Chapter 367

Sophia Lowell paused mid-step, a mocking curve lifting the corner of her lips before she walked away without looking back.

Isabella Valentine trembled with rage, her stiletto slamming into a metal trash bin with a deafening clang.

Her venomous gaze suddenly locked onto the maternity ward doors, suspicion flickering in her eyes.

Why was Sophia coming out of the maternity ward?

A horrifying thought struck her. Isabella's face paled as she rushed toward the examination room in her heels.

"I'm Sophia's best friend. What's wrong with her?" She shoved the door open with a bang.

The female doctor didn't glance up. "Patient confidentiality. I can't disclose anything."

Isabella flung a black card from her Hermès bag. "One million for one sentence."

"Get out." The doctor pressed the call button with an icy expression.

Cursing under her breath, Isabella snatched the card and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

At the corridor's turn, she dialed a number with shaking fingers. "Pull Sophia Lowell's maternity ward records immediately!"

Her nails dug deep into her palms. Ethan Roscente's recent strangeness, Sophia's unnatural calm—everything pointed to the worst possibility.

If that bitch was carrying the Roscente heir...

A serpentine glint of malice swirled in Isabella's eyes.

Outside the hospital, Sophia's composure finally shattered. She quickly sent an encrypted message to her hacker contact, double-checked the reliability of the doctor Sebastian Valdemar had recommended, then hailed a cab.

At the family estate, Emily Laurent was humming while arranging flowers.

"I'm going back to Seattle." Sophia cut straight to the point.

The crystal vase crashed to the floor.

"Have you lost your mind?" Emily's sharp nails clamped around Sophia's wrist. "Your mother died in that godforsaken place! And now you—"

"My flight's already booked." Sophia pulled free, a rose petal clinging to her sleeve.

Emily suddenly laughed, the sound bordering on hysterical. "Fine! Leave! Just like all the Lowell women—throwing your lives away for some ridiculous design dream!"

She overturned the coffee table in a violent motion, shards of glass reflecting her distorted face. "Your mother died on that runway. Are you trying to follow in her footsteps?"