Chapter 7
452words
He reached for me, but I used my last strength to shove him away.
"Don't touch me with those filthy hands that have been all over that whore!"
My voice was raw with hatred.
Between the searing pain and the devastating news about my father, the world reduced to a distant buzzing in my ears.
I thought I saw my father's face—smiling at me like when I was small—before he faded into darkness.
I clawed my way upright, fingernails cutting into my palms, using the pain to stay conscious.
I fixed Frederick with an eerily calm stare. "My father is dead," I said, each word distinct. "Are you satisfied now?"
My voice was devoid of emotion—unnaturally calm—yet it visibly chilled him to the bone.
"Sophie, I… I didn't mean for this to happen. I'll get the best doctors…" he stammered, grasping for control of the situation.
But darkness claimed me as my body collapsed backward.
Before consciousness fled completely, one thought remained: the bomb must be detonated.
I drifted through an endless dream.
In it, I was back at my father's company. He sat behind his massive desk, patiently teaching me financial analysis. "My Sophie," he smiled, "you're a born queen of finance."
The sweeter the dream, the more brutal the awakening.
At the dream's edge, my father's face morphed into Howard Hayes—the "vulture capitalist" with his knowing smirk. Across a sea of financial data, he made a silent "detonation" gesture.
I jerked awake.
White ceiling. Sharp antiseptic smell.
I was in a hospital delivery room. Frederick sat beside me, dark circles under his eyes, looking haggard.
Relief flashed in his eyes when he saw me awake.
"Where is my father's body?" I rasped before he could speak.
He couldn't meet my eyes. "They've… already cremated him…"
I laughed suddenly—a broken sound that dissolved into uncontrollable tears.
"You wouldn't even let me see him one last time. What were you afraid of, Frederick? That I'd show his corpse how you've tortured his daughter?"
My laughter turned to sobs that tore through my chest like knives.
I tried to get up but was jerked back with a metallic clank.
Looking down, I discovered my ankle locked in cold metal shackles, chained to the bed rail.
Two stone-faced guards in black suits flanked the door like sentinels.
These chains might restrain my body, but they can't imprison my mind. You've given me the perfect quiet space to plan your destruction, Frederick.
He doesn't just want my children—he wants me completely caged.
In this "VIP" delivery room, he's created a prison more elegant and more hopeless than the attic ever was.
