chapter 115
chapter 115
The heavy door swung open.
Sophie flinched, her chest heaving as a flood of light poured into the room — behind it, a cold sea of uniforms and unwavering gazes.
Adrian stepped in first.
His face was unreadable. Not rage. Not sorrow.
Just… finality.
Behind him, Rita stood — not in fear, but with quiet, fierce resolve. Her hand rested protectively on her belly, the true twins safe and far from the storm.
"You really did it," Adrian said quietly. "You broke into my home. You tried to harm my children."
Sophie staggered back. "They were never supposed to exist!" she shrieked. “We were supposed to get married! You were mine before she came and ruined everything!”
“You were never mine,” Adrian said, his voice like ice.
“And you ruined yourself.”
A detective stepped forward. “Sophie Collins, you’re under arrest for attempted kidnapping, breaking and entering, conspiracy, and making threats to life.”
The room spun for her. “No! No, wait — wait — this isn’t happening!”
They clicked the handcuffs onto her wrists.
"Your obsession didn’t destroy Rita," Adrian added, his gaze piercing through her. “It destroyed you.”
The detective nodded toward the entrance. “Bring her in.”
Just then, another woman stepped in.
It was Detective Chief Roselyn, calm and commanding. “We’ve obtained court clearance to access your messages, calls, and bank accounts. The full extent of your crimes is being processed. You’re not just going down for this night, Sophie. You’ve been plotting much longer than we thought.”
Sophie began to tremble.
“No, no—Adrian, please. Please don’t let them do this. I only did it because I love you…”
“Love doesn’t look like hate,” Rita said firmly. “Love doesn’t look like this.”
With one last, sorrowful glance, Sophie was led out in cuffs — through the long hallway, past the astonished maids and silent guards — into a sea of flashing cameras and news crews already buzzing outside the gates.
Adrian stood by the nursery, watching the real twins sleep peacefully under a starry mobile. Rita came up beside him.
“It’s finally over,” she whispered.
“For now,” he said. “But I’ll never stop protecting you. Any of you.”
She kissed his cheek. “You’ve already done more than enough.”
He held her hand tightly.
The wedding could wait one more day. Tonight, they had peace.
News of Sophie’s arrest spread like wildfire.
It dominated headlines, trended on social media, and sparked outrage on talk shows and in high society circles alike.
"SOCIALITE ARRESTED IN KIDNAPPING ATTEMPT AHEAD OF BILLIONAIRE HEIR’S WEDDING!"
"FROM GRACE TO MADNESS: THE FALL OF SOPHIE COLLINS."
"RITA’S MIRACLE BABIES: SAVED FROM PLOT BY SCORNED EX!"
Former admirers distanced themselves. Business partners terminated contracts with Sophie’s family overnight. Her father, still recovering from the collapse of his empire, refused all media interviews, buried under disgrace. Her home had become a ghost mansion — locked gates, empty halls.
The whispers didn’t stop.
They grew louder, sharper.
“Maybe that family wasn’t so noble after all…”
“They raised a monster…”
“She brought shame to all of us.”
Sophie became the symbol of everything society detested but secretly feared — ambition tainted by obsession and entitlement morphing into cruelty.
Meanwhile… Linet Boils
Linet sat on the edge of her small, dim apartment bed, her phone buzzing non-stop with updates.
She read the headlines with clenched teeth. One after the other.
“Sophie ruined everything… and yet Rita still gets the fairy tale?” she muttered bitterly.
She threw the phone down. It clattered against the floor.
“How? How does Rita win? How does she always land on her feet?”
She looked into the cracked mirror. Her eyes were sunken, but burning with something deeper than anger — resentment sharpened into resolve.
“Fine,” she said aloud. “If they think Sophie was the villain of this story… they’ve clearly forgotten I still exist.”
Linet turned to the corner of the room, where a dusty vision board hung — scraps of newspaper articles, cut-out photos of Rita and Adrian, and an old picture of Linet back when she still dined in the same circles as the rich and famous.
She pulled out a red marker.
Crossed out Sophie’s name.
Then underlined Rita’s.
“You stole what was supposed to be mine. Now it’s my turn.”
Her lips curled into a smile — not of joy, but of something colder. She wasn't going to crash the wedding in anger.
She was going to shatter it with precision.
The wedding was now just two days away.
The Drake estate buzzed with a flurry of activity — decorators arranging elegant floral arches in hues of ivory and blush, chefs finalizing menus in the kitchen, and music rehearsals echoing softly across the manicured lawns.
Rita, glowing in her satin robe, sat before a mirror as her stylist gently curled the last lock of her hair during a final beauty trial.
Her eyes sparkled — a mix of excitement and nerves.
She turned to Adrian’s mother, who had dropped in to oversee the floral selections. “I still can’t believe this is real,” Rita whispered.
Mrs. Drake smiled warmly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve brought our Adrian back to life. You’ve given this family peace. We’re proud to call you ours.”
Rita teared up, but wiped it quickly. “Don’t make me cry before I’ve even worn the dress.”
Downstairs, Adrian was in a crisp white shirt, going over the final guest list and coordinating discreetly with private security.
His voice was calm, but his mind was razor-sharp.
“Every camera is active. No blind spots. Anyone not on the list doesn’t get within a hundred feet of her.”
He looked toward his best man, who gave him a knowing nod.
The trap was still set. They hadn’t caught Linet yet — but she was close.
Later That Evening: A Strange Occurrence
As Rita stepped into the gown fitting room, a soft knock interrupted the session. A delivery man stood outside with a bouquet — black roses laced with red satin.
There was no sender’s name.
The room went silent.
Rita stared at the ominous bouquet. Her heart skipped.
“What kind of florist delivers black roses two days before a wedding?” the stylist asked, half-joking.
Rita didn’t laugh.
Instead, she looked at Adrian, who had just entered the room.
He studied the roses, then the card tucked inside.
No words. Just a single photo.
It was a picture of Rita and Adrian — taken from outside their private brunch the week before. The angle was zoomed in, like from a hidden camera.
Adrian’s jaw clenched. “She’s watching.”
Rita blinked. “Do we cancel?”
He turned to her, calm but firm. “No. She wants fear. We’ll give her confidence. And then…”
He handed the card to one of the guards.
“…we end this.”
As the final wedding rehearsals continued the next morning, no one noticed the unmarked car parked on the street opposite the estate — or the woman behind tinted glass, watching in silence.
Linet hadn’t blinked in minutes.
“Two days, Rita,” she murmured. “And then your story becomes mine.”