Chapter 27

"Boss?" Maxwell's voice crackled through the phone, uncharacteristically unsteady.

I reluctantly pulled away from Isabella, who had been curled against my chest as we watched a movie. It had taken days of apologies and promises to earn her forgiveness after my latest screw-up. The last thing I wanted was to hurt her again.

But my mind was a mess.

Kissing Sophia while still tangled up with Isabella? What the hell was wrong with me? Even now, days later, the memory of Sophia's lips haunted me. But like everything else about her, I shoved it into the darkest corner of my mind.

I had waited years to be with Isabella. I wasn’t about to throw it all away over some fleeting, confusing attraction to my ex-wife. Sophia meant nothing.

Isabella and Liam were my world. Always had been.

"What?!" I snapped into the phone, irritated at the interruption of our date night.

Maxwell hesitated—something he never did.

"Spit it out," I growled. "I don’t have all damn night."

Isabella shot me a questioning look, but I shook my head and stood, moving away as she turned back to the movie.

"An intruder broke into Sophia’s house," Maxwell finally said. "I think it’s the same guy who’s been after her."

My blood turned to ice.

I didn’t hear another word. My heart hammered violently, fear gripping me like a vise. I was already moving—grabbing my shoes, my coat.

"Ethan, what’s wrong?" Isabella called, her voice laced with concern.

Her lips moved, but the words didn’t register. All I knew was that I had to get to Sophia. Now.

"I have to go," I muttered, already halfway out the door.

She called after me, but I didn’t stop. My body moved on autopilot—down the elevator, into the parking garage, into my car. My hands shook on the wheel as every worst-case scenario played in my head.

How the hell did he get inside? Where was Maxwell? If even a single hair on Sophia’s head was harmed, I’d bury him alive.

I broke every speed limit, screeching to a stop outside her house just as the cops arrived. Neighbors peered from their doorways, no doubt wondering about the commotion at nearly midnight.

The second I stepped inside, my heart stopped.

Sophia sat on the couch, a gash on her forehead, her lip split, the left side of her face swollen.

Rage burned through me.

She had just gotten out of the hospital, and now this? Whoever did this would pay. Slowly. Painfully.

I turned my fury on Maxwell. "You were supposed to be watching her."

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t defend himself.

"Are you okay?"

The soft question drew my attention back to Sophia. Daniel Carter—her new boyfriend—held her hand like he had any right to touch her. I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to rip him away from her.

"My head hurts," she whispered.

I knew Sophia. Knew she was holding back tears. The thought of her alone, attacked in her own home, made me sick.

She leaned back, eyes fluttering shut.

"Hey," I said sharply. "Keep your eyes open. Talk to me. What happened?"

"I’m just tired, Ethan," she murmured, voice small.

The raw vulnerability in her tone nearly brought me to my knees. I wanted to pull her into my arms and never let go.

Which was insane.

Because I didn’t feel anything for Sophia.

Right?

Gregory, the lead detective, stepped forward. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Sophia winced but nodded.

"Good. Can you describe the man who attacked you?"

She took a shaky breath. "He wore a mask. But he was tall—around six feet—built like a tank. Shaggy brown hair."

"Did he say anything?"

"He said someone paid him to kill me." Her hands trembled. "No names."

My vision darkened. Someone wanted her dead.

Gregory rubbed his chin. "This confirms it. Her attacks aren’t tied to the gang threats. Someone else is targeting her."

"But why?" Daniel demanded, echoing the question screaming in my head.

Sophia had no enemies. She lived quietly—work and Liam. Who would want her dead?

Before Gregory could answer, an officer rushed in. "Sir, we found blood in the kitchen."

Sophia exhaled. "Probably his. I hit him with a lamp. Stabbed him with his own knife."

For the first time, Gregory smiled. "Perfect. We’ll run DNA."

Relief warred with fury. Once we found this bastard, he wouldn’t live long enough to see trial.

Maxwell’s men, Xavier and Samuel, entered, grim-faced.

"He got away," Xavier admitted.

"How?" I snarled.

Samuel swallowed. "He knows the area. Probably been watching her for months."

Gregory nodded. "Used the Reapers as a cover. If he’d succeeded the first time, we’d have blamed them."

Sophia shuddered just as paramedics arrived.

Then my phone rang.

Isabella.

Shit.

I had completely forgotten about her.

And now?

How the hell was I supposed to explain this?

Rushing to my ex-wife the second she was in danger?

Yeah.

Things had just gotten a hell of a lot more complicated.