Chapter 61

The phone vibrated in Sophia Montgomery's hand.

She answered with icy composure. "What do you want?"

Isabella Thornton's voice dripped with venomous glee. "Pathetic, aren't you? I kidnapped you. I nearly killed you. And yet, Ethan Blackwood knew it was me—and did nothing."

Sophia's grip tightened.

Isabella continued, mocking. "His precious fiancée tried to murder his little plaything, and he still won't punish me. Face it, Sophia. You're worthless to him."

A cold smile curled Sophia's lips. "Call me again, and I'll make sure Victoria Blackwood hears every detail. Let's see how well your wedding plans go with a shattered face."

Silence.

Then, a low, vicious laugh. "Oh, Sophia. Just wait. The show's only beginning."

The line went dead.

Sophia exhaled, staring at her reflection in the darkened screen.

A show?

What more could Isabella do?

She had nothing left to lose.

Three thousand dollars—borrowed from Liam Sterling out of pity—was all she owned. A baby with no known father grew inside her. Trapped by Ethan's contract, working under his thumb at Blackwood Enterprises.

Liam's occasional help was the only flicker of light in her bleak existence.

Even if his kindness came with condescension.

Even if it stung.

She clung to it anyway.

Three days passed without Liam's usual appearances—no casual run-ins at the office, no waiting at her bus stop after work.

Sophia told herself she didn't care.

But the absence gnawed at her.

Work became her refuge.

By day, she endured the office—fetching coffee, enduring snide remarks, surviving.

By night, she drowned herself in drafting.

Her first independent project for Chase Office. A test of her skills.

She would prove herself.

No computer meant hand-drawn blueprints, rulers, and late nights. Discarded sketches littered her bedroom floor.

On the fourth morning, she rushed out, forgetting to close her door.

Ethan Blackwood noticed.

A single discarded draft caught his eye.

He picked it up.

His mother, Victoria, had been an architect. He recognized talent when he saw it.

Sophia's design—marked with a red "X"—was flawed, but brilliant.

His fingers traced the precise lines.

Since when did she know architecture?

At Chase Office, Sophia presented her final draft to the design director.

"Thank you for trusting me," she murmured, placing the rolled paper on his desk. "It's hand-drawn, so it might be messy—"

The director unrolled it.

Silence.

Then, a slow smile. "I'll review it. For now—" He gestured to the office. "Tell everyone I'm buying Thai milk tea today. You're included."

Sophia nodded, numb.

The team's afternoon tea rituals never involved her.

She was the errand girl. The outsider.

Now?

A token inclusion.

She delivered the news, then slipped out to grab lunch—a cheap box meal from a street vendor.

On her way back, arms laden with milk tea, a voice stopped her.

"Well, well. From secretary to delivery girl?"

Sophia looked up.

Isabella stood before her, smirking.