Chapter 171

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the bedroom. Sophia stirred, her body still heavy with sleep.

She reached out instinctively, but the other side of the bed was cold.

Ethan had already left.

Again.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. The distance between them had grown wider than ever, and she wasn’t sure how to bridge it.

Downstairs, Liam was already at the breakfast table, his small hands gripping a spoon as he shoveled cereal into his mouth. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

"Mommy!"

The sound of his voice eased the tension in her chest. She forced a smile and ruffled his hair.

"Morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"

He nodded enthusiastically, milk dribbling down his chin.

Sophia grabbed a napkin and wiped his face, her heart aching. She wished things were simpler.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. A message from Daniel.

"We need to talk."

Her stomach twisted.

She had been avoiding him since the incident at the hospital. The guilt gnawed at her, but she wasn’t ready to face him. Not yet.

The doorbell rang.

Liam perked up. "Is it Daddy?"

Sophia hesitated. Ethan wouldn’t ring the doorbell.

She walked to the door and peered through the peephole.

Her breath caught.

It wasn’t Ethan.

It was Sebastian.

Dressed in a sharp black suit, his expression unreadable.

Her fingers trembled as she unlocked the door.

"Sebastian? What are you doing here?"

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his gaze sweeping over the house before landing on her.

"We have a problem."

Sophia’s pulse spiked.

"What kind of problem?"

Sebastian’s jaw tightened.

"Ethan’s in trouble."

The words hit her like a physical blow.

She gripped the doorframe to steady herself.

"What happened?"

Sebastian’s eyes darkened.

"He’s missing."

My pulse skyrockets as terror claws at my throat.

I shake Isabella, but her body sways limply. My arms shoot out just in time to catch her before she hits the dirt. Swiveling her carefully, I cradle her head against my lap. "Isabella?" I murmur, but she doesn’t stir.

My fingers tremble as I press them to her wrist, dreading the absence of a heartbeat. A ragged breath escapes me when I feel the faint rhythm beneath her skin. Weak, but there. Thank God.

Tears blur my vision. We were trapped. Isabella was bleeding out. I was exhausted, battered, and surrounded by enemies.

The tears spill over. I don’t bother wiping them away. I was so damn tired of this—of running, of fighting, of never catching a break. All I wanted was peace. Was that too much to ask?

I keep my fingers on Isabella’s pulse, clinging to that steady thump like a lifeline. We might never be close, but I refused to let her die because of me.

"Well, well." A cruel voice cuts through the silence. "Done playing hide-and-seek? Or is your little friend already dead?"

My head snaps up. A hulking man leers down at us, his eyes gleaming with malice. In that instant, my entire life flashes before my eyes.

That bravado I’d felt earlier? Gone. Vanished. I wasn’t ready to die. Not like this.

"Please," I choke out as he raises his gun.

Logically, I knew he wouldn’t kill me. Damien needed us alive for his sick plan. But logic meant nothing when staring down the barrel of a gun.

He clicks off the safety, grinning. "Boss wants you breathing," he sneers. "Doesn’t mean I can’t make you wish you weren’t."

The pure sadism in his gaze chills me to the bone. This wasn’t just some hired thug. He enjoyed this.

I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for impact.

A gunshot rings out.

But no pain follows.

Confused, I blink my eyes open—and freeze.

Ethan stands over the man’s corpse like some dark avenger, smoke curling from his weapon.

"Ethan," I breathe, relief flooding me—until his gaze lands on Isabella’s unconscious form.

Shit.

I’d forgotten.

Now, I wasn’t sure which was worse: facing Damien’s men or Ethan’s wrath.

"She needs an ambulance," I rush out, voice barely audible. "She was shot. Lost consciousness a few minutes ago."

Silence.

His expression is granite, and that terrifies me more than any gun ever could. Because when Isabella wakes up and tells him she took a bullet meant for me?

I’m dead.

I glance between her pale face and Ethan’s stormy eyes. Rage radiates off him in waves.

As I watch the fury twist his features, Isabella’s words echo in my mind: We should’ve stayed in that damn room.

For once, I wished I’d listened.