Chapter 50
Henry sat in his study, staring at his phone with growing agitation. James’s investigation results were thorough as always, but their findings went wel
No record of anyone named Sain to Sophia’s past relationships or significant connections,” the report stated plainly. “Background check from five years ag shows no such individual in her social circle.”
Henry clenched his jaw, remembering Sophia’s sleeping form, remembering that tender smile on her face as she murmured that name in her sleep. Sam. The name tasted bitter in his mind. Before their marriage, he had investigated her entire life–every friend, every acquaintance, every potential rival had been carefully documented and assessed.
How had this “Sam” slipped through?
Movement from the kitchen caught his attention. Through the doorway, he could see Sophia’s silhouette as she prepared dinner. Despite his anger, his eyes involuntarily traced her elegant curves, the way her honey–blonde hair caught the light. Her fitted blouse emphasized a figure that still drew admiring glances, though she seemed oblivious to her own allure.
A surge of possessiveness and rage coursed through him. Five years he’d owned her, yet she dared dream of another man? First Thomas, now this mysterious “Sam–how many others were lurking in her past?
What a waste, he thought bitterly. Five years of marriage, and she still didn’t understand her place. A Harding wife’s duty was simple–maintain the household, raise the children, present a perfect image to society. Instead, she dared to demand divorce, humiliate him publicly, dream of other men while sleeping in his house.
His mind drifted back five years, to that stormy night when he’d found her on the cliff’s edge. The rain had plastered her clothes to her body, her eyes wild with desperation as she stared into the churning waves below. He’d been drowning in his own pain then, heartbroken from Isabella’s departure.
When William suggested marriage to the daughter of the man who’d helped save their family’s fortune, it had seemed like a perfect solution. Since he couldn’t have the woman he loved–what did it matter who he married?
But watching her now, watching her move gracefully through his kitchen, Henry felt an inexplicable tightness in his chest. She’d given him five years of perfect dinners, immaculate housekeeping, and relentless devotion to their son. Even now, knowing he held Billy’s location over her head, she maintained her dignity.
“The noodles are ready,” Sophia’s voice broke through his memories. Her tone maintained perfect respect, but he could hear the tension underneath. She must be thinking about Billy, plotting ways to find him.
The simple bowl of noodles she placed before him was nothing like Isabella’s preferred elaborate meals, but the aroma still made his stomach growl. Despite himself, he had to admit Sophia was an excellent wife–when she wasn’t defying him at every turn.
“Where is my son?” she asked softly, watching him eat.
Henry took another leisurely bite before answering. “I seem to have forgotten,” he said carelessly, enjoying the way her hands clenched at her sides.
‘I’ll call the police,” she threatened, though they both knew she wouldn’t dare.
He smirked, pushing away from the table. “I’m going to take a bath, he announced, heading for the stairs. At the landing, he paused. “Come up and wash my
back.”
“What?” The anger in her voice was delightful.
‘Unless you don’t want to know where Billy is?” He continued up the stairs, knowing she would follow. For their son, she always would.
When she entered the master bathroom, the entire space was already filled with steam. Henry reclined in the large tub, letting the water lap at his chest, watching the internal struggle play across her face. Even angry, she was beautiful–perhaps especially when angry, with color in her cheeks and fire in her
eyes.
“Thinking about how to murder me silently?” he taunted, noticing her eyes fixed on the water’s surface. “Wondering if you could hold me under
