Chapter 400

"Ms. Valentine, whether I'm doing well or not isn't for you to judge." Zachary adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze sharp as a blade behind the lenses. "As for threats? This is simply a fair transaction."

Isabella clenched the napkin in her hand, her knuckles turning white. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

"You'll find out when you return to New York." Zachary took a slow sip of coffee. "Mr. Roscente will speak with you personally. But I advise you not to play games—" He leaned forward abruptly. "The backups of those documents are far more extensive than you think."

Her pupils constricted.

"Oh, and one more thing," Zachary added with a faint smirk. "I suggest you stay away from Ms. Lowell. Mr. Roscente has taken note of all your little schemes."

"What schemes?" Isabella's voice rose before she forcibly lowered it. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Need a reminder?" His fingers tapped lightly on the table. "The car accident. The near-drowning—did you really think Mr. Roscente wouldn’t uncover the truth?"

It was a bluff. Those two incidents had been executed flawlessly, leaving even Ethan temporarily without leads. But Isabella’s reaction was telling—

"That’s nonsense!" She shot to her feet, her knife clattering to the floor. "I only had someone throw a flowerpot! And that coward ran off with the money! Sophia has plenty of enemies—why pin it on me?"

A glint of triumph flashed in Zachary’s eyes.

So the flowerpot incident had indeed been her doing. But the hired help had backed out, allowing the real culprit to slip in. That meant the car accident and near-drowning were someone else’s handiwork...

"Whether it’s you or not, Mr. Roscente will find out." Zachary stood, straightening his suit. "No one escapes."

Isabella suddenly grabbed his wrist, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I’m his fiancée..."

"Fiancée?" He yanked his hand free with a cold laugh. "This was always a mutually beneficial arrangement. You were the one who crossed the line." Turning away, he delivered his final warning: "Stay in your lane, and these files will never see the light of day."

The moment the door closed, Isabella overturned the table with a crash of shattering porcelain. Trembling, she dialed an encrypted number. "Ethan knows everything! You have to help me!"

A mechanized voice answered. "At what cost?"

"Sophia is pregnant." Her manicured nails dug into her palm. "I want her—dead."

Sophia awoke to sunlight flooding the room. Her fever had broken, leaving her mind clearer, though her throat still felt raw. Instinctively, she reached for the other side of the bed—only to find the sheets smooth and cold.

Of course. It had been a dream. That gentle version of Ethan coaxing her to take medicine couldn’t have been real.

She staggered to her feet, bracing herself against the wall as she left the bedroom—then froze.

In the open kitchen, a tall figure in an apron was tasting soup. Hearing her approach, he turned. Ethan’s hair was still damp. "You’re awake. Perfect timing—the congee is ready."