Hundred and five

Sophia's POV

Hospitals had always unsettled me. There was something about the artificial brightness of the lights, the constant beeping of monitors, the sterile, suffocating air that made me feel like I was trapped in a place where life and death held equal weight. I had spent far too much time in hospitals lately first in Henry’s care, now in this cold, unfamiliar room, waiting for my body to recover when my mind refused to rest.

But rest was impossible. Not after what Ethan had told me.

"You and Henry."

I hadn’t answered him. I couldn’t. Because what could I say? That it was complicated? That the lines between love and hate had blurred so violently that neither of us knew which side we were standing on? That sometimes, when I looked at Henry, I saw a man who had every reason to want me dead, and yet, for some twisted reason, he kept saving me?

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the truth.

The truth about Henry’s brother. The truth about my mother’s death. The truth that would finally free me from this hell I had been drowning in.

I closed my eyes, my fingers curling into the thin hospital blanket. The weight of exhaustion settled deep in my bones, but my mind refused to quiet. I kept replaying every moment, every conversation, searching for the missing piece that would make all of this make sense.

The knock at the door shattered my thoughts.

I tensed immediately. My nerves were already frayed, and the last thing I wanted was another person coming in, asking questions I didn’t have the energy to answer.

“Go away,” I muttered.

Silence.

Then, the doorknob turned.

My stomach clenched with irritation. “I said get out.”

The door opened anyway.

And when I saw who stood there, the air in my lungs disappeared.

Henry.

My heart lurched violently against my ribs. For a moment, I thought I was imagining him, that my exhausted brain had conjured him out of thin air because I had spent too much time thinking about him. But no. He was real.

Standing in the doorway, dressed in his usual black, eyes darker than a midnight storm, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite place. I forced myself to sit up despite the sharp protest of my body.

“What the hell?” My voice came out weaker than I wanted it to. “How did you know I was here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. The sound echoed in the empty room, and suddenly, the air felt too thick, too charged.

His gaze flickered over me, assessing, scanning every inch of my face, my body, as if cataloging every sign of weakness. I hated that he could see it. I hated that he was here.

But most of all, I hated the way my heart still reacted to him, like it hadn’t gotten the message that he was dangerous.

Henry took another step forward, and instinctively, I pressed back against the pillows, as if putting space between us would somehow make it easier to breathe.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. A quiet frustration, buried beneath his usual indifference.

I let out a bitter laugh. “Doing what, exactly?”

His jaw tightened. “Pushing yourself to the point of collapse. Running after something that won’t change anything.”

His words sent a fresh wave of irritation through me.

“You think this is pointless?” I snapped. “That I should just sit back and accept the fact that everyone thinks I killed your brother?”

Henry said nothing.

I clenched my fists. “I won’t stop, Henry. Not until I prove I’m innocent.”

Something flickered in his expression. It was brief, so brief that I almost missed it but it was there. A hesitation. A shift in his eyes, like a crack in his armor.

But just as quickly, it was gone.

He exhaled slowly, tilting his head as he looked at me. “And what if you die trying?”

I swallowed hard. “Then at least I’ll die knowing I fought for the truth.”

Henry stared at me for a long moment. His silence was heavy, suffocating, filled with words he would never say.

And then, finally, his voice came, cold and detached.

“If you die trying to prove it, I won’t care.”

The words hit like a physical blow.

For a second, I thought I had misheard him.

But no.

I had heard him perfectly.

The air in the room turned sharp, pressing against my skin like a thousand tiny blades.

I forced out a laugh, but it was empty. Hollow. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

Henry’s expression remained unreadable.

I swallowed against the lump in my throat, ignoring the way my hands trembled as I curled them into fists.

“You really hate me that much?” I asked, my voice quieter this time.

A long pause. And then, finally, he said, “Hate isn’t the word I’d use.”

The breath I had been holding escaped in a slow, shaky exhale. I didn’t know what that meant. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I turned my head away, staring at the blank wall. “Then leave.”

Henry didn’t move right away. I could feel his eyes on me, feel the weight of his gaze pressing into my skin.

And for a second, I thought he might say something. I thought he might tell me the truth, tell me why he had really come here, tell me what he wasn’t saying.

But he didn’t. He just stood there. And then, after what felt like an eternity, he turned and walked out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him.

I let out a slow, trembling breath, pressing a hand to my chest as if I could physically hold my heart together.

He wouldn’t care if I died. But that was a lie. I had seen it in his eyes.

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