Chapter 117
The moment Sophia stepped into the dimly lit hospital corridor, her pulse quickened.
The sterile scent of antiseptic filled her nostrils, sharp and unforgiving.
Her fingers trembled as she clutched the strap of her purse, her knuckles turning white.
She had been here before—too many times.
Each visit had carved another scar into her heart.
This time, she wasn’t sure she could survive another blow.
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed behind her.
She turned to see Ethan Blackwood striding toward her, his expression unreadable.
His dark eyes flickered with something she couldn’t decipher—anger? Fear?
She swallowed hard.
"Liam?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
"He’s stable," he said tersely.
Relief washed over her, but it was short-lived.
Ethan’s next words sent a chill down her spine.
"But we need to talk."
Sophia’s stomach twisted.
She had heard those words before—right before her world shattered.
Ethan motioned toward an empty waiting room.
She followed, her legs like lead.
The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in suffocating silence.
Ethan turned to face her, his gaze piercing.
"Someone tried to take him," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
Sophia’s breath hitched.
"What?"
Ethan’s expression darkened.
"A man was seen lurking near his school. He had a photo of Liam in his pocket."
Sophia’s blood ran cold.
Her mind raced, scrambling for answers.
Who would do this?
Why?
Ethan stepped closer, his presence overwhelming.
"This isn’t a coincidence," he said, his voice like steel.
Sophia’s heart pounded.
She knew what he was implying.
This was personal.
And if Ethan was right, the danger was far from over.
The air between them crackled with tension.
Sophia clenched her fists.
She wouldn’t lose Liam.
Not again.
Not ever.
Ethan’s phone buzzed, breaking the silence.
He glanced at the screen, his expression hardening further.
"They found him," he said.
Sophia’s pulse spiked.
"Where?"
Ethan’s eyes met hers, dark and unyielding.
"At the docks."
Sophia’s stomach dropped.
The docks.
Where it had all begun.
Where blood had been spilled.
Where secrets had been buried.
And now, it seemed, those secrets were coming back to haunt them.
Ethan’s voice was grim.
"We need to go. Now."
Sophia didn’t hesitate.
She followed him out the door, her mind racing.
One thing was certain—this wasn’t over.
And whoever was behind this would regret ever targeting her son.
"That's impossible. Isabella would never do something like this." Nathan defends his sister fiercely.
Sure, he was furious with her, but at the end of the day, she was still his little sister. He would stand by her no matter what.
"Son, in my line of work, nothing is impossible," Gregory states flatly.
He pulls out a notepad and jots something down, pausing only briefly before looking back up at us.
"But seriously, Isabella wouldn’t hurt Sophia—yes, they don’t get along, but she’d never go that far," Nathan insists, while the rest of us remain silent.
I want to believe Isabella is innocent, but I’m not so sure anymore. The woman who returned months ago isn’t the same one who left years ago.
She’s consumed by rage and resentment toward Sophia. Enough to threaten a child and fabricate vicious lies just to destroy her.
"I’m not saying she did it. I’m just stating she’s a suspect," Gregory clarifies. "Hatred and anger are powerful motives for murder, especially revenge. And let’s not forget—Sophia was shot less than three weeks after exposing Isabella’s biggest secret. The one she fought so hard to keep hidden."
The evidence points straight at Isabella. She’s the only one who’s had a recent, explosive fallout with Sophia. Given their toxic history, it’s easy to imagine her snapping and hiring a hitman.
I glance at Nathan. He looks like he’s been struck by lightning. Regret flashes in his eyes—he wishes he’d kept his mouth shut, because he might have just implicated his sister.
"What about Damien Slade?" I ask, remembering he had targeted both Sophia and Isabella.
"I considered him," Gregory admits. "But something feels off. His vendetta is against you, Ethan. Sure, he kidnapped Sophia and Isabella, but according to his men, he was just toying with you. He never intended to kill Sophia—in fact, he explicitly ordered his men not to lay a finger on her, or he’d slit their throats."
That revelation catches me off guard, though I keep my expression neutral.
"Strange," I mutter, frowning.
"Very. Even stranger? The man who shot Sophia died in prison under mysterious circumstances," Gregory adds. "Anyway, like I said—his target is you. Always has been. If he ever gets his revenge, he’ll either kill you or destroy your empire."
Sebastian and I scoff in unison. The bastard can try, but he won’t succeed. Plenty have tried—hell, even the Prescotts failed. As for killing me? We’ll see about that.
"So you really don’t think it was him?" Eleanor asks softly.
"No. Whoever shot Sophia had a personal grudge. A deep one. The way they fired—it was personal. Damien has no reason to hate Sophia like that."
He confirms what I already suspected. The shooter wanted Sophia dead. That’s why they fired multiple times—to ensure she didn’t survive.
"What about the SUV’s license plate?" Alexander looks like he’s aged a decade in the last few hours.
"Nothing. The plate was removed. All we know is it was black," Gregory sighs. "And there are thousands of black SUVs in this city."
Silence falls over us, each lost in our own thoughts. My mind is a chaotic mess, barely able to focus.
I push it all aside. Right now, Sophia’s recovery is all that matters. I’ll deal with her would-be killer later.
"Alright, I’ll head back to the station," Gregory says, breaking the silence. "For now, keep her survival quiet. The last thing we need is the shooter returning to finish the job. I’ll post two officers outside her room, just in case."
I nod, and Sebastian escorts him out.
"I’ll contact our people. You reach out to yours," Alexander says. "Let’s make sure no one finds out she’s alive until she’s out of danger."
"Agreed."
I pull out my phone and start making calls.
This is going to be one hell of a long night.
I jolt awake as someone taps my shoulder.
Damn it. I must’ve fallen asleep in an awkward position because my neck and back are screaming in protest.
Blinking, I realize it’s already morning. An older nurse stands over me, smiling warmly.
"Good morning, Mr. Blackwood. I’m Florence—I’ll be Miss Sophia’s nurse today."
I attempt a smile, though it probably looks more like a grimace.
"Call me Ethan."
Glancing at Sophia’s door, I see the two officers still stationed outside. At some point during the night, we were moved to the ICU waiting area.
"Of course. Is there anything I can get you?" she asks kindly.
"No, thank you," I say, though my stomach growls in protest. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. "When can we see Sophia and the baby?"
She checks her watch. "In about two hours, when visiting hours begin."
I thank her, and as she leaves, the others begin stirring. Confusion flickers across their faces before yesterday’s horrors come rushing back.
"What did the nurse say?" Eleanor asks.
"Just introducing herself as Sophia’s nurse," I mumble.
My thoughts are scrambled, and exhaustion weighs me down. Maybe I should’ve asked for coffee. Or food.
"Did she say when we could see them?"
Before I can answer, movement at the entrance catches my eye. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, but it takes a second for my brain to process.
When recognition hits, my entire body tenses.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
What the hell is Damien Slade doing here?