Page 141 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

“Sometimes badly.”

I think about Sophie walking through the archives in New York, sitting across from me in Boston, laughing in Bellagio, looking at me across the dinner table when I finally told her I wanted something beyond the assignment.

Then I think about what happens if Preston decides the easiest defense is to paint her as an ambitious reporter who manipulated access to a vulnerable executive.

The idea makes my stomach turn.

My personal phone is in my jacket pocket. For the third time this week, I think about taking it out.

This time, I don't.

Not because I have decided Sophie is untrustworthy.

Not because what happened between us matters less than it did in Italy.

Because right now, reaching for her might be the exact thing that puts her in the path of people looking for someone else to sacrifice.

I return to the table.

“Keep her name out of anything that doesn't legally require it,” I tell Vivian.

“I will,” she says.

“And if Preston pushes further?”

Vivian holds my gaze.

“I'll deal with Preston.”

I nod once. The meeting continues. Another document request appears on the screen. Another jurisdiction. Another deadline. My phone stays in my pocket. By the time I leave the conference room, it is after 9:00, and there are already three more meetings scheduled for the morning.

I tell myself I will call Sophie when this settles enough that speaking to her cannot be turned against her. At that moment, I still believe that will be…soon.

Chapter Nineteen

Sophie

Five days after the Blackwell investigation breaks, every screen in the newsroom still carries some version of the same story.

The headlines change by the hour, but the language keeps getting sharper. Antitrust. Regulatory exposure. Market dominance. Board pressure. Investor flight. Every network has found an expert willing to explain what Blackwell Technologies may have done, what it could cost, and who might ultimately be blamed.

I sit at my desk with the draft of my feature open on my monitor and my hands resting uselessly beside the keyboard.

I haven't added a word since Italy.

Grace appears in my doorway just before 10:00 with a folder tucked beneath her arm.

“Please tell me you're almost done,” she says.

I look at the screen. “I'm not.”

Her expression tightens.

“Sophie, we've had this conversation.”

“I know.”

“Then what exactly are we waiting for?”