Chapter 174
Sophia
"It's going to be okay," I whispered to myself, the words falling flat even to my own ears. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.
Who the hell was I kidding? Nothing about this situation was remotely okay. Amanda had allegedly tried to kill herself while pregnant with Blake's child. My psychotic father had disappeared and might be hunting my family like prey. And Blake—God, Blake was torn between two impossible choices, his face ashen with the weight of it all when he'd put me in this car.
"I need to go to the hospital," he'd said, not meeting my eyes. "I'm sorry, Sophia. I'll call you as soon as I know anything."
I didn't blame him for choosing Amanda in that moment. How could I? She was carrying his child and fighting for her life. But that didn't stop the cold fear spreading through my chest like poison, making it hard to breathe as the car approached my building. My fingers dug into the leather seat, leaving half-moon indentations from my nails.
My father's return to our lives had unleashed a fucking hurricane of chaos and terror. After twenty years of sporadic abuse followed by blessed absence, Soren Green had materialized like a nightmare given flesh, threatening everything I'd built. Finding my mother and Mia had been a precious gift—the family connection I'd yearned for without realizing how deeply I needed it. All I wanted was to give them safety and stability, to protect them from the monster who had terrorized us all.
Shit, shit, shit. Please be okay. Please.
As the car rounded the corner to my street, I leaned forward, anxiety clawing at my throat like a desperate animal. Something seemed wrong. My pulse quickened to a deafening roar in my ears as I spotted Mia standing on the marble steps leading to my building's entrance, her body language all wrong.
"Stop here," I told the driver, my voice sharper than intended, cracking with panic.
She wasn't just standing there—she was frozen. Even from this distance, I could see her entire body trembling, her phone lying at her feet as if dropped in shock. The building's security door gaped open, the electronic panel beside it clearly damaged. Fuck. Oh fuck.
I didn't wait for the car to fully stop before unbuckling my seatbelt. The moment we were close enough, I pushed the door open and launched myself onto the sidewalk, nearly twisting my ankle as I landed awkwardly on my heels, a jolt of pain shooting up my leg that I barely registered.
"Mia!" I shouted, running toward her, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might explode. "Mia, what happened?"
She didn't respond, didn't even seem to register my voice. At eighteen, Mia had always been vibrant—sullen sometimes, sarcastic often, but alive. The girl on my steps looked shell-shocked, emptied of everything that made her Mia. Her normally expressive face was blank, eyes wide and unfocused. It was like looking at a goddamn corpse that somehow remained standing.
"Mia," I grabbed her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake, my hands trembling against her cold skin. "Where's Mom? What's wrong?"
Nothing. Just that same vacant stare that made my blood run cold.
Oh God. No, no, no.
Cold dread washed over me, making my skin prickle with goosebumps. I pushed past her and rushed through the open door, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it hurt, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The lobby was empty, the elevator waiting. I jabbed the button repeatedly, then abandoned it for the stairs when it didn't immediately arrive, cursing under my breath with each frantic step.
By the time I burst through my apartment door, I was breathless, my lungs burning, sweat beading at my temples despite the air conditioning. The first thing that hit me was the silence—that unnatural quiet that falls in the wake of violence. It pressed against my eardrums like a physical weight.
Then I saw it.
Holy shit.
Soren lay sprawled on my imported Persian rug, his body twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood had pooled beneath him, spreading in a dark stain that reached the rug's ornate border. His eyes were open, fixed in what looked like genuine surprise. For a split second, a twisted part of me felt satisfaction seeing him there—broken, powerless, finally unable to hurt anyone else.
My mother, stood a few feet away, a silver handgun dangling from her right hand. Her face was the color of old paper, her expression as vacant as Mia's had been. For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating—this couldn't be real. My brain refused to process the scene before me.
"Mom?" I gasped, freezing in the doorway, bile rising in my throat. "Oh my God, what did you do?"
She turned to me slowly, as if moving underwater. "I had no choice, Sophi," she whispered, her voice trembling. "He would never stop hurting us. Never. He said he'd take Lily next. Your little girl. He knew about her."
The room seemed to tilt sideways. Lily . He'd threatened Lily . My knees nearly buckled at the thought, and a wave of dizziness hit me so hard I had to grab the doorframe to stay upright. My baby. My perfect, innocent child.
In the distance, I heard sirens wailing, growing louder by the second. Someone had called the police—a neighbor, probably, who'd heard the gunshot. The sound cut through my shock, forcing me back to reality.
"Mom, put the gun down," I said, trying to keep my voice level despite the panic threatening to choke me. "Please, just put it down. Fucking please ."
She looked at the weapon in her hand as if seeing it for the first time. "I didn't want to," she murmured. "But he said such terrible things. About what he'd do to Mia. To Lily." Her words sent ice through my veins.
The sirens were unmistakably close now, probably turning onto my street. My mother's legs suddenly gave way, and she crumpled to the floor like a marionette with cut strings. The gun clattered against the hardwood, the sound sharp and final in the quiet apartment.
"Mom!" I rushed to her side, dropping to my knees beside her. She was conscious but limp, her eyes unfocused, her breathing shallow. My hands hovered over her, unsure where to touch, afraid of causing more harm.
Behind me, I heard a strangled cry. Mia had finally followed me inside and was staring at the scene in horror, her face contorting with dawning comprehension.
"Call 911!" I shouted at her, my voice breaking with desperation.
Instead of reaching for her phone, Mia lunged forward, collapsing beside our mother. "Mom!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Mom, wake up!"
"She's in shock, Mia. We need to—"
"This is all your fault!" Mia's head snapped up, her eyes blazing with sudden fury, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. "If you hadn't pushed him, if you hadn't made him angry—"
"I didn't—" My throat closed around the words.
"You brought us here! You put us in his path again!" Tears streamed down her face as she cradled our mother's head. "Why did you have to drag us into your tragedy? We were managing before. It wasn't perfect, but we were surviving. And now—" Her voice cracked on a sob. "Now Mom's going to prison, and it's because of you!"
The accusation hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. Was she right? Had I set this all in motion by trying to help them? By bringing them into my life, had I only exposed them to greater danger? My chest felt like it was being crushed under an invisible weight.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words wholly inadequate, tears burning in my eyes. "I never wanted this. I was trying to protect you both." And I failed. I failed so fucking miserably.
Mia's expression crumpled, fresh tears spilling. "Well, good job with that."
Nothing I could say would make this better. No apology could undo what had happened in this room. My father was dead, killed by my mother to protect us. My family, which I'd only just begun to rebuild, was shattering all over again.