Her Divorce, His Downfall (Sophia and Damian) novel Chapter 137

Chapter 137

“You can’t just say something like that!” Michael paled instantly, his voice shaking with urgency as he took two hurried steps forward.

His eyes darted between Jeffrey and Arthur, filled with alarm. “Arthur, you must be mistaken. Isabelle… she’s just a bit spoiled, that’s all. She can be thoughtless sometimes, but she’d never—”

He swallowed, struggling to keep his composure.

“You’re suggesting she had something to do with Sophia’s death? That’s impossible. She’s timid–can’t even handle cleaning fish in the kitchen. How could she possibly harm her own sister?”

“Dad, don’t listen to them!” Isabelle trembled, her face ashen.

Deep down, she clung to one fact: Sophia and Blake were both gone, burned in that fire. No bodies, no evidence.

As long as she denied everything, they couldn’t touch her.

Bolstered by that thought, she lifted her chin defiantly. “This is slander! Where’s your proof? If you have no evidence, I’ll sue every one of you.”

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“Sue us?” Julian let out a soft, cold laugh.

He adjusted his watch casually before turning his gaze toward her, the humor in his eyes fading into something sharp and dangerous.

“It seems you’ve forgotten whom you’re speaking to, Ms. Anderson.”

Leaning slightly closer, he lowered his voice to a chilling

murmur.

“Before you think about lawsuits, I suggest you consider the evidence we already have.

“Security footage from Mercy Grace Hospital. Your call records with Blake. Bank transfers from your account into his. That should be more than enough to invite you down to the station for questioning… on suspicion of murder.”

Isabelle’s knees buckled. She sank to the floor, her face drained of all color.

Staring up at Julian, she felt the air around her grow still and heavy.

She recognized him.

After all, Damian had spoken of him.

*

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Julian, the man who’d acted as guardian for Sophia and Damian during their years in France.

Damian had shown her photos: Julian smiling warmly beside them, looking every bit the caring protector.

But the man before her now was nothing like the gentle

figure from those stories. His eyes were cold, his presence intimidating.

Why?

Why did all the powerful, distinguished men in this city orbit around Sophia?

Why did they turn so cold and ruthless when facing her?

Weren’t they both Michael’s daughters?

Why did Sophia always eclipse her, even in death?

A cold, heavy feeling settled in Isabelle’s chest, but she quickly forced tears to her eyes.

Reaching out, she clutched the hem of Julian’s trousers, her voice trembling pitifully.

“Uncle Julian, I would never do such a thing. Why are you so

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cruel to me? There must be some misunderstanding. I don’t understand any of what you’re saying.”

From where she stood nearby, Sophia watched the performance with detached amusement, like observing a poorly staged play.

Her gaze flickered to Julian.

She was curious to see how he would react.

Julian felt a sudden prickle on the back of his neck, sensing her gaze.

Turning, he met Sophia’s eyes–amused, observant, waiting.

His heart tightened. He couldn’t let his Sophia misunderstand, not even for a second.

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