Chapter 304
Chapter 304
Preston watched the methodical cleanup unfolding before him, and the sense of absurdity in his chest only deepened. Sophia wasn't handling an accident. She was running through a routine workflow — professional, efficient, and carrying a kind of composure that was almost unsettling in how reassuring it felt.
It hit him then. He'd underestimated Ms. Grey from the very beginning. She didn't need sympathy. She was the one who wrote the rules.
---
That evening.
Sophia received a detailed report from Stanley.
It was short. It said everything.
Powder composition analysis: high-purity capsaicin, combined with multiple herbal powder compounds, including an extract derived from a plant known as 'Heartbreak Grass.' Non-lethal. However, in individuals with compromised gastrointestinal function, exposure causes severe irritation, acute diarrhea, and painful cramping.
At the bottom of the report, a single line in smaller text.
[This formula shares the same origin as the compound used in your chronic poisoning case three years ago.]
Sophia turned off her phone screen.
The room was dark. She sat still inside it.
So that's how it is.
Delta was a doctor, and she used that knowledge like a scalpel. She knew exactly what Sophia's body could and couldn't withstand. She knew how to cause maximum damage at minimum cost.
This wasn't a random attack. It was a precise, deliberate humiliation disguised as a warning.
I know exactly where you're vulnerable.
Sophia's fingers tapped a slow, quiet rhythm against the arm of the sofa.
She wasn't thinking about anger. She wasn't thinking about revenge.
She was thinking about Delta's next move.
People who only ever fought dirty rarely had much foresight. But they were exhausting — like a fly that wouldn't stop buzzing in your ear. You couldn't kill it, and it poisoned every moment of your day just by being there.
Sophia hated that feeling.
She needed a permanent solution.
---
The next morning, Preston arrived at the therapy studio with a knot in his stomach.
He'd mentally prepared himself for the aftermath — debris, damage, a conversation with Sophia about pushing back the opening date.
Instead, when he stepped off the elevator, he stopped cold.
The hallway was spotless. There was even a faint citrus scent hanging in the air — clean and bright, like fresh lemon. The entrance area that had been cordoned off yesterday was pristine, the floor tiles gleaming as if nothing had ever happened.
Inside the studio, a small crew in matching work uniforms was mounting white rectangular devices along the baseboards.
"Morning."
Hummingbird stood by the door and gave him a single nod.
"Morn — morning." Preston pointed at the white devices. "What are those?"
"Air purifiers," Hummingbird said, without blinking.
Preston watched the technicians pull instruments he couldn't begin to name from professional-grade toolboxes, calibrating them with quiet precision. Then he noticed it — a logo on the side of one of the white units, visible for just a moment.
A military research institute's emblem.
Air purifiers.
He hadn't gone to the best schools, but he wasn't that far gone.
What brand of air purifier needed a satellite uplink?
He made a decision, right then and there, to stop asking questions. The less he knew, the longer he'd live. That much, he understood perfectly.
He walked into the studio and found Sophia already there. She was sorting through easels, organizing canvases by size with quiet focus. Morning light came through the windows and settled over her, and she looked completely at ease.
Like yesterday's chaos had been nothing more than a forgettable dream.
Then her phone rang.
She answered it with a single word.
"Talk."
Stanley's voice came through — clipped and unhurried, same as always.
"We got him. Tried to slip out by water last night. We had someone at the docks."
"Background check came back. Name's Will. Small-time fixer. Used to run jobs for a guy named Caleb."
Sophia's hands stilled over the canvases.
Caleb.
The name tugged at something.
Then it surfaced. Years ago — she'd still been in school. She'd wandered into her father's study and seen a file on a business rival. The name at the top had been Caleb.
A ruthless operator with a reputation for playing to win at any cost. He'd lost a brutal power struggle eventually, lost everything overnight, and vanished without a trace.
A man who'd been buried by history.
Why would his old crew have any connection to Delta?
"One more thing." Stanley paused. "We had a conversation with Will. He said Delta used him for something else, before this."
Sophia's eye twitched, just slightly.
"What?"
"Few years back — breaking into a hospital records room and swapping out a paternity test."
Sophia stood by the window, phone in hand, watching the crew below in white protective suits pack up their equipment and clear out, one by one.
A paternity test.
The words moved through her mind slowly. They didn't hit hard. They only stirred something buried — images she'd long since pushed to the edges of her memory, the ones she'd quietly chosen to stop visiting.
David.
The child who, from the moment he was born, had been given the name: James's child with his true love.
The child James had poured every ounce of his guilt and paternal love into, the one he'd spared nothing to protect.
The child Raina and Delta had sharpened into a blade and driven into her, over and over again.
If —
She stopped the thought before it went any further. She didn't need 'if.' She needed facts.
"Look into it," she said into the phone, her voice flat and even.
"Already on it." A beat. "Soph. How are you holding up?"
"Fine."
"Those people — do you want us to —"
"No." She cut him off. "Keep them where they are. I'm not done with them yet."
She hung up and walked back into the studio.
Preston was standing in the corner, watching Hummingbird direct her crew with quiet authority, his face a complicated mix of awe and apprehension. He'd tried to look up the emblem on his phone. The search engine had returned a single line: Results withheld in accordance with applicable laws and regulations.
He'd closed the app immediately.
He'd made his peace with it. From this point forward, he was a simple, civic-minded man who saw nothing and asked nothing.
When he spotted Sophia heading toward him, he crossed the room quickly, his expression a careful cocktail of concern, curiosity, and low-grade fear.
"Ms. Grey — are you doing okay?"
"I'm fine." Her gaze drifted briefly to the newly installed 'air purifiers.' "Class resumes tomorrow, as scheduled."
"Right, yes, of course." Preston nodded rapidly.
He watched her profile — calm, unhurried, utterly unreadable — and a strange thought surfaced in the back of his mind. Yesterday's attack, for Sophia, had probably been about as disruptive as a paper jam.
Something that needed handling. Something that didn't touch her mood in the slightest.
A minor technical inconvenience, resolved.
---
The following day.
A bombshell business story detonated across global financial news without any warning.
[The Russell Group overseas trust fund cross-border litigation — final verdict reached. The Russell Group wins.]
[Five-year asset freeze lifted. Control of multi-billion-dollar overseas holdings returned.]
[Sources confirm: key inheritance agreement submitted by opposing counsel ruled a forgery.]
Short. Every word worth a fortune.
Inside the Russell Group, the mood was electric. The case had dragged on for years, devouring resources, throwing the company's international operations into turmoil. Now, in a single ruling, everything had flipped. People moved through the halls like they'd just won a war.
Owen walked into the executive office at a near-jog, tablet in hand, barely containing the grin spreading across his face.
"Mr. Russell — we won. Their legal team conceded right there in the courtroom. Those investment banks on Wall Street that have been waiting to watch us fall? They looked sick."
James was standing at the floor-to-ceiling window.
He didn't turn around. He didn't speak.
Morning light spread across his shoulders and gave him nothing.
Owen's smile faded. Something was off. He could feel it.
This verdict meant a full reset of power — not just for the company, but for James personally. The old guard inside the Russell Group who'd kept their hands on the levers for years would finally lose their grip. James would have everything.
This was supposed to be the moment.
And James had nothing on his face.
"Mr. Russell?" Owen said carefully.
James turned.
His expression was unreadable. But his eyes looked like still, dark water with nothing moving beneath the surface.
"Draft a statement," he said. His voice was rough at the edges.
"Of course — PR already has a few versions ready, all focused on celebrating the win. Would you like to —"
"Not a celebration." James cut him off.