Chapter 38

I stood before the mirror, adjusting my tie with stiff fingers. The Hope Foundation's annual gala loomed before me like a prison sentence. As one of their major donors, my attendance was non-negotiable, no matter how little I wanted to go.

My phone buzzed. Gregory's name flashed on the screen.

I answered sharply. "What is it? I'm busy."

"We got a DNA match from the blood sample at Sophia's house."

Her name hit me like a punch to the gut. The cruel words I'd thrown at her still haunted me. I shouldn't have lashed out, but seeing her lay a hand on Isabella had ignited something primal in me.

"And?" I demanded, gripping the phone tighter.

"Not good news." His tone was grim. "The guy's alias was Victor Graves. Professional hitman. We tracked him down—only to find him with a bullet in his skull."

My jaw clenched. Dead ends. Again.

"Any leads on who hired him?"

"Nothing. And the tipster? Probably the killer. They knew we had evidence, so they silenced him before we could get answers."

The implications settled like ice in my veins.

"That means whoever's after Sophia is close to her. Otherwise, how would they know about the blood evidence?"

The media had only reported the attack—no details about forensics.

"Either that, or they've got an inside source feeding them intel," Gregory concluded.

Frustration coiled inside me. Just when I thought we were making progress, the trail went cold.

"Keep me updated," I snapped before hanging up.

I finished dressing, my mood darker than before. The last thing I wanted was to play nice at some charity event.

My limo waited outside. Isabella was my plus-one tonight, so we swung by her penthouse. She looked stunning in emerald silk, but for some reason, the sight didn’t stir me the way it once had.

"You're quiet," she remarked as we rode in silence.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

I didn’t answer. How could I tell her my thoughts were consumed by her sister?

Her lips thinned, but she said nothing, turning to gaze out the window. The tension was suffocating.

When we arrived, cameras flashed instantly.

"Mr. Blackwood! Are you and Isabella Sterling officially a couple now?"

"Is it true you only married Sophia out of obligation?"

"Where is your ex-wife tonight?"

Isabella stiffened beside me, her nails digging into my arm. I steered her past the vultures into the grand ballroom.

The venue was opulent, but my attention snagged the moment Sophia walked in.

She was radiant. Gold silk clung to her curves, her hair cascading in loose waves. At her side, Daniel Carter looked every bit the possessive escort, his hand resting possessively on her bare back.

She passed our table without a glance—except for Amelia, who received a warm smile.

Something ugly twisted in my chest when Daniel kissed her cheek.

"Guess the cop comes from money," Olivia sneered. "But Sophia? Please. She’s hardly gala material."

Amelia scoffed. "Funny, since you wouldn’t be here without Ethan’s wallet. And Isabella? Only his name got you an invite, not yours."

"Amelia—" Nathan growled.

"No. Olivia’s just bitter because she’s a glorified secretary who slept her way up. And Isabella? Nine years, and you’re still throwing tantrums over a mistake. Grow up."

The table erupted. Nathan stood, but Amelia was already storming off—only to be intercepted by security and escorted to Sophia’s table.

Then, shockingly, Olivia was ejected from the gala entirely.

Before we could process it, the hostess took the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my honor to introduce the founder of Hope Foundation…"

The room held its breath.

"Sophia Sterling."

Silence. Then—gasps.

My ex-wife rose gracefully, her smile luminous as the crowd erupted into applause.

And just like that, the woman I’d underestimated for years became the most powerful person in the room.