Chapter 172

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the bedroom. Sophia stretched lazily, her body still humming with the remnants of last night’s passion.

Ethan’s side of the bed was empty, but the lingering warmth told her he hadn’t been gone long.

She reached for her phone, scrolling through messages. One from Isabella stood out—urgent, demanding a call.

Before she could dial, the door creaked open.

Liam peeked in, his dark curls tousled from sleep. "Mom, can we have pancakes?"

Sophia smiled. "Of course, sweetheart. Give me ten minutes."

As she dressed, her mind wandered back to Ethan. The way he had looked at her last night—intense, possessive, as if she were the only woman in the world.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Downstairs, the scent of coffee filled the air. Ethan stood by the stove, flipping pancakes with effortless grace.

He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze smoldering. "Morning."

Her breath hitched. "Morning."

Liam tugged at her sleeve. "Mom, can we add chocolate chips?"

Ethan smirked. "Already did."

The domesticity of it all should have felt strange. But it didn’t.

Her phone buzzed again. Isabella.

Sophia excused herself, stepping onto the patio. The moment she answered, her sister’s frantic voice filled her ear.

"You need to come to the hospital. Now."

Her blood ran cold. "What happened?"

"It’s Dad. He collapsed."

The pancakes forgotten, Sophia grabbed her keys. Ethan was already at her side, his expression grim.

"I’ll drive."

The world blurred as they sped through the streets.

William Sterling lay in a hospital bed, pale and fragile. Victoria clutched his hand, her face streaked with tears.

Sophia’s knees nearly gave out. "Dad?"

His eyes fluttered open. "Sophia… I need to tell you something."

Her heart pounded.

"About your mother… and the night she died."

The room spun.

Ethan’s grip on her waist tightened, steadying her.

William’s voice was barely a whisper. "It wasn’t an accident."

The words hung in the air, heavy with decades of secrets.

Sophia’s vision tunneled.

Then everything went black.

The terror that gripped me when I saw that bastard pressing a gun to her temple was indescribable. Sophia trembled, tears streaking down her face. Her pleas for mercy echoed in my ears, but I knew he wouldn’t grant them.

When she closed her eyes—resigned to her fate—it nearly shattered me. If I hadn’t known she was exhausted, I would’ve kept the bastard alive just to make him suffer in ways he couldn’t imagine.

"She needs a doctor, Ethan," she whispered weakly as I dropped to my knees in front of her.

I had already texted Sebastian. The ambulance would arrive any minute. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about Isabella—I did. But Sophia came first.

Gently, I cupped her face. Her cheek was swollen, her eye already darkening with a bruise. A split lip marred her soft skin.

Rage coiled inside me at the thought of someone daring to hurt her.

"Who hit you?" My jaw clenched. "Was it Damian?"

She flinched when my fingers brushed her bruised cheek. Damn it. Her pain twisted something inside me. I wanted blood.

"It doesn’t matter," she murmured, trying to stand. "We need to get Isabella to a hospital."

I pressed her back down, ignoring her protest as I examined her. Her wrists were raw, her ankles swollen and bruised.

Every injury fueled my fury. She shouldn’t have suffered like this. Not now. Not ever. And definitely not while carrying my child.

"Ethan, are you even listening?" Her voice was strained with exhaustion.

"I heard you," I said. "The ambulance is coming. Now tell me who hurt you."

She exhaled shakily, sagging against the car.

"One of Damian’s men. He hit me when I talked back."

"Describe him."

I would find him. No one laid a hand on Sophia and walked away. He’d regret the day he was born.

"It doesn’t matter," she muttered. "When I escaped, he found us first. I kneed him in the groin and shot him in both legs."

A smirk tugged at my lips. I loved this side of her—fierce, unbroken. She wasn’t taking anyone’s cruelty anymore.

Before I could ask why she’d risked escaping alone, sirens wailed in the distance. Sebastian, Nathan, and the paramedics arrived moments later.

They lifted Isabella from Sophia’s lap, strapping her onto a stretcher.

"What happened?" a medic asked.

Sophia hesitated, then answered quietly.

"She was shot during the escape. I tried to stop the bleeding, but she lost consciousness." Her gaze stayed fixed on Isabella. "Will she be okay?"

That was Sophia—even after everything Isabella had done, she still worried. She was too damn good.

"Her pulse is weak, but she’ll pull through," the medic assured her.

They wheeled Isabella away.

"Are you all right, Sophia?" Nathan asked, concern etched on his face.

"I’m fine," she whispered, struggling to rise. "Go. Be with her. She needs you more."

He kissed her cheek—a rare moment of affection she didn’t resist, too drained to push him away.

Once he left, I signaled Sebastian to follow.

"Need help?" I asked, watching her sway slightly as she tried to stand.