Chapter 5 She's Awake: Will You Go See Her?

James stood behind Isabella, his view completely blocked. He couldn't see what was actually happening inside the room.

And Isabella's shriek had already painted a vivid picture for anyone listening.

So when she stepped aside and James entered, what he saw was Sophia—hospital gown disheveled, hair wild—and Eugene looking confused and lost.

As for Ella, she stood off to the side wearing an expression of shock, seemingly trying to pull Eugene away and hurry him toward the door.

Everyone knew Eugene had the mind of a child barely five years old.

Which meant Isabella's accusation didn't sound entirely unreasonable to James.

He stood in the doorway, his expression dark as a gathering storm.

Ella immediately plastered on a fawning, flustered smile. "Mr. Smith! What a surprise! I just came to check on Sophia. She's got quite the temper—was giving me an earful just now…"

Eugene remained standing by the bed, utterly bewildered. His eyes now held no trace of lechery or violence—only the vacant stare of a lost child.

He kept his head down like he'd done something wrong but couldn't understand what.

Isabella glanced between them, her voice heavy with manufactured concern.

"James, I know Sophia's hurting, but she can't debase herself like this. If word gets out, what will this do to your reputation? To the Smith family name?"

"Get out."

James's voice was quiet, but sharp enough to cut to the bone.

Ella froze. "Mr. Smith, actually I was just—"

"I said get out!" James's gaze turned razor-sharp, cold enough to freeze blood. "Take your son and get the hell out of this room. If you set foot in here again, you'll wish you'd never been born."

Ella flinched like she'd been struck. She might be greedy and spiteful, but she knew exactly what kind of man James was.

She didn't dare say another word. She grabbed the bewildered Eugene and scurried out.

Isabella's voice turned gentle. "James, don't be too angry. Sophia, she—"

"You too. Out."

James cut her off, his eyes never leaving the figure on the bed.

Isabella bit her lip, resentment flashing in her eyes, but she murmured a soft "okay" and slipped out, closing the door gently behind her.

Only the two of them remained.

Sophia struggled to pull herself upright, tugging her hospital gown back into place.

Her face burned where she'd been slapped. Her scalp throbbed where her hair had been yanked. But none of that compared to the humiliation surging through her now.

James approached the bed slowly, each step deliberate and oppressive, until he loomed over her.

"Sophia, you never cease to amaze me. Even like this, you're still throwing yourself at men. You won't even pass up someone mentally disabled?"

Sophia trembled with rage.

"James, are you blind? Didn't you see them attacking me?!"

James let out a harsh laugh. "I saw a disabled man and you with your clothes half off.

"What now? Going to spin another story? Tell me he was faking it? That you were forced?"

"He was faking! The way he looked at me wasn't how someone like him should look. I remember when he first came to our house, he—"

"Enough!" James cut her off, his eyes filled with disgust.

"Sophia, do you think the entire world is conspiring against you? Isabella's out to get you, I'm out to get you, and now even a man everyone knows is mentally disabled is just pretending so he can take advantage of you? Who the hell do you think you are?"

He reached out and gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"Look at yourself. Half-dead in a hospital bed. Besides me, who else would even bother coming to see you? What could you possibly have that's worth anyone scheming to take?"

Sophia stared at the face inches from her own.

This was the face she'd once loved with every fiber of her being. Now it was foreign, terrifying, and hateful.

"With all your money, you'd think you could afford to fix your eyes."

James's brow furrowed.

"Isabella puts on a performance so over-the-top it's practically Broadway, and you can't see through it.

"Eugene plays dumb right in front of you, and you buy it completely."

Sophia's voice dripped with scorn. "Or maybe you can see it. You just don't want to. You're so arrogant you've already decided how everything is. You only believe your own judgments. You can't be bothered to actually look at the truth."

James hesitated, his grip loosening slightly. Sophia shoved his hand away, her voice rising sharply. "So you admit it? In your mind, I'm vicious and depraved. That way you can sleep at night while blaming Emily's death entirely on me.

"Then you can wrap yourself in the banner of vengeance and hate me with a clear conscience, torture me without guilt…"

"Shut up!" James snapped, her words striking a nerve. "Sophia, don't think running your mouth will wash away your sins. You know exactly how Emily died. Better than anyone!"

"I don't know!"

Sophia screamed back, tears finally spilling over.

"I have no idea why she died! The kidnappers said they'd release her once they got the money. Why did it end the way it did?! James, you say I killed her—then show me proof! Let me at least know what I'm dying for!"

James's breath caught.

Proof?

What proof was there? If he had to name something, it was the Johnsons' accusations, the kidnappers' vague confessions, and their suspiciously swift executions.

And of course, there was Sophia's love for him.

For James, that was enough. Enough to justify his hatred, his revenge.

He looked at her tear-streaked face and suddenly found her unfamiliar. The sight unsettled him, made irritation crawl under his skin.

He turned without another word and slammed the door behind him. The sound reverberated through the room, making the windows rattle.

Sophia lay half-propped against the pillows, unable to move for a long moment. Tears slid down to pool in the hollow of her throat. She raised her hand and scrubbed them away viciously.

She told herself, 'I can't cry.'

Another two weeks dragged by. With the physical therapist's help, her body finally began to improve. She could walk while holding onto the bed rail now, though her waist still required a support brace. At least the constant pain and numbness had dulled to something bearable.

That afternoon, she was gripping the bed rail and shuffling slowly across the room when James walked in.

Sophia didn't even lift her eyes. She was afraid looking at him would unleash the hatred knotted in her chest.

James watched her painful, halting steps. After a long silence, he spoke. "My mother's awake."

Sophia froze mid-step. Her head snapped up, eyes widening as tears welled instantly.

Unlike James, his mother was the only person who'd shown her warmth since her father died.

Just when Sophia had been about to call her "Mom," Serenity Powell had suffered a sudden stroke. No warning, no time to prepare.

They'd saved her life, but she'd slipped into a coma.

The endless weeks of unconsciousness had taken Sophia from hope to despair. And now James was telling her she'd woken up.

"Is... is it true?" Her voice shook with disbelief.

"Yes. This morning. She's very weak—was awake for a while, then fell back asleep." His tone softened almost imperceptibly. "The doctors say she needs rest. No stress."

Sophia's words tumbled out. "Can I see her? Just for a moment. I won't even speak."

James started to refuse, but something in her desperate expression made him change his mind. "Don't stay long."

He paused, his eyes carrying a warning. "And remember—don't say anything you shouldn't."

After all, he knew Serenity had always treated Sophia like family.

"I understand." Sophia nodded.

She might hate James, but she wouldn't be foolish about this.