Chapter 4

The phone screen lit up, revealing a shocking image.

In the photo, she stumbled out of Ethan Roscente's luxury car, her clothes disheveled. The faint red marks on her pale skin were unmistakable.

Sophia Lowell clutched her neck. The bite mark in the mirror matched the photo perfectly.

Her fingers trembled. A cold sweat trickled down her spine.

Who took this?

What did they want?

Ding—

Another message popped up. The phone slipped from her grasp, the screen shattering like a spiderweb.

"Stay away from Ethan Roscente, or this goes public."

The threat was aimed at Ethan.

Was it one of the Roscente elders? Or one of his admirers?

A chill crawled up from her feet.

The Roscentes prized their reputation above all. If this affair came to light...

Ethan, as the Roscente heir, would be untouchable. But she? She’d be crushed like an ant.

The February breeze brushed her face, yet she felt frozen to the bone.

Her hands shook as she tried to reply—only to find herself blocked.

She was trapped. Helpless.

"Meow—"

Her calico cat rubbed against her ankle. Sophia mechanically poured kibble into its bowl.

The fishy scent hit her nose. Her stomach lurched.

"Ghk—"

The retching sound startled the cat, its fur standing on end.

She rushed to the bathroom—and caught sight of an unopened condom box.

A memory flashed:

Ethan’s burning lips against her ear. "Birthday wish—no condom."

The morning-after pill... She’d forgotten to take it.

Her nails dug into her palms. Her period was a week late.

Night fell. The Roscente mansion blazed with light.

Emily Laurent paced anxiously at the entrance. "You’re late!" Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you so pale?"

"Fourth Young Madam, the patriarch awaits your tea." The butler appeared abruptly.

Emily hesitated, then dragged Sophia into the parlor.

Under the crystal chandelier, Ethan accepted a gilded Marriage Pledge. His black shirt accentuated his aristocratic bearing—yet the undone collar hinted at something wild.

"It’s time to finalize Ninth Young Master’s marriage." Mr. Roscente Sr.’s voice boomed.

Sophia shrank into the shadows, her nails biting into her palms.

"I heard Sophia Lowell accepted a million-dollar betrothal gift from the Clementsons?" Victoria Langley’s voice cut through the room. "Father, why not draft a pledge for her too?"

Emily’s teacup rattled in its saucer.

"The Clementsons?" The patriarch’s hawk-like gaze sharpened. "Come here."

Two pairs of eyes pinned her in place—

One, stern and assessing.

The other, icy enough to devour her alive.