Seen : Capítulo 131 - Capítulo 140

The room was already full when Isabelle and I walked in. Cameras lined the back wall, reporters filled nearly every seat, and the low murmur of conversation followed us across the floor like a warning that there was no turning back now. I had spent months answering questions I never wanted to answer, but this time I wasn't sitting in a courtroom defending myself—I was standing beside my sister to tell the world what happened to our mother.Isabelle reached for my hand before we sat down. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was steady. Mine wasn't quite as steady, and I wasn't ashamed of that.Behind us was a simple screen with one name displayed in black letters.MARGUERITE ASHWORTH.Nothing else.No family crest.No Alfie name.No Ashworth logo.Just hers.The moderator introduced us, then stepped away from the microphones. For a moment, the room became completely quiet, and I looked at Isabelle.She gave me a small nod.I leaned toward the microphone.“My name is Sofia.”There was a

The gallery was smaller than I had imagined it would be, which was exactly why I had chosen it. There were no flashing cameras outside, no reporters waiting by the entrance, and no giant photograph of my face beside the door. For the first time in my adult life, I was about to stand in a room full of people and let them look at something I had created without pretending to be anyone else. My name was printed on the invitation. Sofia. Nothing else. No Ashworth. No Alfie. No mention of the trial. No explanation of the conspiracy. Just my name. I stood near the entrance before the doors opened, looking at the paintings one last time. They hung across the white walls in different sizes, each one representing a different period of my life. Some were bright, some were dark, some were unfinished-looking even though I had deliberately left certain edges rough, and none of them had been chosen because they could be connected to the scandal. The gallery owner had asked me twice whethe

For a moment, I couldn't answer him. Not because I didn't know what I felt, but because I had spent so much of my life learning how to hide what I felt that honesty suddenly seemed more frightening than any lie I'd ever told. Arlo stood in front of me without pushing, waiting patiently while I tried to separate what I actually wanted from everything I had once been expected to want. I looked around the gallery. My paintings were still hanging on the walls. My name was printed beneath them. No borrowed identity. No family name. No story someone else had written for me. Just Sofia. Maybe that was why his question felt so different. He wasn't asking what Isabelle would want. He wasn't asking what a witness should say. He wasn't asking what would make our lives easier. He was asking me. “You really want an honest answer?” Arlo nodded. “More than anything.” I took a breath. “I want you.” His expression changed, but he didn't interrupt. I continued before I could lose my

The moment my father and I were alone again, I looked from him to Arlo and back, trying to figure out what had happened while I was gone. They were both being far too quiet, and Arlo had that particular expression he wore whenever he was deliberately keeping something from me. My father, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself. “What did you two talk about?” I asked. My father lifted an eyebrow. “We talked.” “That is not an answer.” “It is technically an answer.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Dad.” Arlo tried to hide his smile, but I caught it anyway. That only made me more suspicious. “You're both acting strange,” I continued. “And considering my life, strange is not a word I enjoy hearing anymore.” My father laughed softly, then glanced at Arlo. There was something warm in his expression, something that made my suspicion shift into curiosity. “He didn't tell you?” “No.” I turned toward Arlo. “You didn't tell me?” “He said it was between us.” I stared at him. “

For the first time in my life, I didn't feel like I was standing inside someone else's story. I stood in the middle of the little studio Arlo had given me, surrounded by blank canvases and shelves of paint, and realized that every important part of my life was finally mine to decide. No one was waiting for me to become Isabelle, save a family name, protect a fortune, or prove that I deserved to be here. I walked slowly around the room, touching things as I passed them. The wooden table. The clean brushes. The unopened tubes of paint. The blank canvases stacked against the wall. Everything was waiting. And for once, I wasn't. I had spent so much of my life reacting to whatever came next that I had almost forgotten what it felt like to choose something simply because I wanted it. When I was younger, choices had often been about necessity. My father's health. Money. Survival. The impersonation contract. Then came Isabelle, Konstantin, the Alfie family, the court case, the i