Sophia's POV

She shrugged, smug. “Still more than you.”

That was it.

I slapped the phone out of her hand. It hit the floor with a sharp crack.

Natalie barely had time to react before I grabbed her.

My hand went straight for her throat.

We both stumbled back, knocking into the bedside table. Something rolled across the floor—then the sharp, unmistakable smell hit me.

Gasoline.

My stomach dropped.

“Natalie—what did you—”

The bottle tipped fully, spilling out across the carpet.

She smiled.

Then a spark.

I didn’t even see what caused it—just a flash, then fire.

It erupted fast, crawling up the curtains, licking the walls like it had been waiting for this moment.

“Stop—!” I coughed, backing away as smoke filled the room.

Natalie grabbed my arm, pushing, shoving, both of us scrambling as the fire grew between us like a living thing.

The heat was unbearable. My lungs burned on the first breath.

Somewhere in the chaos, she screamed.

And I fell.

---

“Sophia!”

The voice cut through the roar of flames.

I forced my eyes open through the smoke.

Damon.

He was at the doorway, shouting, fighting with security as they tried to hold him back.

“Sir! You can’t go in—!”

“Get out of my way!”

My heart twisted painfully.

For one stupid second, I thought—

He came for me.

“Damon!” I tried to lift myself. My voice broke. “I’m here!”

Natalie’s voice rang out immediately behind me, weak and perfect.

“Damon… please… help me…”

Everything changed in his expression.

That was all it took.

He ran past me.

Straight to her.

He didn’t even look back.

---

I don’t know how long I stayed there after that.

The smoke got thicker. Heavier. My vision blurred until everything turned into heat and noise.

And then something in me snapped into survival.

I don’t even remember deciding.

One moment I was choking on the floor.

The next—

Pain.

Bones shifting. Skin tearing. Breath turning into something deeper, instinctive.

I changed.

The world sharpened instantly. Sound. Smell. Movement.

Fire wasn’t just fire anymore—it was a wall I could read, a path I could escape.

I grabbed my bag with my teeth and ran.

Glass shattered as I threw myself through a window. It sliced into my side, but I didn’t stop.

I landed hard outside, rolling into the grass, coughing violently.

Alive.

Barely.

I didn’t look back at the burning house.

I just ran.

Through a side path. Through darkness. Through pain I didn’t have time to feel.

Until I found a service gate left open.

And I kept going.

Even when my legs gave out.

Even when my lungs felt like they were tearing apart.

I didn’t stop until the estate was gone behind me.

---

The flight terminal was quiet.

Too quiet.

I sat in the corner seat, wrapped in a borrowed coat, my hands still shaking slightly.

My phone buzzed.

Damon.

Don’t play games, Sophia. I don’t have time for hide-and-seek.

I stared at the screen.

No anger.

No sadness.

Just… nothing.

Then I turned the phone off.

Damon’s POV

[Tomorrow at 10 AM, Natalie’s prenatal exam. You’ll accompany her. And get your lungs checked while you’re at it.]

No reply.

Not even a read receipt.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it. Sophia liked to ignore messages when she was upset. She always came back around.

But this time… the silence felt different.

---

The next morning, the clinic was quiet except for soft voices and the smell of antiseptic.

Natalie was clinging to my arm the moment we arrived.

“Damon, is everything okay? Is the baby fine?”

I nodded. “Doctor said everything’s stable. No issues from the fire.”

She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for days. “Thank God…”

I should’ve felt relieved too.

Instead, my mind kept drifting.

Sophia’s face. That last look in the smoke-filled hallway. Not fear. Not anger.

Just acceptance.

Like she already knew I wouldn’t choose her.

And the worst part was—I hadn’t.

---

After lunch, I dropped Natalie back at the estate and went straight to the council hall.

My phone stayed silent the entire drive.

Too silent.

My beta caught up as I stepped inside.

“Sir, Chairman Morgan has returned. Summit starts tonight.”

I nodded without slowing down.

But something in my chest tightened.

Sophia still hadn’t been found.

No movement. No exit records. No sightings at the gates.

Nothing.

Like she’d simply stopped existing inside the system.

“She didn’t go to the clinic?” I asked.

“No, Sir.”

“Home?” I tried again.

“No.”

My jaw tightened. “Then where the hell is she?”

No one answered.

Because no one knew.

---

As I walked faster, I spoke over my shoulder, “Buy a few new designer pieces. Jewelry too.”

“For Mrs. Natalie?” my assistant asked.

I paused just long enough for the words to feel wrong.

“…Send them to the Sterling estate.”

If Sophia was anywhere, it would be there.

But even as I said it, something uneasy settled in my stomach.

And I hated that I couldn’t explain why.

---

A week passed.

