Chapter 224: Hating Herself for Choosing the Wrong Person
Chapter 224: Hating Herself for Choosing the Wrong Person
(Sophia Rivers’s POV)
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I lay in the hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The harsh fluorescent lights of the Recovery Ward seemed to mock me with their brightness. Everything hurt–my body, my pride, but most of all, my heart.
How quickly they all abandoned me. The same pack members who once smiled and bowed in my presence now pretended not to know me. The same people who eagerly accepted my invitations and gifts now wouldn’t even answer my calls.
I’d become nothing more than a discarded pawn in someone else’s game.
A tear slid down my cheek as memories flooded back. That golden year when Marcus treasured me like a precious jewel. The way his eyes would light up when I entered a room. The gentle touch of his hand on my shoulder. The respect I commanded simply by being at his side.
I had everything back then. Everything.
Yet somehow, it wasn’t enough. I wanted more–craved more. That insatiable hunger led me straight into Felix Xavier’s arms. What a fool I’d been.
The memory of our first meeting still burned in my mind. His charming smile, the expensive gifts, the whispered promises. I’d fallen for it all while still enjoying the material comforts and status that Marcus provided.
I wanted both worlds–Marcus’s indulgence and trust as Alpha, along with the thrill and passion Felix offered in secret. Even now, I could remember those moments of hesitation, those brief flashes when my conscience tried to break through.
“Don’t do this,” it had whispered. “You’ll regret it.”
But I silenced that voice every time, drowning it in the intoxication of forbidden desire.
If only I could go back. If I hadn’t gotten involved with Felix. If I hadn’t gotten pregnant. If I hadn’t accepted that twenty million before going abroad. Perhaps everything would be different now.
More tears welled up, spilling over and soaking into my pillow. The resentment in my heart was nothing compared to the crushing weight of regret. I hated myself for choosing the wrong person. For throwing away something real and precious for something that turned out
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to be nothing but smoke and mirrors.
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Footsteps approached from the hallway. My heart leaped with desperate hope. Hazel Green? Had she finally come?
I quickly wiped my tears, trying to compose myself. The door opened, and a pack enforcement officer stepped in, followed by another figure.
My eyes widened in shock as I recognized who it was. Not Hazel Green.
Elena Blackwood.
(Elena Blackwood’s POV)
“May I have a private conversation with her?” I asked the officer politely.
He nodded and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. The moment we were alone, Sophia lunged forward, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength for someone in her condition.
“It was you who did this, wasn’t it!” she hissed through gritted teeth, her eyes wild with accusation.
I remained calm, looking down at her white–knuckled grip on my arm.
“Do you know what it’s like?” she continued, voice trembling with rage. “My left ear has lost hearing completely. I live in a half–silent world now. Sometimes I can’t hear others clearly. I wake up from nightmares, terrified by the overwhelming silence!”
Her grip tightened painfully. “This is your doing! Your revenge for David!”
“What exactly did I do?” I asked quietly.
“Don’t play innocent!” Sophia’s face contorted with fury. “You must be satisfied seeing me like this! You hypocrite! I won’t let this go unpunished!”
I gently removed her hand from my wrist. “Do
you have any
evidence?”
The question left her momentarily speechless.
“If I truly wanted revenge,” I continued, “I wouldn’t have waited until now. While you can act without considering consequences, even to the point of murder, I cannot. I still have a conscience.”
Sophia laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and broken. “A conscience? You? Stop putting on this innocent act!”
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<Chapter 224 Hating Herself for Choosing the Wrong Person
I raised my finger to my lips, gesturing for her to lower her voice. “We’re in the intensive healing ward, not a private room.”
Sophia glanced toward the front desk where several pack nurses were watching us with concerned expressions. She reluctantly fell silent, though the hatred in her eyes remained undiminished.
“Do you remember when I asked why you weren’t curious about your biological parents‘ identities?” I asked, changing the subject.
“What do you mean?” Suspicion laced her voice.
“Perhaps you weren’t simply born and abandoned by uncaring parents. Perhaps you were deprived of your original life from birth.” I paused, watching her reaction carefully. “That red mole on your wrist–is it natural?”
Sophia instinctively covered her wrist, staring at me in stunned silence for several seconds.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a document. “This is a Bloodline Verification Document. You can choose not to read it or believe it. You can verify its authenticity yourself.”
I placed the document on the table beside her bed and turned to leave.
”
“This must be fake!” Sophia declared, her voice shaking. She swiped at the report, sending papers scattering across the floor.
As the documents fell, a photograph slipped out from between the pages. Sophia’s eyes locked onto it, her face draining of color.
It was Richard Blackthorne’s Portrait.
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