Chapter 156

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.

Liam.

Just the thought of her son lying unconscious in that hospital bed made her stomach twist.

She rounded the corner and nearly collided with Ethan Blackwood.

His dark eyes were stormy, jaw clenched tight.

"You're late," he bit out, voice low and rough.

Sophia swallowed hard. "Traffic was—"

"I don’t care." He cut her off, stepping closer. "He’s been asking for you."

Her breath hitched.

Before she could respond, a nurse—Charlotte—emerged from Liam’s room, her expression unreadable.

"Mrs. Blackwood," she said softly. "He’s awake."

Sophia didn’t wait.

She pushed past Ethan, her heels clicking against the linoleum as she rushed inside.

Liam lay propped up against the pillows, his small face pale but alert.

"Mom?" His voice was weak, but it was his voice.

Tears blurred her vision as she hurried to his side, cupping his face in her hands.

"I’m here, baby. I’m right here."

Behind her, she felt Ethan’s presence like a shadow, heavy and unyielding.

She didn’t turn.

Not when Liam’s fingers curled around hers, his grip fragile but determined.

Not when he whispered, "I had a bad dream."

And certainly not when Ethan’s voice, cold and measured, cut through the moment.

"We need to talk."

Sophia stiffened.

She knew that tone.

It never meant anything good.

Damn it!

My eyes track Sophia's frantic escape from the boutique. Every muscle in my body tenses with the urge to chase after her, but I know I've crossed a line. A fucking massive one.

The terror in her gaze should've snapped me out of it. But I wasn't just entranced—I was consumed. The second I saw her nearly bare skin, my brain short-circuited.

I hadn’t even registered moving until she shoved me away. Until I realized I’d backed her into that corner like some starved predator.

She was my wife. Ex-wife, technically. Yet I’d seen her naked a hundred times before without losing control like this. Something about today—the way the lace clung to her curves, the hitch in her breath when our eyes locked—it unraveled me.

Our sex life had been… functional. But I’d always held part of myself back. Back then, my heart still belonged to Isabella. Every time I touched Sophia, guilt curdled in my stomach. The first year of our marriage? I’d drown it in whiskey afterward, disgusted with myself. Eventually, I learned to compartmentalize. To take what my body needed while locking the shame away.

I never cheated. Not once. My parents’ toxic marriage had branded fidelity into my bones. Even when temptation whispered, I walked away.

Now?

Now I’m gripping my hair so hard my scalp burns. The ferocity of my desire minutes ago nearly dropped me to my knees.

Her body—Christ—those sinful thighs, the dip of her waist… I can still taste the fantasy of pushing aside that scrap of lace and—

Fuck.

I’m rock-hard just remembering. Harder than I’ve ever been in my goddamn life. And it terrifies me.

Snarling, I bolt from the dressing room. I need air. Need to outrun the hunger still clawing at my veins.

Malls aren’t my scene—I have tailors for that. But Rosalind ordered some toy for Liam online, insisted I collect it.

Then I spotted Sophia.

Parked near the exit, I caught her fidgeting by the storefront. Nervous. Secretive. Curiosity hooked me. Now? Now I wish I’d driven straight past.

The car door slams as I peel out of the lot. Parents’ house. Booze. That’s the plan.

I make record time. Snatch the toy from the passenger seat. My jaw aches from clenching it.

“Finally.” Rosalind glances up from her tablet. “Did you get the—”

I thrust the package at her.

Mothers always know.

“Ethan.” Her voice sharpens. “What’s wrong?”

For one reckless second, I consider confessing. How do I say it? That the woman we vilified for years now haunts my every thought? That if Sophia hadn’t shoved me off, I’d have taken her right there against the mirror? That I’d have carried her home and spent hours making up for every time I held back?

“Is this about the article?” she interrupts.

“What article?”

She taps her screen, then hands it over. My vision tunnels on the headline:

[ETHAN BLACKWOOD SPOTTED WITH EX-WIFE SOPHIA STERLING AT LUXURY BABY STORE! RECONCILING FOR BABY #2? INSIDERS CLAIM SHE’S ALREADY PREGNANT—BUT HOW, WHEN THEY DIVORCED MONTHS AGO?]

The phone creaks in my grip. Only four people knew about that pregnancy.

Sophia’s going to lose it.

I’m dialing my PR team before the screen goes dark.