Sofia stood just outside Augustine's office door, her fingers subconsciously clasping and unclasping the strap of her purse. He had asked her to meet him—a rare occurrence that filled her with a fragile, trembling hope.
Flinn exited the office just then, his shirt clinging to his back with sweat, his face pale and worn. He looked like he'd just stepped out of a battlefield.
"Hello, Madam. I'm sorry you had to wait," he said, offering a soft, apologetic smile.
"It's fine," Sofia said with a polite nod, brushing off his concern. "Is he free now?"
"He's not… entirely. But he said speaking to you was important. You can go in." Flinn pushed the door open for her.
Sofia stepped into the room, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor. Augustine was hunched over a file, flipping through its pages with an intensity that barely acknowledged her presence.
She paused near the desk, unsure why he had summoned her but hopeful—naively so—that perhaps this could be something meaningful. Something healing. Even a slight shift from what their relationship had become would feel monumental.
"You called?" she asked softly.
Augustine finally looked up. His eyes met hers before he shoved the file aside and leaned back in his chair, exhaling.
"Yeah, I did. Have a seat." He gestured vaguely to the chair across from him.
Sofia sat, carefully pulling the chair closer, her movements delicate and unsure. "It's a surprise you called me. I mean—I'm a little confused," she admitted, fiddling with her fingers, a nervous hope glimmering in her voice.
But his answer crushed it in an instant.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," he snapped. "I called you here to talk about what a useless mother you are."
The words cut through her like a blade. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Do you even know where your daughter is, or who she's spending time with?" His voice was sharp with irritation.
Sofia blinked, stunned. "What… are you talking about?"
"Do you have any idea that Blue is taking swimming lessons? And not just anywhere—she's with some unqualified, good-for-nothing roadside garbage of a woman." He slammed the file down on the desk, making her flinch.
"I… I didn't know," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"'I didn't know, I didn't know!' Is that all anyone knows around me?!" he barked, rising slightly in his seat, his fists clenched.
Sofia clasped her hands tightly, trying to ground herself. "I'll check—"
"Don't just check," he cut in furiously. "I want her out of there immediately! And stop projecting your failed dreams onto our daughter. She doesn't need to be a swimmer!"
Her lips parted in disbelief, her posture stiffening. "I never said anything to her about that," she said, voice colder now, wounded pride seeping through her words. Her gaze locked with his—a gaze that wasn't soft or timid anymore, but sharp, resisting, almost resentful.
"Yeah, real convincing," he sneered. "But I don't care what you say. I want results."
Sofia inhaled deeply, forcing herself to remain composed. She pushed the chair back with a jolt and rose to her feet. "If that's all, I'll be leaving now."
Without waiting for permission, she turned and walked out of the office, her spine rigid, her heels echoing behind her like war drums.
Sofia didn't go home.
Instead, her car veered straight toward Vladimir's estate like a bullet fired out of fury. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, her jaw clenched so tightly her teeth ached. She stormed through the gates without waiting for permission.
There was a quiver in her fingers, the kind that only came after emotional injury. Augustine's words kept echoing in her head, each one like a slap—useless mother, failed dreams, feeding your desires. But it wasn't just the insult that burned. It was how he'd said it, dismissing her dreams like they were dirt under his shoe.
She'd learned long ago that rage had nowhere to go in her world. All she could do was bottle it, bury it deep, and obey. That's what she was doing with Blue now—shaping her into someone who could survive this world, just like Sofia had. If swimming was Blue's passion, it had to be protected.
The car screeched to a halt in front of the main entrance. The chauffeur stepped out quickly, collecting the keys from her trembling hands.
Jay was already waiting for her at the foot of the steps. He gave a short bow. "Greetings, ma'am."
"Thank you, Jay. You know why I'm here. Let's not waste time," she said briskly. "I want to meet the instructor. Augustine's throwing a fit over her, and I need to see for myself if she's fit to be around my daughter."
"Of course," Jay replied with a nod. "You're welcome to speak to her or evaluate her however you like. But—" his tone darkened slightly, "—under Boss's instructions, You can't fire her.."
Sofia raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"I am following instructions Ma'am," he said cryptically. He turned and began walking ahead, gesturing for her to follow. But instead of heading toward the pool or training quarters, he took her down a quiet hall leading to the guest wing.
Sofia's steps slowed. "Why is she in a room? Shouldn't she be with Blue? Training?"
Jay glanced over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth curling in sarcasm. "Well… let's just say your husband left a surprise behind."
She frowned at his tone. Jay, unlike most staff, had the casual bluntness of someone who'd earned his stripes. Being Vladimir's right-hand man gave him a certain immunity, and his age—mid-thirties—allowed him to speak with an elder brother's bemused authority over the younger, often spoiled family members.
When they reached the door, Jay gripped the brass handle and held it open. "She's inside," he said with a mild smile and a mocking tilt of his head.
Sofia gave him an unimpressed glance, then stepped in. The scent hit her first—antiseptic and linen.
She had been in this room once, years ago. A party. Before the marriage. Before the chains. That memory flashed through her mind like a ghost—how bright she had been back then, how differently everything had turned out.
Her heels echoed on the marble as she walked in, each step toward the bed deepening the strange anticipation tightening in her chest. She wasn't sure what she expected—but it wasn't this.
A figure lay under the soft cream sheets, pale and utterly still. An IV bag hung from a sleek silver stand, dripping into the fragile vein of an arm that looked barely alive.
Sofia placed her handbag gently on the nearby chair and walked closer, each breath growing shallower, every step feeling like it was moving her through a fog.
And then she saw the face.
"Gasp!"
Her hand shot up to cover her mouth as she stumbled back a step, her eyes wide and wild, as if she had seen a ghost.
Her lips parted. The name fell out like a whisper.
"Sara?"