Chapter 12
Six months after the verdict, Sophia escaped.
I was in Tokyo for a conference when Margaret called at 3 AM, her voice stripped of its usual composure.
"She attacked a transport guard during a hospital transfer. Stole his credentials and walked out of the facility."
I sat up in the dark hotel room. "How long ago?"
"Four hours."
"And they're just telling us now?"
"Bureaucratic delay. Police are mobilized, but she hasn't been seen since."
I called Alexander next. He answered on the first ring, already awake—or perhaps he hadn't slept.
"I know," he said before I could speak. "I just heard. I'm sending additional security to your Tokyo hotel and your penthouse here."
"I'm coming back on the first flight."
"Elena. Stay put. You're safer in a country she can't easily reach—"
"I'm not hiding from Sophia Mills." My voice came out harder than I intended. "I hid from things for three years. Never again."
Silence. Then: "I'll have a car waiting at the airport."
I landed in the city twelve hours later. The security detail met me on the tarmac—six people, armed, alert. It felt absurd and necessary in equal measure.
For three days, nothing. Sophia had vanished like smoke. The police issued alerts. Her face appeared on evening news.
On the fourth day, she surfaced.
I was leaving NovaMind's headquarters at 7 PM. The parking garage was well-lit and monitored, but she had found a blind spot behind a support column.
She stepped out holding a kitchen knife—cheap, serrated, shaking in her white-knuckled grip. Her hair was unwashed. Her eyes were wild, rimmed with red, burning with something beyond rational.
"Elena." Her voice was a rasp. "You took everything. My money. My freedom. Nathan."
I stopped walking. The two guards flanking me tensed, hands moving to holsters.
"Sophia." My voice was calm. "Put the knife down."
"Why?" She laughed—a broken, jagged sound. "What's the worst they can do? Send me back to prison? I was already there. Because of you."
"Because of your own choices."
"MY CHOICES?" She lunged forward two steps. The guards moved to intercept. "You—you had everything. The name. The money. The grandfather. You could have let us be! You could have taken your divorce and disappeared!"
"And you could have not framed me for pushing you down stairs," I said evenly. "You could have not faked a pregnancy. You could have not planted stories in the tabloids."
I held her gaze. "Every single consequence you're living was authored by your own hand."
Something crumbled behind her eyes. The wildness collapsed into raw despair. The knife wavered.
"I just... I just wanted what you had," she whispered. "I wanted to matter."
"Then you should have built something," I said. "Instead of stealing."
The guards closed in. One secured the knife. The other restrained her. She went limp, all fight draining out at once, and sobbed against the concrete floor.
I watched her for a moment—this woman who had haunted two of my lifetimes.
Then I turned and walked to my car.
---
I was in Tokyo for a conference when Margaret called at 3 AM, her voice stripped of its usual composure.
"She attacked a transport guard during a hospital transfer. Stole his credentials and walked out of the facility."
I sat up in the dark hotel room. "How long ago?"
"Four hours."
"And they're just telling us now?"
"Bureaucratic delay. Police are mobilized, but she hasn't been seen since."
I called Alexander next. He answered on the first ring, already awake—or perhaps he hadn't slept.
"I know," he said before I could speak. "I just heard. I'm sending additional security to your Tokyo hotel and your penthouse here."
"I'm coming back on the first flight."
"Elena. Stay put. You're safer in a country she can't easily reach—"
"I'm not hiding from Sophia Mills." My voice came out harder than I intended. "I hid from things for three years. Never again."
Silence. Then: "I'll have a car waiting at the airport."
I landed in the city twelve hours later. The security detail met me on the tarmac—six people, armed, alert. It felt absurd and necessary in equal measure.
For three days, nothing. Sophia had vanished like smoke. The police issued alerts. Her face appeared on evening news.
On the fourth day, she surfaced.
I was leaving NovaMind's headquarters at 7 PM. The parking garage was well-lit and monitored, but she had found a blind spot behind a support column.
She stepped out holding a kitchen knife—cheap, serrated, shaking in her white-knuckled grip. Her hair was unwashed. Her eyes were wild, rimmed with red, burning with something beyond rational.
"Elena." Her voice was a rasp. "You took everything. My money. My freedom. Nathan."
I stopped walking. The two guards flanking me tensed, hands moving to holsters.
"Sophia." My voice was calm. "Put the knife down."
"Why?" She laughed—a broken, jagged sound. "What's the worst they can do? Send me back to prison? I was already there. Because of you."
"Because of your own choices."
"MY CHOICES?" She lunged forward two steps. The guards moved to intercept. "You—you had everything. The name. The money. The grandfather. You could have let us be! You could have taken your divorce and disappeared!"
"And you could have not framed me for pushing you down stairs," I said evenly. "You could have not faked a pregnancy. You could have not planted stories in the tabloids."
I held her gaze. "Every single consequence you're living was authored by your own hand."
Something crumbled behind her eyes. The wildness collapsed into raw despair. The knife wavered.
"I just... I just wanted what you had," she whispered. "I wanted to matter."
"Then you should have built something," I said. "Instead of stealing."
The guards closed in. One secured the knife. The other restrained her. She went limp, all fight draining out at once, and sobbed against the concrete floor.
I watched her for a moment—this woman who had haunted two of my lifetimes.
Then I turned and walked to my car.
---