Chapter 116

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the bedroom floor. Sophia stretched lazily, savoring the rare moment of peace.

Her phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand.

She reached for it, squinting at the screen. A message from Daniel.

"We need to talk. It's urgent."

Her stomach twisted. Daniel never used the word urgent lightly.

She typed a quick reply. "On my way."

Throwing on a sweater, she hurried downstairs. Liam was already at the breakfast table, munching on toast.

"Morning, Mom," he mumbled through a mouthful.

"Morning, sweetheart." She kissed his forehead. "I have to step out for a bit. Gabriella will take you to school."

Liam frowned. "Everything okay?"

She forced a smile. "Just adult stuff. Don’t worry."

The drive to the police station was tense. Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel.

Daniel was waiting outside, his expression grim.

"What’s going on?" she asked as soon as she stepped out of the car.

He exhaled sharply. "We found something. About Ethan."

Her breath hitched. "What?"

Daniel hesitated, then handed her a file. "He’s been making moves behind the scenes. Dangerous ones."

Sophia flipped it open. Her blood ran cold.

Surveillance photos. Bank transactions. A list of names she recognized—some from Ethan’s past, others from her own.

"This can’t be real," she whispered.

Daniel’s jaw tightened. "I wish it wasn’t."

She stared at the documents, her mind racing. Ethan had been playing a long game. And she’d walked right into it.

"We need to act fast," Daniel said. "Before he does."

Sophia nodded, her resolve hardening.

The game had changed. And this time, she wouldn’t be the one left in the dark.

The wind howled outside the abandoned warehouse. Ethan Blackwood stood in the shadows, his phone pressed to his ear.

"It’s done," he said quietly.

A chuckle echoed from the other end. "Good. Let’s see how she handles this."

Ethan smirked. "She won’t see it coming."

He ended the call, slipping the phone into his pocket.

The trap was set.

And Sophia was walking straight into it.

"What do you mean she's in a coma?" Ethan's voice cracks, raw with fear.

My heart hammers violently, threatening to break free from my chest. The world narrows to the doctor's words, each one a hammer blow. Time stretches, warps. A high-pitched ringing drowns out everything else.

I stagger back, collapsing into the chair I'd just left. Sebastian and William reach for me, but I shove them away. Comfort isn't what I need. I need the doctor to say the surgery worked. That Sophia will open her eyes soon.

"Four bullets," the doctor continues, his tone clinical. "One to the head, one to the chest, one to the abdomen, and one to the thigh. We removed three. The one in her skull... it was too deep. Extracting it would have killed her."

My stomach twists. A bullet lodged in her brain. How is that fair? This morning, she was fine. Alive. Smiling.

At least she's breathing, a voice whispers.

I shut it out. Breathing isn't enough. Will she wake up? That's the real question.

"We stabilized the bleeding—internal and external. Administered fluids to reduce brain swelling. She flatlined twice. After the second time, she slipped into a coma. She's in the ICU now."

If watching Sophia get shot was hell, this is worse. Knowing we almost lost her—twice—feels like being flayed alive. No one deserves this pain. Not even my worst enemy.

"Will she wake up?" My voice is hoarse. "Will she recover?"

"It's too early to say. This isn't medically induced. She could wake tomorrow, next week, next year... or never."

The possibility knocks the air from my lungs.

I force the thought away. No. She's strong. She'll wake up. In a few days, she'll be glaring at me, snapping like always.

"What about the bullet?" Eleanor asks, tears streaking her cheeks. "Will it affect her?"

I can't fathom her pain. Losing Liam? Unthinkable.

"Some patients live normally. Others face memory loss, speech issues, difficulty recognizing words or numbers. We won't know until she wakes."

If she wakes.

He doesn't say it, but it's there—in his eyes, in the silence.

Eleanor nods, fresh tears falling. Alexander pulls her close. The unshakable couple I know is gone, replaced by shattered parents.

"Visiting hours are over," the doctor says. "One visitor at a time tomorrow."

He leaves as Elizabeth returns with the boys.

Liam rushes to me while Oliver clings to Lucas.

"What did the doctor say? Is Mom okay?" Liam's eyes are wide, hopeful.

This is parenthood's cruelest test: truth or lie? Do I tell him the doctors aren't sure she'll wake? Or lie, pretend she's fine?

"They don't know yet, bud. We have to wait... and hope." Honesty wins. If I lie and the worst happens, he'll never forgive me.

He stares at the floor, silent.

After a moment, I turn to the others.

"You should all go home. Rest. Come back tomorrow."

"No," Natalie and Scarlett refuse in unison, echoed by Eleanor and Alexander.

I argue, but they won't budge. Only Elizabeth, Lucas, Victoria, and William leave—Liam can't stay, and Oliver is exhausted, worry etched on his small face.

Sebastian sits beside me. We don't speak.

Then Gregory arrives.

"Sorry I'm late. We were interviewing witnesses. How is she?"

I grit my teeth. "Coma."

His face falls. "Anything you can tell me? Threats? Suspicious activity?"

"Nothing."

He turns to Nathan. "When she called me, she sounded... off. Stressed. Not herself. I wondered if Gunner's situation triggered past trauma."

"Gunner?" Gregory frowns.

"Isabella's son. She hid him until Sophia uncovered the truth," Nathan explains.

Isabella stares at the ground.

"Why hide him?"

"She didn't want him—or us—in her life. Lucas and Oliver moved next to Sophia. She pieced it together."

Gregory's gaze sharpens. "How'd that go?"

"Badly. We gave her an ultimatum: fix this or we cut ties."

Gregory rubs his chin. I know that look. He's onto something.

"I see," he murmurs.

"See what?" Sebastian and I demand.

He meets our eyes. "I have a suspect."

Nathan stiffens. "Who?"

"Isabella."

The room erupts.

I study Gregory. From his angle, it makes sense. But is Isabella's hatred enough to order a hit?

That's the real question.