Work. Meetings. Strategy reports. Border disputes.

Normal things.

Except nothing felt normal.

It was just after midnight when I returned from a long session with the patrol division.

The house was dark except for one light in the living room.

A figure curled on the sofa in silk.

For a second, my chest loosened.

“Sophia,” I said under my breath, almost amused. “I told you… I always come back. You don’t have to—”

I stopped.

It wasn’t her.

It was Natalie.

She looked up slowly, her face softening into disappointment when she saw me.

“Damon…” Her voice wavered. “She still hasn’t come back. Not even once.”

I exhaled and loosened my tie.

“She’s just being dramatic,” I said.

But it came out flatter than I intended.

Natalie sniffed, eyes glossy. “I even apologized. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me. Maybe I should leave.”

I sat beside her and kissed her forehead out of habit more than anything else.

“Don’t stress yourself,” I said quietly. “It’s not good for the baby.”

Then, after a pause, I added, “This is your home now. Yours and the child’s.”

A beat.

“…Whether Sophia likes it or not.”

The words should’ve felt final.

They didn’t.

---

Later that night, I stood alone on the terrace.

Cold air. City lights below. Silence everywhere else.

I lit a cigarette for the first time in years.

I wasn’t even sure why.

It didn’t calm me.

Nothing did.

My phone was in my hand before I realized it.

Sophia’s name sat at the bottom of my contacts.

Still there.

Still untouched.

My thumb hovered over the call button.

I didn’t press it.

Instead, I typed:

Tomorrow is Chairman Morgan’s 80th birthday. Don’t cause a scene. Don’t provoke Natalie or the child.

I stared at it for a moment before sending.

Waiting.

For what, I didn’t know.

The wind hit harder across the terrace.

My chest tightened again, sharp and unfamiliar.

It’s just stress, I told myself.

Nothing else.

Damon’s POV

Chairman Morgan’s 80th birthday was the kind of event where everything had to be flawless—perfect speeches, polished smiles, and reputations carefully maintained in front of the entire family and business circle.

I arrived at the grand hall with Natalie on my arm.

Her pregnancy was now obvious enough to draw attention. Whispers followed us, subtle but constant. I ignored them all and kept my expression controlled.

Composed. Detached. In control.

That was what mattered.

Only when my grandfather, Chairman Morgan, entered did I let go of Natalie’s hand.

He wasn’t just the head of the family. He was the man who built the Morgan empire from nothing. And more than that, he had always treated Sophia like she belonged to the family.

His eyes landed on me immediately.

“Where is Sophia?” he asked.

“She’s preparing your birthday gift,” I answered smoothly. “She’ll arrive later.”

He studied me for a moment, like he was deciding whether to believe it. Then he said nothing more and moved on.

Two hours passed.

Dinner was served. Toasts were made. The celebration continued without pause.

Still no Sophia.

I kept glancing toward the entrance without meaning to. Every time—nothing.

My patience thinned.

Where was she?

I was about to step out and call someone when the doors opened.

A courier walked in carrying three neatly wrapped boxes.

“Delivery for Chairman Morgan,” he announced. “From Mrs. Sophia Steele.”

My chest tightened immediately.

Her name always did that.

I stepped forward. “Give them to me.”

The courier shook his head. “I was instructed to deliver them directly to the recipient.”

Of course she would be precise about something like this.

I exhaled and stepped aside. “Then do it properly.”

The courier approached my grandfather and bowed slightly.

“These are from Mrs. Sophia,” he said. “She sends her birthday wishes.”

My grandfather frowned. “Why didn’t she come herself?”

No one answered quickly enough.

The courier only repeated, “I was only instructed to deliver the packages.”

A strange silence settled over the room.

Something felt wrong.

Still, my grandfather accepted the boxes and placed them on the table in front of him.

He studied them for a long moment. “I’ll open them myself.”

The first box opened slowly.

Inside was an embroidered piece—intricate, delicate, clearly handmade. A detailed tapestry that reflected years of patience and care.

My grandfather’s expression softened.

“She made this,” he said quietly.

I already knew. I had seen her working on it late at night, refusing help even when her fingers were injured.

The second box followed.

A velvet case.

Inside were heirloom jewelry pieces—my grandmother’s. The same set Sophia had worn on our wedding day.

My throat tightened.

Something cold settled in my chest.

Why would she send these back?

My grandfather’s expression changed slightly, more serious now.

Then the third box was placed on the table.

I didn’t wait.

My hand moved first.

“Damon—” my grandfather started, but I had already taken it.

I pulled it closer and ripped it open.

The moment I saw what was inside, everything in me stopped.

My face went pale.

My hand froze midair.

Inside the box was Sophia’s wedding ring.

And beneath it—a folded note.