CHAPTER 47: GUEST I

The clock on Sophie’s dashboard glowed 11:47 p.m. as she pulled into the driveway of her modest suburban home, the engine’s hum fading into the quiet night. The street was silent, save for the distant bark of a neighbor’s dog and the rustle of leaves in the late summer breeze. Her body ached from the long shift at Blissville Hospital, but it was the weight of secrets that truly exhausted her, the files Helena had stolen, the FHCA’s looming investigation, the plot to dismantle Devon Cole’s empire.

She grabbed her bag from the passenger seat, slung it over her shoulder, and stepped out, the cool air kissing her skin like a warning.

The front door creaked open under her key, spilling warm light from the living room into the darkness. "I’m home," Sophie called softly, her voice echoing through the hallway as she kicked off her shoes. The house smelled of dinner remnants, garlic and herbs, and the faint sweetness of baby shampoo. She padded into the living room, where the TV flickered with a muted nature documentary, casting blue shadows on the walls.

Her husband, Mark, looked up from the couch, his tired eyes lighting with a smile. In his arms was their three year old daughter, Lily, her tiny head nestled against his chest, curls splayed like a halo, her eyelids heavy with sleep. Mark was a sturdy man, with a kind face framed by a scruffy beard, his flannel shirt rumpled from a day of remote work and toddler wrangling. "Hey, love," he said, his voice warm but hushed. "Long day?"

Sophie felt a rush of relief at the sight of them, the normalcy, the anchor in her storm. She crossed the room, leaning down to ruffle Lily’s hair. The little girl stirred, her eyes fluttering open. "Mama!" she mumbled, reaching out with chubby hands.

"There’s my girl," Sophie cooed, scooping Lily into a gentle hug. The child’s warmth melted some of the tension from her shoulders as she planted kisses on her soft cheeks. Lily giggled sleepily, then yawned, her head lolling back toward Mark. Sophie handed her back, then turned to her husband, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, his stubble rough under her lips. "Missed you both. Sorry I’m so late again."

Mark’s smile widened, but there was a curious glint in his eye. "No worries. You, uh, have a guest waiting."

Sophie’s brow furrowed, confusion knitting her features. "A guest? At this hour? Who?"

Mark nodded toward the dining room, his tone light, almost amused. "From the hospital. Said he’s your boss. Nice guy, showed up about half an hour ago with a bottle of wine, insisted on waiting. I figured it was important."

The words hit Sophie like ice water. Her stomach twisted, a cold dread uncoiling in her gut. No. It can’t be. She forced a smile, but her heart hammered as she turned toward the dining room doorway, the light spilling out like an accusation. With a steadying breath, she stepped through, her bag still clutched in her hand.

There he was, Devon, seated at her dining table like he owned the place, his broad shoulders relaxed against the chair, a glass of water in his hand. His dark hair was perfectly tousled, his chiseled jaw shadowed with just the right amount of stubble, and those piercing eyes locked onto hers with predatory amusement. He wore a casual button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms, as if this were a friendly visit and not an invasion.

The bag slipped from Sophie’s fingers, thudding to the floor with a soft thump. "Dr Devon," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, her face paling as shock rippled through her.

Devon’s lips curved into a wide, disarming smile, his teeth flashing white in the warm dining room light. He rose smoothly, extending a hand as if they were at a cocktail party. "Sophie! Good to see you. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by to say hi." His gaze flicked past her to Mark, who had followed with Lily in his arms. Devon’s smile widened, turning on the charm like a switch. "And this must be the lucky husband. Mark, right? I’m Devon Aldridge, Sophie’s boss at the hospital. You’ve got quite the woman here. Incredibly talented, dedicated... she’s a star in the research department. You’re a fortunate man."

Mark beamed, shifting Lily to his hip as he shook Devon’s hand.

"Wow, thanks, Dr Devon. Sophie doesn’t talk much about work, but it’s great to hear she’s making waves. Didn’t realize her boss was this... approachable. Come on, sit down. Can I get you anything?"

Sophie stood frozen, her forced smile cracking at the edges as she glared daggers at Devon. His words were honeyed poison, laced with double meaning that only she understood what he truly meant. Devon’s eyes met hers briefly, a flicker of mockery dancing there before he turned back to Mark.

"Oh, she’s exceptional," Devon continued, his voice smooth as silk. "Handles pressure like no one else. We’re lucky to have her."

Mark chuckled, oblivious, his face alight with pride. "Sophie, you never mentioned your boss was this complimentary. He likes you a lot, you must be doing something right at work!" He bounced Lily gently, the child dozing off again.

Sophie’s cheeks burned, her rough smile barely holding as she shot Devon another glare, her fists clenching at her sides. "Yeah... lucky me," she muttered, her tone clipped.

Mark, sensing nothing amiss, handed Lily over. "Here, love, put her to bed, will you? Then grab that wine Devon brought and some snacks. We should treat him right, he’s taking such good care of you at the hospital."

Sophie hesitated, her reluctance a knot in her throat, but she nodded stiffly, taking Lily’s warm weight. "Sure," she said, her voice tight. She carried the child upstairs, tucking her into bed with a kiss on the forehead, the routine a brief escape from the nightmare below. Lily’s soft snores followed her as she descended, grabbing a bottle of red wine from the kitchen cabinet, along with cheese, crackers, and grapes on a platter. Her hands shook slightly as she arranged it, her mind racing.

What the hell is he doing here? Does he know?

By the time she returned to the dining room, Mark and Devon were chatting amiably, Mark about his graphic design job, Devon nodding with feigned interest. Sophie set the platter down, pouring wine with deliberate slowness, her eyes avoiding Devon’s. "Dinner’s served," she said flatly, sliding into a chair.

The meal began in a haze of small talk, the clink of glasses and forks punctuating the tension only Sophie felt.

Mark dominated the conversation, praising Sophie’s cooking, a leftover pasta dish she’d warmed up, while Devon complimented everything with that infuriating smile. But mere minutes in, Sophie had barely taken a sip of wine, Mark’s words slurred mid-sentence. "And then the client wanted a full rebrand, but I—" His head dipped forward, his fork clattering to the plate as he collapsed face-first onto the table, his breathing steady but unnaturally deep.

Sophie’s heart seized. "Mark!" She bolted from her chair, rushing to his side, her hands cupping his face, checking his pulse. It was strong, even, but his eyes were closed, his body limp. "Oh God, what happened? Mark, wake up!" Panic clawed at her, but as she shook him gently, realization dawned? his chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm, too perfect for a natural faint. He was asleep. Deeply, unnaturally asleep.

She whirled on Devon, her eyes blazing with fury. "What did you do to him?" she hissed, her voice low but venomous. "What the hell do you want from me?"