Chapter 133

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the bedroom. Sophia stirred, blinking against the light as memories of last night flooded back.

Liam had cried himself to sleep in her arms.

She sat up, running a hand through her tangled hair. The weight of everything pressed down on her—Ethan’s betrayal, the threats, the fear gnawing at her sanity.

But she couldn’t afford to break. Not now.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," she called, her voice rough from lack of sleep.

The door creaked open, and Isabella stepped inside, holding two steaming mugs. "Thought you could use this."

Sophia accepted the coffee, the warmth seeping into her fingers. "Thanks."

Isabella studied her, concern etched in her features. "You look like hell."

Sophia snorted. "Feel like it too."

Silence stretched between them before Isabella sighed. "Nathan called. He’s on his way."

Sophia’s grip tightened around the mug. "Did he find anything?"

Isabella shook her head. "Not yet. But he’s not giving up."

Sophia exhaled shakily. She needed answers. Needed to know who was behind this.

Because one thing was certain—this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

Downstairs, the front door slammed shut. Heavy footsteps echoed through the house.

Sophia tensed.

Then Liam’s excited voice rang out. "Uncle Sebastian!"

Relief washed over her. At least someone was safe.

For now.

Pain flickers in her eyes, but I feel nothing. She's inflicted wounds on me for decades. This moment is nothing compared to the torment she and her family put me through.

Honestly, I don’t understand why she looks wounded. The only reason she’s here is to salvage what’s left of their crumbling empire.

"You really think that’s why I came?" Her voice trembles. "That I’d only apologize to save the company? But I suppose I deserve that. My own actions made you distrust me."

It’s surreal. The woman before me isn’t the same one who once screamed at me for minor mistakes, who treated me like I was invisible. We’ve never shared a real conversation, and now, hearing her spill her heart out feels… unsettling.

"I want your forgiveness, Sophia. I want to be the mother I never was. To rebuild what I destroyed. To earn back the love I carelessly discarded."

I exhale sharply. "Let’s be clear—you’re not my mother. The DNA test in my drawer proves that. Second, that chance died years ago. Us being close? Impossible. And lastly, I don’t want you in my life. In fact, I’d prefer if you and your children went back to pretending I don’t exist. You managed it for thirty years—it shouldn’t be hard."

Some might call me ungrateful. Maybe I am. They gave me material things, but never love. Knowing what I know now, I’d have rather grown up in an orphanage.

"Please," she whispers, her voice breaking. "Don’t say it’s too late."

"But it is. You’re decades too late."

She wipes her tears, resolve hardening her expression. "I won’t give up on you. You’re still my daughter, and I’ll do whatever it takes to win you back."

I massage my temples, a headache already forming.

I don’t respond as she stands. I don’t look up. Let her live in her delusions. Nothing will change my mind. She killed any love I had for her long ago, and that won’t change.

"Before I go…" She hesitates. "Your father wanted you to have this before he died. I just never…"

I don’t acknowledge her. She sighs and sets something on the table.

Only when she’s gone do I glance at what she left.

A single sheet of paper.

With bloodied fingerprints.

It takes me a full five minutes to realize—this is the same document I saw my father hand her before his surgery.