Chapter 306: Sophia, Kill Me

Chapter 306: Sophia, Kill Me

Brandon's eyes misted over at her words, though he quickly turned his face away with a dismissive snort. "You little liar. I don't believe a word out of your mouth."

Sophia looped her arm through his, her tone lifting playfully. "Master, I'm not trying to fool you. I've already hired someone to run the company. No more work stress for me—just studying medicine with you during the day and doing little crafts I enjoy at night. Sounds pretty perfect, doesn't it?"

Brandon finally let his stern expression crack, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Fine. Since you're so determined, I suppose I can put up with teaching you for a few more years."

"But—" He suddenly fixed her with a sharp look. "If you quit halfway through this time, I'll break your legs myself."

"I never quit anything halfway." Sophia blinked with mock pride, walking him to his second-floor bedroom door. "Get some rest, Master. John's going to need your needlework tomorrow."

After watching Brandon disappear into his room, Sophia turned and headed downstairs to the first-floor guest room.

Michael was already standing by the window with a cup of coffee. He handed it to her as she entered. "All done?"

"Mm." She accepted the cup, warmth seeping through the ceramic into her palms. The rich caramel aroma made her inhale deeply. "Thank you."

Michael leaned against the bed, moonlight carving sharp angles across his profile. He gazed at John's sleeping form, his expression thoughtful. "Any idea when Andrew can develop the antidote?"

"No clue. The serum contains a bunch of rare chemical compounds—it's going to be tricky." Sophia took a sip of coffee, the bitterness mingling with syrupy caramel sweetness on her tongue. "But Andrew said he's assigning extra staff. Maybe we'll get good news soon."

Michael nodded, then abruptly changed tack. "Are you really set on going back to Solstice Haven to study medicine?"

Sophia paused, then laughed. "Were you eavesdropping?"

"The door wasn't closed all the way." Michael shrugged, his gaze burning into hers. "Sophia, life in Solstice Haven isn't for you."

"I know." She walked to the bedside, gently tucking the blanket around John. "But as Mr. Wright's only apprentice, I need to make sure his medical legacy lives on, don't I?"

That was one reason. What she didn't say was this: after everything that had happened, money and power felt utterly worthless in the face of life and death.

After years of relentlessly chasing status and influence, maybe it was time to do something she actually wanted—to protect the people she cared about.

Michael fell silent for a moment, then let out a soft laugh. "Your need to excel at everything really is exhausting sometimes."

"What, getting tired of me already?" Sophia arched an eyebrow.

"Wouldn't dare." Michael stepped closer, ruffling her hair with gentle affection. "My Sophia is confident, independent, responsible, and sees things through to the end. Those are all strengths. Whatever you decide to do, I'll support you."

Warmth bloomed in Sophia's chest. She was about to respond when John let out a weak moan from the bed.

Both of them whipped around. John's snow-white lashes fluttered faintly, as though he were about to wake.

"John?" Sophia immediately bent over him, gripping his arm anxiously.

But John only muttered incoherently, his eyes remaining shut.

"What's he saying?" Michael frowned in confusion, leaning in to listen.

Through the fragmented murmurs, they could just make out the words: Sophia, kill me.

Sophia's hand froze mid-air. Those three words—kill me—stabbed into her chest like a dull blade.

Michael reacted instantly, pressing down on John's shoulder to prevent him from hurting himself. But John only twisted his head weakly, his pallid face slick with cold sweat.

"It's withdrawal." Sophia's brow furrowed as she caught Hank's eye—he'd appeared silently in the doorway.

The butler understood immediately, handing Sophia the medical kit before moving to help restrain John.

Sophia hurried forward, placing two fingers on John's wrist to check his pulse. "The sedative Brandon gave him is wearing off. His body's starting to rebel again."

A silver needle slid precisely into the Hegu acupuncture point. John's rigid muscles finally relaxed slightly. Sophia wiped the cold sweat from his forehead with a damp cloth, exhaling a long, weary sigh.

If they couldn't formulate an antidote soon—or find a better way to suppress his withdrawal symptoms—Jane's vial would inevitably end up in his veins.

Michael wrapped an arm around her shoulders, offering silent comfort.

The night was still long, but dawn would come eventually.

 

Meanwhile, Andrew hung up the video call with Sophia and immediately dialed another number.

"Victor, assemble a reliable team. We move tonight." His voice was ice-cold. "There should be more materials in the Bogart Museum basement. Retrieve all paper files related to 'Project White Dove.' Destroy everything else on-site."

The voice on the other end hesitated for two seconds. "Should we notify Ms. Johnson?"

"No." Andrew's knuckles rapped against the desk. "She acts too impulsively."

Outside the window, the night was pitch-black. Andrew stood before the floor-to-ceiling glass, a cigarette glowing and fading between his fingers.

He knew Sophia too well. Just from the pensive look on her face earlier, he could tell she was already planning another reckless trip to the museum.

Thinking of the faint shadows beneath her eyes, he crushed out the cigarette.

 

At 3:00 a.m., five figures dressed in black infiltrated the Bogart Museum without a sound.

The team leader wore night-vision goggles, his hand signals crisp and efficient.

They bypassed every surveillance blind spot with practiced ease, locating the basement entrance quickly—Andrew had pulled strings to obtain the underground floor plans in advance.

When they triggered the hidden mechanism and opened the inner chamber door, the lights flickered on. Every member of the team instinctively stepped back half a pace.

"Jesus Christ..." the youngest operative at the rear whispered.

The team leader turned, silently switching off his flashlight. His eyes locked onto the metal shelving unit against the far wall.

Row upon row of glass vials lined the shelves, each labeled with a name and filled with pills of varying colors.

The leader picked up the nearest bottle. The label read: John—Phase Three.

"Take them." His voice was tight. "Don't leave fingerprints."

The filing cabinets were pried open with brute force.

A safe caught their attention. Its combination lock was no match for professional tools.

Inside was a folder with a gilded cover. The title page bore the image of an eerie white dove: Project White Dove: Final Revision.

The team leader flipped through rapidly, his expression darkening with every page. He photographed the critical sections and sent them to Victor, then stuffed the original into a waterproof bag as instructed.

"Douse it with gasoline," he spoke into his earpiece. "Make sure there's not even a scrap of paper left."