Chapter 164

Lily bolted upright in bed, her tiny voice piercing the silence of the night. "Mommy!"

Evelyn Thorne burst into her daughter’s room, clutching a medical kit, her hair wild from sleep. "Go to your brother’s room, Lily," she instructed, her voice tight with urgency.

Her fingers brushed Sophia’s forehead—burning. The fever was worse than she’d thought.

Lily nodded, her big eyes shimmering with worry. "Mommy, did Sophia catch a cold? Should I turn off the aircon?"

Evelyn shook her head. "Fevers can happen for all sorts of reasons. I don’t think it’s from the cold." The room temperature was fine—no way this was just a chill.

She ushered Lily toward Henry’s room before rushing back to Sophia.

The thermometer beeped—103 degrees.

Evelyn’s pulse spiked. She had to bring the fever down. Fast.

She prepped a saline drip, then grabbed a basin of warm water from the bathroom, pressing cool cloths against Sophia’s flushed skin.

Three in the morning, and here she was—tending to the sister of the man who’d shattered her heart.

When she finally sat back, exhaustion weighed on her like lead.

Why was fate so cruel? How was she supposed to return Sophia to Dominic now?

She’d never wanted to hurt him.

Her head throbbed.

Meanwhile, in Henry’s room, Lily crawled into bed beside him, jostling him awake.

The moment Evelyn left, Henry turned to his sister. "What’s wrong?"

"Sophia’s sick," Lily whispered. "She kept calling for you in her sleep. I didn’t want to wake you, so I let her be." Her voice wobbled.

"Mom’s with her. She’ll be okay," Henry reassured her. Then, with a sigh, he added, "But if I went missing, Mom would lose her mind. You and Grandma too."

A thought struck him. "Mom had a husband."

Lily gasped. "What? Who? Julian Whitmore?"

Henry scoffed. "No. Mom’s husband was that scumbag dad’s uncle."

Lily shot up, yanking Henry with her. "Tell me everything," she demanded, eyes gleaming in the dim light.

"Dominic Blackwood," Henry said flatly. "Mom just divorced him."

Lily’s face lit up. "Is he hot?"

Henry rolled his eyes. "He’s old."

Lily wrinkled her nose—until Henry added, "But filthy rich."

"Brother, do you have a picture? Please?" she begged.

Henry hesitated. "He’s not Mom’s husband anymore."

Lily pouted. "I can’t sleep until I see him. Just once. Please?"

Grumbling, Henry slid out of bed, booted up his laptop, and pulled up a photo of Dominic.

Lily stared, transfixed. "...He’s gorgeous! Way hotter than that trash dad of ours!"

Henry shut the laptop with a snap. "Still a scumbag. Otherwise, why would Mom divorce him?"

Lily groaned. "We’re cursed, brother! First a deadbeat dad, now a trash ex-stepdad? The Whitmores are evil!"

Henry grabbed her hand, dragging her back under the covers. "Go to sleep."

By five a.m., Evelyn was still slumped beside Sophia’s bed.

Two IV bags later, the fever had broken.

Evelyn staggered to her room, collapsing onto the bed.

At seven, Lily and Henry tiptoed in to check on Sophia—now peacefully asleep.