66

66
The air in the car was thick with silence.

Not the uncomfortable kind, but the kind that pressed down on your lungs—full of unspoken truths, of decisions not yet made.

Sophie sat curled against the passenger door, her head tilted slightly toward the window. Alexander drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near her thigh but not quite touching. He hadn’t said anything since they pulled away from the warehouse.

Neither had she.

But now—now the silence had started to ache.

“He’s going to do something,” she said quietly.

Alexander’s fingers curled slightly.

“Yes.”

“He was calm.”

“That’s never a good sign.”

Sophie turned toward him. “You believe him, don’t you? About what happened to him… about being locked away?”

Alexander exhaled. “Yes.”

Her voice broke a little. “Then you know I’ve been hating him for the wrong reasons.”

“No,” Alexander said. “You’ve been surviving. That doesn’t require perfect accuracy.”

She stared at him, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. “I don’t know what to feel anymore.”

He reached over, took her hand. “You feel what you feel. And we deal with the rest together.”

Sophie leaned her head against his shoulder as he drove. “He said he’s going to make his choice now.”

Alexander’s jaw clenched. “He already made it. The moment he threatened Ethan.”

She was quiet for a moment. “He thinks Ethan is his right.”

“And he’s wrong.”

“But he’s not wrong about the blood.”

“Blood,” Alexander said, “is the least of what makes a father.”

She looked up at him. “What does?”

“Everything you’ve done for Ethan. And everything I’ve tried to become for him.” He paused. “We choose him. Every day. Nikolai’s just trying to take something he never earned.”

Sophie gripped his hand tighter.

“I don’t want Ethan to grow up afraid.”

“He won’t.”

“I don’t want to lie to him forever.”

“We won’t.”

“But I don’t want him to know what kind of man Nikolai is. Not yet.”

“Then we shield him,” Alexander said. “Until he’s strong enough to stand on his own.”

The car turned onto their street.

Sophie looked toward the house, breath catching. “The porch light’s off.”

Alexander frowned. “That’s strange. I always leave it on when we’re out.”

He parked and stepped out quickly, scanning the area.

Sophie followed, heart in her throat.

The front door was locked. No signs of damage.

But something felt… off.

Too quiet.

Too still.

Alexander reached for the door handle—and paused.

Then turned slowly toward Sophie.

“Go around the back,” he said softly. “Enter through the kitchen. Text me if anything’s moved.”

Sophie nodded, every nerve on fire.

She walked around the house, shoes crunching softly against the gravel path. The kitchen door was unlocked. That alone was enough to make her pause.

She stepped inside carefully.

Everything looked untouched.

But it didn’t feel untouched.

She moved to the hallway—checked Ethan’s room.

He was asleep. Safe. Breathing steady.

She sent Alexander a message: “He’s okay. No signs of entry. But something feels wrong.”

Alexander responded immediately: “Stay with him. Lock the door.”

She did.

And waited.

Ten minutes passed.

Then Alexander knocked gently on the bedroom door.

She cracked it open.

He stepped inside. “Everything’s secure.”

“Nothing?”

“No signs. But someone’s been here.”

She swallowed hard. “How do you know?”

He held up a small object wrapped in tissue paper.

She took it.

Unwrapped it slowly.

It was a chess piece.

A black king.

Sophie stared at it.

Alexander’s voice was low. “It was on my pillow.”

Her blood ran cold. “He was in our bedroom.”

“He wanted us to know.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means check,” Alexander said. “Not checkmate. Not yet. Just… a warning.”

Sophie sat on the edge of Ethan’s bed, her hand trembling. “He’s trying to make us panic.”

“He wants us to react.”

“Well, it’s working.”

Alexander crouched in front of her. “So we outsmart him.”

Her voice cracked. “How?”

“We go public.”

Sophie’s head snapped up. “What?”

Alexander’s eyes were sharp, clear. “We control the narrative. If we tell the story first—on our terms—we take his weapon away.”

“You want to expose Ethan?”

“No,” Alexander said. “We expose Nikolai. Carefully. Not names. Not photos. But enough to make him panic. Make him pull back.”

Sophie shook her head. “He doesn’t panic. He plans.”

“Then we make him believe the plan failed.”

She looked over at Ethan.

Still sleeping.

Still innocent.

Still so heartbreakingly unaware.

“I’ll do it,” she whispered.

Alexander’s brows furrowed. “Sophie—”

“No,” she said. “You’re right. We end this before it begins. We tell the world what kind of man he is. I’ll write the article myself.”

Alexander stared at her. “You’d do that?”

“I’ve spent the last six years letting people tell my story for me,” she said. “It’s time I write it myself.”

He stood slowly, pulling her up with him. “Then we do it together.”

Sophie nodded.

They tucked Ethan in again, kissed his forehead.

Then stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind them.

Sophie looked up at Alexander.

“I’m tired,” she said.

“I know.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen when we publish this.”

“We deal with it.”

“And if he retaliates?”

“We retaliate smarter.”

She let out a long, shaky breath.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s fight back.”