Chapter 56

"What the hell is he doing here?" Ethan Blackwood's voice thunders through the room, his icy gray eyes locked onto Daniel Carter with lethal intensity.

I wasn't in the mood for his outbursts. Sure, he had been there for me yesterday, but that didn’t give him the right to dictate who stepped foot in my home.

Alexander Prescott—my father—clears his throat. It still felt surreal calling him that. The sound draws everyone's attention.

"Alexander Prescott?" Ethan says, surprise flickering across his face before he schools his expression. "What are you doing here?"

His gaze darts between us, connecting the dots as he looks from Alexander to Eleanor, then back at me.

"It's been a while, Ethan," Alexander says, his smile razor-sharp. "Though I can't say I'm pleased with how you've treated my daughter."

"What he means to say," Eleanor cuts in, her voice colder than I've ever heard it, "is that we're absolutely furious about the way you and your family have treated Sophia. And frankly, we no longer see the point in maintaining a business relationship with people like you."

Nathan's face pales. "How is this possible?"

Like I said—everyone knew the Prescotts. They might keep their lives private, but their name carried weight.

"Oh, sweetheart," Eleanor says, her glare sharp enough to draw blood. "In this world? Anything is possible."

I glance at Isabella, whose mouth hangs open in shock. If she wasn’t careful, she’d swallow a fly.

"Can we just get this over with so you can all leave?" I ask, staring Ethan down.

He nods stiffly, pulling out his laptop. We gather around as he dials Victoria. Her face soon fills the screen.

"We're all here, Mom," Isabella tells her.

Victoria exhales. "How are you, Sophia?"

I almost laugh. After twenty years of neglect, now she cares?

"Skip the fake pleasantries. Just say what you came to say."

She flinches, but I don’t care. Whatever redemption she was seeking—she was decades too late.

She takes a shaky breath. "You came to us when you were just weeks old, but we didn’t officially adopt you until you were fifteen months."

"What do you mean?"

"We had a housekeeper—Margaret. She’d worked for us for years. She wanted a child but couldn’t bear the thought of carrying another man’s baby. Her husband died after seven years of marriage, and she never recovered. They were about to start a family when he was killed by a drunk driver."

My chest tightens.

"Margaret decided to adopt. A month later, her mother called—said their church’s preacher had found a baby abandoned outside. She took a week off, went back home, and returned with you."

I exchange glances with Alexander and Eleanor. The preacher—was that my grandfather? This couldn’t be coincidence.

Victoria continues. "No one knew who your mother was. There was no identification. The preacher assumed you were left by a scared teenager. Margaret named you Sophia. She adored you—you brought her back to life after her loss."

My throat burns.

"If she loved me so much, why didn’t she raise me? How did I end up with you?"

Her voice wavers. "A year later, she was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. The doctors gave her months. Before she died, she begged us to adopt you. We didn’t want to—we already had two children."

"Then why did you?"

Her eyes flicker to Nathan. "When he was two, he slipped out of the house. He nearly ran into traffic. Margaret saved him, but she was hit instead. She lost her right hand and walked with a limp ever since. We owed her. So when she died… we took you in."

I grit my teeth. "You should’ve left me at an orphanage. It would’ve been kinder."

Not a single happy memory tied to them—only pain.

Isabella scoffs. "God, you’re ungrateful. Do you know how many people would kill for your life?"

I snap. "Shut your mouth, Isabella, before I shut it for you." My voice is venom. "I slept with your boyfriend. Get over it. It’s pathetic watching a grown woman throw a tantrum like a toddler. Liam acts more mature than you."

The room goes silent. Isabella’s face burns red.

Eleanor’s hand grips mine. When I look up, she’s smirking. I’d forgotten they were here.

"I suggest you heed my daughter’s warning," Eleanor purrs. "You’ve punished her enough for a mistake made years ago. Speak to her like that again, and you won’t like what happens."

No one had ever defended me like this—except Scarlett. It felt strange. Good.

Victoria swallows hard. "I know we failed you. I’m sorry."

"Save it," I say coldly. "Your apologies mean nothing now."

Alexander stands. "Mark my words—you will pay for every tear she shed."

The threat hangs thick in the air. Crossing Alexander Prescott was a death sentence.

"Please, Mr. Prescott—" Victoria begs.

"How many times did my daughter beg?" Eleanor hisses. "You showed her no mercy. Why should we?"

Victoria falls silent.

"Get out," I tell Nathan and Isabella.

They leave, Ethan trailing behind. Daniel lingers, but I don’t look at him.

Alexander cups my face. "No one will hurt you again. Your enemies are ours now."

Eleanor kisses my forehead. "We love you, sweetheart. Always."

As they leave, I’m left with one question:

Did I want revenge?

And if I did—would they turn against Daniel for hurting me too?