Chapter 155
The moment Sophia stepped into the dimly lit corridor of the abandoned warehouse, her pulse spiked.
The air smelled of damp concrete and rusted metal.
Every instinct screamed at her to turn back, but she couldn’t—not when Liam’s life was on the line.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
A single message from an unknown number: "You’re late."
Sophia clenched her jaw.
She had followed every instruction—no police, no backup, no hesitation.
Yet, the game had already changed.
Footsteps echoed ahead.
A shadow shifted in the darkness.
Then, a familiar voice slithered through the silence.
"Did you really think it would be that easy?"
Sophia froze.
That voice—she knew it.
But it couldn’t be.
Not after all this time.
The figure stepped into the flickering light.
Her breath hitched.
It was him.
The man she had buried years ago.
Ethan Blackwood smirked, his cold eyes locking onto hers.
"Surprise, darling."
Sophia’s hands trembled.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
This wasn’t possible.
Yet here he stood, alive and breathing.
And behind him—
Liam, bound and gagged, his terrified gaze meeting hers.
Sophia’s heart shattered.
Ethan tilted his head, savoring her shock.
"Now," he murmured, "let’s talk about what you owe me."
The walls seemed to close in.
She had walked into a trap.
And this time, there was no escape.
The shop assistant beams at us, gesturing toward the back. "Right this way. I'm Genevieve, and we just got in some stunning maternity exclusives I think your wife will adore."
Before I can correct her assumption, Ethan grabs my wrist and tugs me along like an obedient pet, trailing behind Genevieve into the boutique.
She seats us on a plush velvet sofa before disappearing. The moment she's gone, I whirl on Ethan, fury simmering beneath my skin.
"What the hell was that?" I hiss, my voice trembling with barely restrained rage.
He leans back, the picture of indifference, before lazily countering, "What was what?"
"Don't play stupid!" My nails dig into my palms. "Since when am I your wife? Or did you conveniently forget we're divorced? Or that you're dating Isabella now?"
"Here we are!" Genevieve chirps, reappearing with an armful of garments.
I glare at the poor woman, my irritation misplaced but uncontrollable—Ethan had lit the fuse, and now everything was catching fire.
"How about this one first?" She holds up an elegant maxi dress, the fabric shimmering under the boutique lights.
Under normal circumstances, I would’ve marveled at how gorgeous it was. But right now? I was too busy trying not to combust.
"Go try it on," Ethan orders, completely unfazed by the tension thickening the air.
Snatching the dress, I storm toward the fitting rooms. If he thought I was going to model for him like some obedient doll, he had another thing coming.
Inside, I strip out of my clothes and slip into the dress. The second I catch my reflection, my anger evaporates.
Damn.
The dress hugged every curve perfectly, accentuating my growing bump in a way that made me feel radiant. Decision made—I was buying it.
Genevieve hands me a sundress next, and just like the first, it fits like a dream. Their maternity line was flawless, designed to make expectant women feel like goddesses.
I’m about to try on a pair of jeans when the door creaks open.
The shift in energy tells me instantly—it’s not Genevieve.
I freeze, locking eyes with Ethan in the mirror. He’s holding a sapphire-blue blouse, his gaze darkening as it trails over me.
"What the hell, Ethan?" I whisper-yell, twisting to face him while desperately trying to cover myself. My bra barely contained my fuller chest—another reminder I needed proper maternity lingerie.
He doesn’t speak. His eyes roam over me like a physical touch, slow and deliberate, making my skin prickle.
Grabbing the nearest dress, I use it as a shield.
Then he drops the blouse.
And steps forward.
Before I can react, he cages me between his body and the mirror, one hand braced beside my head. My breath hitches, panic fluttering in my chest.
His fingers trace my lips, then my throat, before dipping lower.
"They’re fuller than I remember," he murmurs, voice rough with something I refuse to name.
"Back off," I demand weakly.
Ignoring me, his hand drifts downward, pushing the dress aside to press against my bump.
I stop breathing.
His doesn’t.
When our eyes meet, I see it—undeniable, blazing hunger. The kind he’d never directed at me before.
My mind short-circuits.
His head dips.
I shove him back before his lips can claim mine.
The force snaps him out of whatever trance he was in. He blinks, shaking his head as if clearing fog.
I’m panting, my thoughts a chaotic whirlwind.
"Sophia—" he starts, voice strained.
"Not another word," I snarl, yanking my clothes on and bolting past him.
I loved the clothes.
But I’d be damned before spending another second near him.
Minutes later, I’m in my car, speeding away from the mall. My hands grip the wheel, knuckles white.
What the hell was that?
Ethan had never looked at me like that.
So why did it seem like he wanted nothing more than to take me right there against the mirror?