Chapter 190

Chapter 190

Sophia's POV

Flynn finished his last snide line, restarted the car, and drove off, leaving me where I stood.

"Classy. The both of you," I let out in a short, bitter laugh. For a second, I'd actually thought he might give me a ride, but no—he had only come to fish for information.

Honestly, it was better this way.

If Ethan saw me with Flynn, God knew what he'd decide it meant.

When I got back to the villa, Ethan had a stack of documents spread across the table, flipping through them like he was hunting for something that had personally offended him. 

The expression on his face was grim, and hard; it was the kind that warned you not to ask questions unless you were ready for the answer.

I sat across from him and picked up a few pages at random, pretending not to feel the tension crawl over my skin. "What are you looking for? I can help."

His hands paused mid-search. For a moment, he looked like he was weighing whether letting me in would cost him more than doing it alone.

The living room was so quiet I could hear the rhythm of our breathing, and the soft rasp of paper against the other leaves. Ten minutes dragged by, then more, until his voice finally cut through the silence—cool, and amost indifferent.

"The contract from when Olivia went to the hospital for IVF."

Olivia. The hospital.

What did he want this for? I wanted to ask, yet didn't know how to bring it up, so I could only lower my head and help him look for it together.

Half an hour later, I finally found Olivia's name buried among medical reports.

In addition to the contract, there were also Olivia's physical examination forms. Every year's forms were here, and judging from the smoothness of the paper, these documents had been well preserved.

I looked up, and my mouth twitched in a way I couldn't control.

I didn't want to admit it, but I couldn't dodge it anymore—Ethan loved Olivia.

Maybe he didn't know it. Maybe he still believed his heart belonged to me. But if he didn't care, why keep her records? If he wasn't paying attention to her, why not toss them out and be done with it?

The truth landed in my chest with a dull, ugly weight. My head started to pound, and I couldn't come up with a single explanation that didn't hurt.

When I lifted my eyes again, Ethan was already looking at me.

I didn't know how long he'd been watching, but I knew I didn't look okay.

I forced a breath into my lungs and, with shaking resolve, asked, "You kept all this stuff…"

"This is what she kept," he cut in calmly. "She just never took it with her."

His face didn't change. Ever since that meeting at the company, I hadn't seen him truly relax once.

And why would he? His own biological father had stripped him of his heir status in front of an audience. No one would swallow that without choking on it.

I got up and went to him, letting my fingers brush the rim of his ear.

I knew how sensitive he was there. I knew he liked it when I touched him like this.

He tipped his chin up, and some of the raw hatred and hurt in his eyes eased, as if my hand could smooth it away. 

I acted like I hadn't noticed the shift at all, trailing my fingers down his cheek in a quiet attempt to soothe him.

"What are you looking for this stuff for?" I asked softly. "To give it back to her?"

I knew it was the wrong time, the wrong moment, the wrong question. I couldn't stop myself anyway. "You're not using this as an excuse to see her, are you?"

Ethan's head snapped to the side, irritation flashing across his face. 

He shot me a look that felt like a warning, sharp and impatient, and I didn't even know what to do with it. I stopped trying to decode him and simply patted his shoulder as he started to stand.

"Whatever you decide, I'll support you," I said, pushing past the tightness in my throat. "Olivia already betrayed you, so if you—"

"I'm taking these to an interview."

His shoulder was a dark shape against the hallway, moonlight catching along his jaw. I saw his mouth pull slightly to the left, the smile quick and cruel, like something he didn't bother to hide.

"She did this to me," he said, voice low. "Why would I be thinking about her? I don't even kill her, and you should call that mercy."

I stared at him, stunned, half convinced I'd misheard.

Then, minutes later, as if he'd decided I needed the full picture, he gathered the papers with a kind of grim satisfaction and added, "I contacted the media. Tomorrow morning, they're coming here. We're exposing Damien—the mafia boss—for being the other man."

My head rang, like someone had struck a bell inside my skull. I couldn't close my mouth.

Ethan headed upstairs, and only after he was halfway gone did the meaning crash into me in full.

I rushed after him, panic finally breaking through my shock. "Are you out of your mind? If Damien finds out you're behind this, he'll kill you."

A mafia family's boss feared ugly headlines more than most people understood. Men in that position survived by being careful, by hiding their women, by making sure no camera ever caught the wrong angle at the wrong time.

A scandal could destroy a man. A scandal like this could destroy an entire family.

I planted myself in front of Ethan, trying to hold his gaze. "You should think this through. Please."

"I'm already this miserable," he said, stepping closer until his presence crowded me. "What else is there to be scared of?"

He lifted his hand and rubbed his thumb against my cheek, the gesture almost tender except for the curve of his mouth, like he was daring me to contradict him.

"Didn't you say you'd stay with me?" He murmured. "It hasn't even been that long, and you're already scared?"

"I'm not scared," I insisted even though my pulse was sprinting. "I just think you're being impulsive."

His expression dropped like a curtain.

His hand on my face tightened, pressure blooming against my skin. "So what if I am?" he bit out loud. "All I want is for the people who ruined me to lose everything."

He leaned in, eyes vicious, and his voice turned into a command. "Tomorrow, when they get here, you'd better perform. Don't disappoint them."

My stomach turned cold. "Me too?"

"Of course." His tone made it sound obvious. "You're a witness. You're going to tell them everything you saw."

The room seemed to tilt.

I wanted to refuse. The word rose up instinctively, but he moved faster, his hand sliding to cover my mouth, cutting me off before I could even try.

"I don't want to hear anything I don't like," he said, his gaze icy. His grip didn't loosen. It only got firmer.

I couldn't fight him. Not like this.

So I nodded.

When he finally let go, I went straight to the bathroom and examined my face for marks.

Maybe because he wanted the interview to go smoothly, he'd held back this time. There wasn't a single bruise, not even a fingerprint.

The interview lasted two hours.

They asked for every detail—how I found out about Olivia and Damien, what I saw, heard, and what I could prove. 

I told them everything I could, and I shouldn't have, with one condition—to stay anonymous.

Ethan could play with fire if he wanted. I wasn't trying to burn.

As soon as he transferred the shares to Flynn, I could leave.

Just thinking about that day coming made the corner of my mouth lift before I could stop it.

The reporter looked at me, startled by my expression, then tucked away his recorder. At the door, he thanked me like I'd done him a favor.

I reminded him again not to leak my name. When I turned around, Ethan was there.

He walked toward me and touched my ear, his gaze softening into something almost tender. "You did really well, now we'll see how the media spins it."

The next day, the headlines exploded.

Every entertainment site shared the story: Damien being the other man, Olivia cheating outside of marriage and getting pregnant for the most powerful mafia boss.

And Ethan, as the injured party, moved fast and held a press conference, making his case to the world.