Chapter 145

She stood so tall and proud.

Compared to her, Isabella was nothing more than a cheap social climber.

Alexander's mind kept shifting between these two women. Sophia was surrounded by men, though she had admitted her motives weren't pure. Yet, what lingered in Alexander's thoughts was always her clear, indifferent gaze—so stubborn, so alone.

Especially when she had struck Vincent Holloway where it hurt most.

And the moment she raised her arm to take a blade meant for Liam Sterling—those scenes replayed endlessly in Alexander's mind.

But Isabella?

Isabella was the woman who had saved his life and carried his child. No matter how much he despised her, he owed her this responsibility.

That afternoon, Alexander spent hours at his mother Victoria's grave. He didn't leave until nightfall.

Next Day

The moment Alexander finished his morning meetings, Isabella called. Her voice dripped with the sickly sweetness that made his skin crawl.

"Mr. Blackwood, I want to try on wedding dresses today. Are you free? Or… not?"

Her tone was a mix of pouting and resentment.

Earlier that morning, Isabella had called the bridal shop to ask about new arrivals. The shop informed her that the latest collection had arrived yesterday—and that they had already called Mr. Blackwood about it.

His response? Just pick whatever you like.

Furious, Isabella had snapped at the shop assistant. "Do you even know how to run a business? You call my fiancé about wedding dresses? He's a man! What does he know about what looks good on a woman? You should have called me!"

"Yes, Miss Thornton! We're so sorry!" The shop assistants trembled, not daring to offend the future Mrs. Blackwood.

"Listen carefully—every new dress that arrived yesterday, even if it's already been sold or reserved, you will hold it for me. I get first pick before anyone else!"

The bridal shop staff exchanged glances. This woman was insufferable—but who would dare refuse her?

Later that morning, Alexander accompanied Isabella to the shop. The moment she walked in, she demanded, "Did you pull back all the dresses sold yesterday?"

The manager hesitated. "Miss Thornton, your request—"

"That one." Alexander cut in abruptly, pointing to a gown.

The manager brightened. "Ah, Mr. Blackwood, you have excellent taste! This is an improved version of the design you selected two months ago. The same silhouette, but with finer detailing—more elegant, more breathtaking."

"I'll take it," Alexander said coldly.

Isabella studied the dress—and then it hit her.

This was nearly identical to the one Sophia had worn during her short-lived marriage to Alexander.

Jealousy burned through her. Her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood.

But she forced a sweet smile. "The dress is perfect, Mr. Blackwood. So… when should we get our marriage license?"

A marriage license?

First, he needed a divorce.

Alexander realized—he and Sophia had never officially ended their marriage.

Three Days Later

Sophia was discharged from the hospital in the morning. That afternoon, she and Alexander went to the courthouse to finalize their divorce.

As they stepped outside, Nathan Carter approached, handing Sophia a thick envelope. "Miss Montgomery, here’s the hundred thousand as agreed."

Sophia took the money, her heart anything but light.

She wouldn’t have asked if she hadn’t been desperate. A hundred thousand wasn’t much—but it was enough to crush her pride.

Yet what was pride compared to survival?

Biting her lip, she turned to Alexander. "Thank you."

His expression darkened. "Don’t."

I wanted to give you five million. But you assumed I’d break my word.

Sophia’s chest ached.

This was it. The moment they walked out of the courthouse, their paths would diverge forever. Their marriage had lasted barely two months—filled with misunderstandings and pain.

Yet, inexplicably, she hesitated.

Then—a flutter.

A tiny movement in her lower abdomen, like the faintest hiccup.

The baby was only three months along—too early for kicks. But the heartbeat was there.

During her last checkup, the doctor had said, After three months, you’ll start feeling the baby’s pulse. Pay attention—you’ll know when it happens.

She had waited. And now, at this very moment, her child made its presence known—as if protesting Alexander’s departure.

Why?

He had given her fleeting warmth—a day or two of kindness, clothes, a laptop. But mostly, he had been cold, distant, disdainful.

Sophia, walk away.

Alexander belonged to Isabella.

Clutching the money, she turned to leave.

"Wait." His voice stopped her.

She froze but didn’t look back. "What else, Mr. Blackwood?"

"What’s your connection to Vincent Holloway?"

"None."

"None?" His tone sharpened. "Then why would he target you—a pregnant woman—in broad daylight? Why would you stab him so viciously he’ll never recover? Why did my cousin nearly die because of it?"

He wanted to shake her. When will you ever tell me the truth?

Sophia whirled around, tears streaking her face. "What do you want me to say, Mr. Blackwood? That I’ve known Vincent for years? That back in college, when my allowance wasn’t enough, I seduced older men? That two years ago, I was involved with him? That even in prison, he sent me gifts?"

Her voice broke. "Or do you want me to say this baby is his? That I stabbed the father of my own child? Is that what you want to hear?"

Alexander’s gaze bore into her. "Isn’t it?"