Chapter 2: I Didn't Even Know She Was Back

Sophia's POV

The black sedan screeches to a halt in front of the Beacon Hill townhouse. Ethan shoves the car door open, not bothering to remove his suit jacket before he's striding toward the entrance.

The foyer is dark. His hand fumbles for the light switch. When the chandelier flickers on, everything looks the same but feels wrong.

The shoe rack near the door is empty. Those white canvas sneakers she always wears are gone. The air doesn't smell like her lavender shampoo anymore.

"Mr. Blackwood?" Mrs. Peterson emerges from the kitchen, teacup in hand. She startles. "I thought you had dinner plans."

"Where's Sophia?"

Mrs. Peterson hesitates. "Mrs. Blackwood came home around five. She packed a suitcase and left. Said she was staying with a friend for a few days."

He doesn't wait. He's already taking the stairs two at a time.

The bedroom door slams open. The closet doors hang wide, half the hangers empty and tilted at odd angles. Her side of the dresser is bare. The jewelry boxes he gave her over three years, all gone. Diamond earrings, pearl necklace, emerald bracelet.

Only the small ballet slipper jewelry box remains, lying empty in the corner.

She's planning to leave for good.

Downstairs, papers are arranged in neat stacks on the dining table. Divorce papers. And next to them, a letter.

Ethan picks up the note. His eyes scan each word.

Ethan, I'm sorry. This marriage was supposed to end anyway. Thank you for three years. Bailey's back. You two can start over. I'll take care of the baby. He or she won't interfere with your life. — Sophia

His brow furrows when he reaches "Bailey's back." He reads it again.

"Bailey?" He repeats the name under his breath.

Three seconds of silence.

Then he laughs. Cold, sharp. "Bailey? I didn't even fucking know she was back!"

He crumples the paper in his fist and hurls it at the wall. Both hands slam down on the table. A vein pulses at his temple.

Mrs. Peterson lingers near the staircase, tea still in hand.

Ethan pulls out his phone. His fingers tremble slightly. "Marcus. Find Sophia Monroe. I don't care where she is. Fast."

"Mr. Blackwood, it's nine-thirty at night."

"I know what time it is. Triple your rate. Start now."

He ends the call and stares at the crumpled letter on the floor.

The first two days blur together. Ethan sits in his office, eyes bloodshot, scrolling through Sophia's accounts. Instagram, Facebook, Twitter. All private. She's blocked him everywhere.

On day three, Jason knocks. "Sir, we got something. Mrs. Blackwood used her credit card at the airport."

Ethan's head snaps up. "Where?"

"Seattle. Yesterday evening. Six o'clock flight."

Day four, he calls Mia. The phone rings seven times.

"Mr. Blackwood." Her tone is flat.

"Tell me where she is."

Mia laughs. "I don't know. And even if I did, why would I tell you?"

"This isn't a game. She's pregnant and alone."

"Oh please. You gave her half a million to disappear. Now you want to play devoted husband? She doesn't want to see you. Deal with it."

The line goes dead.

By day five, Ethan is barely holding it together. In a board meeting, directors present Q3 reports. He sits at the head of the table, eyes on the documents, but his mind is three thousand miles away.

"So I recommend we increase investment in Asia-Pacific. Mr. Blackwood? Sir?"

He jerks alert. Everyone is staring. "Continue."

Three minutes later, his eyelids droop again.

On day twenty-one, Jason stands outside the glass-walled office, watching his boss through the door. Ethan has been sleeping on the office couch for three weeks. Yesterday, he dozed off three times during meetings.

Jason knocks. "Sir, you haven't been home in three weeks. The board is starting to worry."

Ethan doesn't look up from the Seattle map on his screen. "Send Marcus a list. Every hotel, Airbnb, café, bookstore, museum in Seattle. She'll go to those places."

"That's over five hundred locations."

Ethan's gaze lifts. Sharp enough to cut. "Then check them one by one."

At 3:47 PM, his private phone rings. Marcus.

He lunges for it. "You found her?"

Marcus sounds exhausted but triumphant. "Found her. Pike Place Market area. Café called Moonlight Brew. She's working as a barista. Just confirmed."

Ethan is already grabbing his coat. "Book the next flight."

Jason sighs. "Yes, boss."

But Ethan is already in the elevator.

Seattle is drizzling. Rain streaks down the café windows, blurring the street outside.

I'm behind the counter, focused on latte art. Steam from the milk pitcher makes my bangs damp.

Three weeks here. Renting a small apartment. Working at this café. The owner is kind, didn't ask too many questions. Just glanced at my résumé and hired me.

Every day is the same. Make coffee. Wipe tables. Smile at strangers. It almost feels like I could build something new here. Like I could actually forget him.

"One Americano. Black, no sugar."

The voice is low. Magnetic. Every word precise.

The milk pitcher nearly slips from my hand.

I look up.

He's at the counter. Suit soaked through, hair dripping wet. He doesn't seem to care.

Those blue eyes are locked on me.

No. How did he find me? This place is three thousand miles from Boston.

"Ethan..." My voice shakes. "How..."

His expression is eerily calm. Like we've been apart three hours, not three weeks. He repeats slowly, "One Americano. Black. No sugar. Please."

Other customers turn to stare. A man in a suit worth thousands, drenched and standing in this tiny café.

My hands tremble as I make the coffee. The grinder whirs. Hot water hisses. I try to let the sounds fill my head.

When I hand him the cup, his fingers brush mine as he pays. That familiar touch sends a shiver through me.

"After your shift. In the car outside. We need to talk." Soft voice, but each word is a command.

He takes his coffee and sits in the corner. His eyes never leave me.

At six, I remove my apron and say goodbye to my boss. When I push open the door, the rain has stopped but the pavement is still wet.

A black sedan is parked at the curb. The window rolls down. Ethan nods toward the back seat.

I could run. Right now.

But we both know I can't. He searched for three weeks. He'll keep searching.

I take a breath and pull open the door.

Leather seats. The faint scent of cologne. Everything smells like Ethan.

Three weeks of running suddenly feels like a joke.

He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a document, tossing it onto my lap.

"That clinic was shut down by the FDA three months ago. The ultrasound machine came from a secondhand medical prop shop. Oh, and the check you wrote them bounced."

My face drains of color. Blood rushes from my head.

It's over.

"Ethan, I can pay you back. The five hundred thousand, every cent."

He cuts me off. Those blue eyes hold no warmth. "I don't want the money."

Confusion and fear twist in my chest. "Then what do you want?"

A dangerous smile curves his lips. An expression I've never seen before.

He leans forward. "I want my child."

I'm lost. "But there is no child."

He leans closer. I can feel his breath. "Then we'll make one."

"You signed a three-year contract, Sophia. Only been a year and a half. For the next eighteen months, you'll live in my house, fulfill real wifely duties, until you're actually pregnant."

My eyes go wide. No words come out.