Page 225 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

“I left.”

“To me, that was the same thing.”

Her expression softens, but only slightly.

“To me, you stopped answering.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t.”

“I know that now.”

The words settle between us. For the first time, the anger I have carried for seven years does not disappear, but it shifts. It loses its clean edges.

I look at her across the table and realize something I do not want to admit: Maybe neither of us abandoned the other. Maybe we were both standing on opposite sides of a wall neither of us knew was there.

Before either of us can say more, thunder cracks hard enough to shake the glass. The lights flicker once, twice, then disappear completely. For a few seconds, the dining room drops into darkness except for the gray-white flashes of lightning beyond the windows.

Sophie exhales sharply.

“Well, that feels ominous.”

I stand. “There are rechargeable lanterns in the storage cabinets.”

“In the dining room?”

“In every room.”

She follows as I move toward the cabinetry along the far wall.

“In case there’s an apocalypse?” Sophie asks.

“In case people lose power during a storm.”

“That answer is significantly less interesting.”

I find the cabinet by memory and open it. Several rechargeable lanterns sit on the lower shelf beside backup batteries, emergency bulbs, and sealed plastic containers of supplies.

I switch on the first lantern, then the second and third. Warm, low light spreads across the room.

Sophie reaches past me for a container and it slips from her hand. Several lightweight boxes and plastic cases tumble onto the floor.

“Perfect,” she says.

I crouch. “Careful.”

She bends beside me and we reach for the same container. Her fingers close over mine. Neither of us moves. The rain hammers the windows behind us, but the sound suddenly feels distant.

Sophie looks at me. The lantern light catches the blue in her eyes. My pulse changes instantly. So does everything else.

I have spent days controlling where I look, what I ask, how close I stand. I have spent years convincing myself that whatever existed between us belonged to a version of my life that was finished.

Now her hand is still resting over mine. Her mouth is inches away. My body reacts before my mind catches up, heat tightening low in my abdomen as every memory I have tried not to touch comes rushing back at once.

“Sophie.”

Her lips part. I do not know what I intend to say until the words leave me.

“I never thought I’d see you again.”