Zoe’s expression softened slightly. “Sophia, let me be perfectly clear—last night was an accident.” Her voice took on a coaxing, almost tender tone. “I didn’t seduce Ethan, and I have absolutely no intention of replacing you. I was only trying to help you. That’s the truth.”

Sophia let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Help me? You expect me to believe that?”

“Of course!” Zoe’s laughter was light, almost airy. “Sophia, we’re partners, aren’t we?” Her voice became smooth as silk, dripping with persuasive charm. “Naturally, I want to help you. Our goals are aligned, after all.”

Sophia remained silent, but her lack of denial spoke volumes.

She knew Zoe was right.

They shared the same objective.

Isabella was the obstacle standing in their way. Once she was removed, Sophia could finally claim her rightful place as Mrs. Blackwood.

“Don’t worry, Sophia,” Zoe’s tone shifted, becoming almost soothing, like a quiet reassurance. “I always keep my promises. I will help you win Ethan’s heart and ensure you become the real Mrs. Blackwood.”

“Do you mean it?” A dangerous flicker of hope ignited in Sophia’s eyes.

Zoe chuckled softly. “Absolutely.”

Then, after a deliberate pause, she added, “But you must trust me. Stop acting on impulse and let me handle the situation. If you cause trouble, Sophia, even I won’t be able to protect you.”

Sophia hesitated for only a second before releasing a sharp breath. “Fine. I understand. From now on, I’ll follow your lead—I won’t ruin things.”

“Good. That’s much better.” A satisfied smile touched Zoe’s lips. “Now, take a deep breath and wait for my call.”

With that, Zoe ended the call. She tossed her phone onto the bed, exhaling slowly as if releasing the tension of the conversation. She had managed to calm Sophia for the moment, but a deep unease still coiled within her, refusing to dissipate.

Meanwhile, at the Hawthorne Residence, Ethan’s eyes fluttered open. Morning light streamed through the gaps in the curtains, casting fractured beams across the room. He winced, shutting his eyes briefly before squinting against the brightness. Instinctively, his hand reached out to the other side of the bed. Cold sheets. Isabella wasn’t there.

He pushed himself upright, his sharp gaze scanning the room. He was completely alone.

Then, the memories of the previous night rushed back. Disjointed. Blurred. Yet strangely vivid. He remembered the drinking. The wine. Something had felt off about it. Then, Isabella. The concern etched on her delicate features.

The light touch of her fingers against his skin. The way his body had grown heavy, his senses slipping away into darkness. And then—the bathtub. The last thing he remembered before everything went black.

Ethan’s brows drew together tightly. He hadn’t been merely drunk. Knowing his own alcohol tolerance better than anyone, he was certain a single drink wouldn’t have caused him to pass out, much less end up unconscious in a bathtub. The only logical explanation was that his drink had been tampered with.

But by whom?

Zoe?

The image of Zoe’s delicate face, masking her deceit, flashed through his mind. The previous evening’s banquet, her calculated actions, that suggestive farewell—it all seemed too orchestrated. He remembered Isabella, and how she seemed to be close with Zoe. A complex mix of emotions clouded Ethan’s gaze. If Zoe was indeed responsible, what was her goal? Was it simply to create a scandal and hurt Isabella?

“Someone, come here!” Ethan’s voice was low, commanding, resonating with undeniable authority.