Chapter 2 – The Orchestrated Goodbye
667 Words
**Six months later – Chicago, 2:14 a.m.**
Sophie sat alone on the marble edge of their penthouse bathtub, white pregnancy stick trembling in hand.
Positive. Clear as a bullet to the heart.
From the hallway, Arthur's voice drifted through the cracked door. “You alright?"
She forced a smile. “Yeah. Just dropped a bottle."
“You okay?" he repeated, closer now.
Sophie shoved the test into her robe pocket and flushed the toilet for good measure. “Fine."
The door creaked open. Arthur leaned against the frame, shirt half-buttoned, eyes sleepy and—dammit—tender. “Come back to bed."
“I will."
He studied her. “You're pale."
She leaned up to kiss him, one hand over his chest. “Just tired."
Arthur kissed her forehead, then turned. “Early meeting. Don't wait up."
She watched him go, heart jackhammering. Every step he took felt like one closer to disaster.
---
**Later that day – Bureau safehouse**
“You're pregnant?" McKinley gawked. “You were supposed to seduce the man, not start a family."
“Funny," Sophie said dryly, hands folded. “That's exactly what I told myself."
McKinley rubbed his face. “We need to extract you now."
“You've been saying that for weeks."
“Well now it's non-negotiable."
She tossed a burner phone onto the table. “Too late. I caught chatter this morning. My identity's compromised."
McKinley stiffened. “Who knows?"
“Not Arthur. Not yet. But word's leaking. If I vanish now, he'll die. The cartel will assume he was complicit."
“You want to stay?"
“I want to finish what I started," she said. “And I want him to live."
“And the baby?"
She didn't answer.
---
**One week later – Highway 90, midnight**
Arthur gripped the wheel of the Aston Martin, headlights slicing through freezing rain. “This detour better be worth it."
“It is," Sophie said, hand on her belly, steadying the duffel by her feet.
They crested a dark hill. Sophie pointed ahead. “That bridge—slow down."
Arthur frowned. “Why?"
“Just do it."
A flash of high beams erupted behind them.
Arthur swore. “Someone's tailing."
Sophie's hand slipped under her coat, finding the Bureau-issued injector.
“Arthur," she whispered, “I'm sorry."
He looked over. “What?"
She stabbed the needle into his neck.
His eyes widened. “Sophie—"
The car swerved. Sophie grabbed the wheel. They hit the guardrail—metal shrieked, tires skidding—then the world turned sideways as the car flipped, crashed, and landed hard.
Sophie crawled out, blood streaming from her lip. Rain poured down. Flames flickered from the crushed hood.
She dragged Arthur's limp body out, heart in her throat. Sirens wailed far off.
She worked fast: staged gas leaks, swapped IDs, planted cartel emblems, sprinkled DNA decoys from an old case file.
She kissed his forehead.
“I love you," she whispered. “Forgive me."
Then she ran.
---
**Two days later – Hospital ward, downtown Chicago**
Arthur awoke in a sterile white room, IV in one arm, wrist banded in gauze.
Detective Ramos leaned over. “Glad you're awake, Mr. Morgan."
Arthur blinked slowly. “What happened?"
“Car wreck. You're lucky to be alive."
“My fiancée—" he rasped. “Where's Sophie?"
Ramos exchanged a look with the nurse. “There's no record of anyone else."
Arthur tried to sit up. Pain exploded in his skull.
He clutched the wedding band that hung from a chain around his neck—burned, soot-streaked, but intact.
“Sophie," he whispered.
His mind offered flashes—glass, fire, her scream—but the rest was a void.
“Get me everything," he said hoarsely. “I want to know what happened."
“Yes, sir."
Arthur closed his eyes, jaw clenched.
One name. One echo.
Sophie.
Whoever she was, wherever she went, she would answer.
Even if he had to burn down the world to find her.
- Writer
