CHAPTER 4
1012 Words
Sophie Blackwood was buried five years ago.
Now, she was walking into her own memorial garden with her chin lifted and sunglasses hiding the fury in her eyes.
She’d dyed her hair black.
Her features had thinned from years of recovery, enough that only someone looking too closely might see the resemblance.
But no one was paying attention to her.
All eyes were on the couple at the front of the crowd: “Damien and Elena”.
A re-dedication ceremony.
Flowers circled the marble headstone that read:
SOPHIE LYNN BLACKWOOD
Beloved wife, daughter, and philanthropist.
Taken too soon.
Sophie clenched her fists.
She hadn’t come to make a scene.
She came to watch.
To listen.
To understand what had become of her life, her name while she was buried in lies.
The officiant cleared his throat. “Five years ago, we lost Sophie. A woman with a heart for the world. Today, we remember her with love… and announce the union of her legacy with a new chapter.”
Sophie’s gut twisted.
She knew what was coming.
“Elena Blackwood, Sophie’s beloved sister, has found strength through her loss. Today, we honor her engagement to Damien Blackwood, who suffered with us”
The rest of the words faded into noise.
Sophie couldn’t look away from Damien.
He stood in a tailored black suit, face solemn with his arm around Elena’s waist.
No remorse in his eyes.
Her stomach turned.
Was this the man she had loved?
The one who used to carry her to bed after long hospital shifts?
The one who cried when she showed him the positive pregnancy test?
Because this man, this man looked at her sister like Sophie never existed.
Elena stepped forward now.
“Thank you all for standing with us as we grieved, healed, and rebuilt. Sophie’s love still guides us. And with her memory, we move forward.”
Sophie had to hold herself from laughing.
Move forward?
By marrying her husband?
After forging her death?
After taking her son?
She pressed a hand to her stomach to calm the nausea.
It wasn’t just the betrayal.
It was the coldness of it all.
The ease.
After the ceremony, the guests wandered toward the reception tent.
Sophie moved among them like a ghost.
No one looked twice at her.
Until one woman did.
Older, elegant, and sharply observant.
“Excuse me,” the woman said. “Have we met?”
Sophie smiled faintly. “I don’t think so.”
“You look familiar.”
Sophie extended her hand. “Camille. I’m a donor for the Blackwood Health Foundation.”
The lie slipped out effortlessly.
Daniel had taught her well.
The woman nodded, still staring. “You must know Damien, then.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Sophie said smoothly. “What kind of man is he?”
The woman gave a stiff smile. “Tragic. Broken when Sophie died. He’s done a good job rebuilding his life.”
Sophie fought the bitterness clawing her throat. “He moved on quickly.”
“Men grieve differently,” the woman said with a shrug. “Besides, Elena has always been there. Family comforts family.”
Sophie stared. “You’re saying she was always close to him?”
“Oh, yes. After the fire, they were inseparable. Poor girl. She’d always lived in Sophie’s shadow.”
That did it.
Sophie excused herself and rushed into the garden, away from the voices, the lies and the charade.
She sat on the edge of the marble bench close to her own grave.
Her hands trembled, but this time, it wasn’t from fear.
It was rage.
They didn’t just replace her.
They erased her.
She didn’t go back to Daniel’s safehouse immediately.
Instead, she took a cab across town to a hospital she vaguely remembered—Saint Mercy.
Her foundation had funded part of its cancer wing.
Something told her the records there might tell her more than anyone else.
She walked in, heart thudding, and made her way to the archives.
She lied again.
Said she was an auditor from the Department of Health.
It worked.
An intern led her to the back room.
Within ten minutes, Sophie was holding patient records tied to her old login ID.
And that’s when she saw it.
A transfer form.
Dated one week before her “death.”
Signed by Sophie Blackwood.
Approving a $3.7 million transfer from the foundation’s reserve account to a third-party hospice clinic—one that didn’t exist.
The bank routing number was foreign.
Offshore.
Same account line she’d seen in Daniel’s files.
Her fingers tightened around the page.
They had used her signature again.
Used her foundation as a laundering tool.
Framed her for embezzlement before the fire even started.
Then killed her.
Or tried to.
That night, back at the safehouse, Daniel looked at the form with narrowed eyes.
“They were setting you up months in advance,” he said. “It wasn’t just about getting rid of you. It was about making sure no one looked for you.”
She nodded. “And if I had really died in that fire, everything would’ve worked. They’d inherit the foundation, keep the money, build their perfect life.”
Daniel leaned back in his chair. “Which means they’ll try again, once they find out you’re alive.”
“I won’t give them the chance.”
Daniel gave her a long look. “What are you thinking?”
“I want to talk to Elena.”
Daniel’s eyes widened. “That’s a bad idea.”
“I won’t reveal who i am. I’ll go as Camille again. I just want to see how deep she is in all of this.”
“You think she’ll just tell you?”
Sophie smiled bitterly. “If she’s anything like she used to be, all I have to do is play the right role. She always liked talking about herself.”
Daniel sighed. “You’re not the same Sophie I remember.”
“No,” she said. “She died.”
- Writer
