Chapter 117

The elderly man gripped Sophia's wrist with surprising strength, yanking her against his chest. His laughter was rough, grating against her ears. "Darling, your memory fails you. For two years at university, you called me 'husband' every time you needed money or favors. Now you dare address me as 'grandfather'? Do I look that ancient to you?"

Sophia recoiled. "Who are you? Let go! I'll call the police!"

The man—Vincent Holloway—was at least two decades older than Benjamin Thornton. The audacity of his claim made her blood boil. She tried to wrench free, but his grip was ironclad.

"Call the police?" Vincent sneered. "You never hesitated to take my money or gifts. Now that you've found a new patron, you think you can discard me? Do I mean nothing to you, Sophia?"

Recognition flickered in her mind. "What's your connection to the Sullivans?"

"Isn't it obvious? You were the one who brought me into their circle. For you, I bent over backward for their schemes. Tell me, have you found a richer man to cling to?" His tone dripped with familiarity, as if they had been intimate.

This was another trap. Another cruel game orchestrated by the Sullivans.

Fury ignited in her chest. She stomped on his foot, and he released her with a curse. Sophia reached into her bag for the small blade she always carried—insurance against the Sullivans' harassment. But before she could grasp it, Vincent seized both her wrists, pinning her effortlessly.

Then she saw him.

Ethan Blackwood stood yards away, his expression unreadable. His gaze swept over her as if she were a stranger before he slid into his car without a word.

Nathan Carter, his assistant, hesitated, casting Sophia a lingering glance before murmuring to Ethan, "That's Vincent Holloway—the man who tried to have you killed years ago."

Ethan's response was icy. "Drive."

"The cemetery, sir?"

"Yes."

Nathan obeyed, the car gliding past Sophia without pause.

She didn't scream. Didn't struggle.

Vincent hauled her into his car with a triumphant smirk. "Let's go."

The moment the car pulled away, Liam Sterling—watching from his own vehicle—cursed. "That old bastard took her!"

Noah Whitmore, beside him, frowned. "Vincent's a predator. We should follow."

Liam scoffed. "I'm starting to admire Sophia. First, she snags Ethan Blackwood, then charms Julian Montgomery, and now Vincent Holloway? She’s playing a dangerous game."

Noah shot him a warning look. "And you still want to provoke her?"

Liam's grip tightened on the wheel. "I want to ruin her."

They tailed Vincent's car to The Velvet Lounge, an exclusive nightclub.

Inside, Vincent dragged Sophia past bowing staff toward a private elevator. She remained eerily silent, her face blank.

"Still playing coy?" Vincent chuckled. "I always liked that about you."

The elevator ascended. The doors opened to a dimly lit hallway, leading to a secluded suite. The moment the door shut behind them, Sophia finally spoke.

"You're mistaken. I don’t know you."

Vincent's grin faltered. Before he could retort, a choked sob echoed from the corner of the room.

Liam and Noah, having combed the club floor by floor, finally reached the top level. They paused outside the last door, hearing muffled cries—male, aged.

Liam kicked the door open, ready for violence.

What he saw froze him in place.

Sophia stood over Vincent, who was crumpled on the floor, blood trickling from his nose. Her blade glinted in the low light, pressed to his throat.

Her voice was lethally calm. "Tell me who sent you, or I’ll make sure you never speak again."