Page 156 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

Something cold settles beneath my ribs. I check the number again as though I might’ve entered it incorrectly, but I haven’t.

There are other ways to find her. There are always other ways. I could ask Daniel to locate another personal contact, but that would immediately put her name back inside company channels. I could have someone contact the publication, but after the article, that would create another record for Preston to use. I could push harder, involve more people, and create more questions.

Every route toward her now seems to run through the very machinery I’m trying to keep away from her.

I set the phone beside the article and pick up my whiskey again, but the glass doesn’t reach my mouth. Sophie’s name is still visible beneath the reporting credit, and I find myself thinking about the last time I saw her in the foyer at the estate, her hand in mine and her face turned toward me when I kissed her goodbye.

We both behaved as though there’d be time.

That assumption feels almost arrogant now.

In less than two weeks, everything that existed between us has been swallowed by regulators, lawyers, board votes, press conferences, and a story neither of us ever discussed. I don’t know if she’s angry. I don’t know if she believes I abandoned her. I don’t know if she wants nothing more to do with me. I don’t even know if the message in front of me would matter if it reached her.

The phone remains silent while Manhattan continues moving beyond the windows as though none of this matters.

I’ve spent my entire adult life solving things. When systems fail, I find the weakness. When companies falter, I rebuild the structure. When people panic, I make the decision no one else wants to make.

There’s nothing useful I can do with this.

The message sits beneath her name for another few seconds before the red notification appears again.

Not Delivered.

I stare at it until the words begin to blur. Somewhere between Italy and this office, Sophie disappears from my life without either of us ever saying goodbye.

I set the phone beside the article and turn toward the skyline, finally understanding that losing someone can happen long before you’re ready to call it loss.

PART TWO

**SEVEN YEARS LATER**

Present Day

Chapter Twenty-One

Sophie

By 3:12, the sidewalks outside Theo’s school are crowded with parents, nannies, carpool lines, and children spilling through the gates with backpacks hanging crookedly from their shoulders. Westwood traffic hums beyond the block, but inside the school courtyard, everything feels contained beneath tall palms, jacaranda trees, and the constant shuffle of small shoes over concrete.

I spot Theo before he sees me.

He is standing near the gate with his backpack strapped over both shoulders and a small cardboard structure balanced carefully in his hands. His dark hair is slightly mussed from recess, and the concentration on his face is so complete that he nearly walks past me.

“Theo,” I call.

His head snaps up, and those blue eyes find mine immediately.

“Mom.”

He changes direction and comes toward me, still holding the project in front of him as though one wrong movement might destroy it.

I bend to kiss the top of his head, then look down at the collection of cardboard, string, wooden sticks, and plastic wheels in his hands.

“What am I looking at?”

“It’s a pulley,” Theo says.

“Obviously,” I reply.