Sofia's POV
My fingers trembled so violently that the phone almost slipped through my grip. The photo burned into my retinas: Noah, his head bowed, leaning so close to a striking, dark-haired woman that their foreheads were practically touching. And below it, those words, sharp as a switchblade: Ask him about the night his first wife died.
First wife.
The air in the room suddenly felt thin, suffocating. My throat closed up as I slowly lifted my head to look at him.
Noah was still standing by the window, his silhouette dark against the city lights. He looked like the picture of ultimate control, a king watching over his domain. But watching him now, a cold dread clawed its way up my spine. Who was he, really?
"Sofia?" His voice broke the silence, deep and calm. He noticed my silen
