Chapter One Hundred And Fifty Two

Sofia's POV

Manchester.

A fresh start. A life away from the blood, the lies, and the war that had shaped every part of me.

It was what I wanted.

Wasn't it?

I looked down at my hands, my fingers still curled into fists. I forced them to relax.

I should have been relieved. The contract was over. The chains that had bound me to him were gone. I could walk away, take Martha, and never look back.

But instead of relief, all I felt was… empty.

I lifted my eyes to him. His expression was blank, but I knew him well enough to see what he wasn't saying.

He meant it this time. He was letting me go.

No more fights. No more power plays. No more waiting for him to change the rules.

I swallowed, my throat tight.

This was it. The moment I had fought for, the moment I had dreamed of.

So why did it feel like my chest was caving in?

I forced myself to speak. "You really set everything up."

His nod was almost imperceptible. "You and Martha will have everything you need."

I hesitated. "And you?"

He exhaled, his gaze flickering to the floor for a brief second before meeting mine again. "I'll be fine."

A lie.

A beautiful, well-constructed lie.

Because I knew what he wasn't saying. That without me, without Martha, there would be nothing left for him. No war to fight, no enemies to hunt, no family to protect.

Just silence.

Just an empty house filled with ghosts.

I nodded slowly, ignoring the sharp ache in my chest.

"I should go," I murmured.

He didn't stop me.

Didn't reach for me. Didn't argue.

And maybe that was what hurt the most.

I turned, forcing my legs to move, each step heavier than the last. My fingers trembled as I reached for the door handle.

"I'll start packing," I said, more to myself than to him. "The doctor called earlier… Martha's ready to be moved."

Silence.

I swallowed hard, gripping the handle tighter.

This was the right thing to do.

So why did it feel like my heart was shattering with every step I took away from him?

I climbed the stairs slowly, the weight in my chest growing heavier with each step. The house was too quiet. Too still.

For so long, it had been a prison. A place where every move I made was dictated by rules I hadn't agreed to.

And now, I was free.

I should have felt lighter.

Instead, every corner, every shadow, felt like a memory waiting to swallow me whole.

I pushed open the bedroom door and walked inside. The suitcase he had bought for me sat untouched by the bed. Expensive. Elegant. A goodbye gift wrapped in leather and gold.

I pulled it open, mechanically moving to the closet, grabbing whatever my hands landed on.

Shirts. Dresses. A sweater I had stolen from him once, one I had worn on nights when I couldn't sleep. My fingers curled around the fabric, and I hesitated before shoving it inside.

I wouldn't need it anymore.

A fresh start.

A life away from him.

A life I had wanted.

A sharp knock at the door made me stiffen.

I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space. His hands were in his pockets, his expression blank.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was thick-heavy with the weight of unspoken words, of all the things we had never said and probably never would.

His gaze flickered to the open suitcase, to the clothes I had haphazardly thrown inside. Something unreadable passed through his eyes, but it was gone before I could grasp it.

"I had the jet prepared," he said finally, his voice steady.

I frowned slightly, my fingers tightening around the fabric of the dress I was holding. "You're not coming?"

He shook his head, his expression giving nothing away. "Your flight leaves tomorrow evening. I have things to take care of here."

Something inside me twisted. I shouldn't have expected anything different. This wasn't a love story. There was no last-minute chase, no desperate plea for me to stay.

Still, the finality of it hit harder than I thought it would.

I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to stay even. "And your guests downstairs?"

"The reception will be over soon," he said simply. "My staff will take care of everything."

Of course. Efficient. Detached. Always in control.

I nodded, turning back to my suitcase, pretending that his absence didn't make my chest ache. "Right."

He lingered for a second longer, as if he wanted to say something else. But in the end, he didn't.

I kept my back to him, listening as his footsteps retreated down the hall.

This was it.

The end of whatever we had been. Whatever we could have been.

And tomorrow, I would be gone.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the open suitcase. My hands trembled as I folded a dress and placed it inside.

This was really happening.

Tomorrow, I would be gone. Away from this house. Away from him.

I should have felt relieved. Instead, my chest felt hollow.

I forced myself to move, packing the last of my things. The sound of laughter drifted from downstairs, the fading remnants of the reception. Soon, even that would be gone.

I glanced at the door, half-expecting him to come back. But I knew he wouldn't.

This was how it ended-quiet, empty.

With a deep breath, I zipped the suitcase shut.

It was time to let go.

I gripped the suitcase handle tightly, my knuckles turning white. My heart felt heavier with each breath, but I wouldn't cry. Not for him. Not anymore.

I didn't love him. But I couldn't say I hated him either.

Because despite everything-the pain, the fear, the nightmares that still clung to me-I owed him my life. He had saved me from Thomas, from something worse than death.

But at what cost?

The bruises had faded, but I could still feel them. The sting of his hand across my face. The suffocating darkness of the Red Room. The fire. The way my body had trembled after each time he took what wasn't his to take.

And when I tried to escape, when I wanted to end it all, he didn't let me.

No. He had looked at me-at my broken body, my tear-streaked face-and decided that I didn't have the right to die.

Not like that. Not on my own terms.

So he made sure I understood.

I remembered the rope biting into my skin, the burn around my throat as my feet dangled. He hadn't let me die, but he had made me feel it. The slow terror of death creeping in, the blackness taking over, my body convulsing as I gasped for breath I couldn't reach.

I thought he would kill me then. That it was the end.

But he hadn't.

He let me drop to the floor at the last second, coughing, gasping for air.

And then he crouched beside me, his voice low, controlled.

I remembered my father's death, the way everything changed when I realized what Theo had done. I had hoped for a miracle, but there had been none.

Theo had ordered Dr. Ramoray to end my father's life. The cancer had been killing him, but Theo had made sure it happened sooner, his control over everything suffocating.

And I couldn't stop it.

Theo wasn't just a man who held my body captive. He had taken my father's life from me.

My father's debt, the four million, had cost him everything. And I had paid too.

Theo had also gotten me pregnant. Everything had happened so quickly-so much pain and betrayal in almost a year. All because of a loan my father had taken.

I just hoped Theo could be a good father for our daughter.