Chapter 123

"Ahh! Someone help me! Please!"

Sophia screamed when she saw the blood pooling beneath her.

Maxwell adjusted his freshly pressed suit, the one his assistant had delivered that morning. He lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly before dialing a number. A sly grin curled his lips as he spoke. "You should understand my cousin's position. When I was locked up, her brother looked out for me. Now that I'm out, I owe him. And well... turns out her sister is a real piece of work."

Sophia stood frozen in the crimson puddle, watching as Maxwell ignored her completely—ignored the blood, the mess, everything. He simply finished his call, opened the door, and walked out without a backward glance.

Panicked, she grabbed her phone. Dead.

She fumbled to turn it on, fingers shaking as she dialed emergency services.

Just then, the door swung open again.

A woman stepped in—the same secretary from the club entrance last night, the one who had mistakenly let her in and led her straight to Maxwell. Behind her were two men.

The secretary's gaze flicked to the bloodstained sheets, cold and detached. "Get her dressed. Put her in the car."

The men moved toward Sophia.

"What—what are you doing?" She scrambled back.

The secretary smirked. "Cooperate if you want to live. Or stay here and bleed out. No one will hear you scream."

Trembling, Sophia clutched her aching stomach, her face ghostly pale as they dragged her into the waiting car.

Hospital.

The anesthesia dragged her under.

When she woke, groggy and disoriented, the doctor delivered the news with clinical detachment. The baby was gone.

"Should I notify your fiancé?" the secretary asked, twisting the knife deeper.

Sophia lay limp on the bed, her abdomen throbbing.

But the real agony came with the doctor’s next words—words that shattered her completely.

She would never carry a child again.

Nathan and Patricia arrived soon after.

Nathan was eerily calm compared to his mother, who fluttered around like a panicked hen.

If he had been willing to hand Sophia over to his so-called friends, then he clearly didn’t care what happened to her.

And why would he? He had no feelings for her. Their relationship was a farce, built on mutual deceit.

Patricia stormed into the room and struck Sophia across the face.

Slap!

Sophia jolted awake, pain flaring.

"You—you forget your meds again, you psycho?" she spat, glaring at Patricia through bleary eyes.

Patricia hit her again, then swung her handbag like a weapon, raining blows down on her.

"Disgusting! You whored around and killed my grandchild!" Patricia sobbed between strikes, her grief morphing into rage.

Regret burned through her. She never should’ve paid for that house.

T Corporation.

Evelyn’s phone buzzed—her mother. She slipped away to the empty pantry.

"Stop crying," Evelyn hissed. "It’s over. Learn from it and move on."

"My grandbaby—"

"Your grandbaby?" Evelyn scoffed. "Let’s be real. With Nathan’s track record, who knows whose it really was?"

Patricia stood at the bus stop, clutching her handbag, the truth of her daughter’s words sinking in.

She couldn’t be sure.

Two days. That’s all she’d wait before forcing that little gold-digger to pay back every cent.

The bus rolled to a stop at a red light near a bustling mall.

A sale was happening—middle-aged women chattered excitedly about discounts.

Patricia peered out the window.

And froze.

There, handing out flyers under the scorching sun, was Evelyn.

"Wait—let me off!" She shoved past the protesting driver and hurried toward the mall.

She watched from behind an ad board, snapping a photo and sending it to Olivia.

What’s going on?

Olivia replied instantly. Her dad’s still sick. She’s drowning in debt. What else is she supposed to do?

"But her sugar daddy—"

Olivia cut her off. What kind of sugar daddy makes his girl pass out flyers in this heat? You think a thousand-dollar serum fixes sun damage?

Patricia stared at Evelyn, guilt twisting in her gut.

She’d been so wrong.

She forwarded the photo to Nathan.

Listen to me. Get her back. I’m sending you her location.

T Corporation Building.

Dominic finished his last meeting, his presence commanding as always. He had to leave soon—his uncle was hosting a welcome feast for Maxwell.

At the Lockwood estate, little Isabella sprinted toward her granduncle, giggling as he scooped her up.

Meanwhile, in the backyard, a relative’s child splashed in the pool.

Maxwell ordered his assistant to supervise.

The man obeyed, stripping down and diving in.

His phone buzzed on the ground.

Maxwell glanced at the screen.

Evelyn Sinclair. Here’s her location. My bad you didn’t get to have fun with her last night. Want to pay her a visit?

Attached was a photo of Evelyn, flyers in hand.

Maxwell saved the image, deleted the message, and pocketed the phone.

Keys in hand, he headed for the door—just as Dominic walked in with Alexander.

For the first time, Maxwell really looked at the boy.

He’d been in prison when Alexander was born.

Now, studying him, something clicked.

The kid looked… familiar.

Like the girl in the photo.