PART 3 — THE WOMAN WHO STOLE THREE YEARS

Alexander returned to his penthouse that evening with one thought consuming his mind.

Sophia.

He had trusted her with his schedule, his private correspondence, and access to almost every part of his life.

He had never questioned why she insisted on handling certain calls herself.

He had never questioned why Claire’s messages stopped arriving.

And he had never questioned why Sophia always seemed to know when Claire was upset.

Now every memory looked different.

“Get me the records from three years ago,” he ordered his ᴀssistant.

“Which records, sir?”

“Every email, message, delivery confirmation, and phone call involving Claire. I want everything.”

His ᴀssistant hesitated.

“Some of those records may have been archived.”

“Then retrieve them.”

“And Mrs. Reynolds?”

Alexander looked up.

“Especially anything involving her.”

An hour later, his study was covered in printed documents.

His ᴀssistant stood beside the desk with a laptop.

“We found several messages.”

Alexander leaned forward.

“Read them.”

“The first was sent by Claire on March eighteenth, shortly before she left the marital residence.”

He recognized the date.

The day he sent her the $150 million.

His ᴀssistant opened the email.

Alexander, please call me. There is something important I need to tell you. It concerns both of us.

Alexander closed his eyes.

“Next.”

“Another message was sent two days later.”

I know you’re angry, but please don’t make a decision before we speak. I need you to understand what is happening.

He gripped the desk.

“Did anyone respond?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who?”

“An account registered to your personal office.”

Alexander looked at the screen.

The reply was short.

Mr. Moretti does not wish to receive further personal correspondence. Please respect his decision.

He stared at the words.

“I didn’t write that.”

His ᴀssistant nodded.

“The message was sent using your office credentials.”

“Who had access?”

“Yourself, me, and Ms. Reynolds.”

Alexander’s jaw тιԍнтened.

“Continue.”

There were seven more messages.

Claire had written about appointments, documents, and an urgent medical matter.

Every single one had received the same response.

Mr. Moretti does not wish to be contacted.

Then came a final message.

It was dated three weeks after Claire left.

I am not asking him to take me back. I only want him to know that he has two children. Please give him the opportunity to decide whether he wants to be their father.

Alexander stopped breathing.

The timestamp was 11:42 p.m.

The message had been opened at 11:46.

And the account that opened it belonged to Sophia.

He pushed his chair backward.

“Call her.”

His ᴀssistant reached for the phone.

“Sir, it’s late.”

“I don’t care.”

The call connected after four rings.

“Alexander?” Sophia sounded sleepy. “Is something wrong?”

“Where are you?”

“At home. Why?”

“I need to see you.”

A pause.

“Is this about Claire?”

Alexander stared at the email.

“Yes.”

Sophia’s voice became careful.

“What did she do now?”

He almost laughed.

“What did she do?”

“Alexander, you’re frightening me.”

“Did you receive an email from Claire three years ago?”

Silence.

Then Sophia replied.

“Possibly. I don’t remember every email.”

“Did you tell her I refused to speak to her?”

“Alexander, you were going through a difficult time.”

“Answer the question.”

She sighed.

“I was protecting you.”

He froze.

“From what?”

“From being manipulated.”

“By my pregnant wife?”

There was a long silence.

Sophia finally said, “Can we discuss this tomorrow?”

“No. We’re discussing it now.”

“Alexander, you’re being unfair.”

He looked at the final message again.

He has two children.

“What was the medical matter she wanted to tell me about?”

“I don’t know.”

“You opened the email.”

“I may have seen something.”

“You knew?”

Her breathing changed.

“Alexander, listen to me. Claire was unstable after the divorce. She was desperate to get your attention.”

“She was pregnant with twins.”

Sophia said nothing.

“I want you to say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you knew.”

Sophia suddenly became angry.

“Fine! Yes, I knew she was pregnant!”

Alexander closed his eyes.

Three years.

Three entire years.

She had known.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you didn’t want children!”

“That was my decision to make!”

“You made it very clear you wanted nothing to do with Claire.”

“I wanted a divorce. I never said I wanted to abandon my children.”

Sophia laughed bitterly.

“You think things would have been different? You would have gone running back to her.”

Alexander’s voice dropped.

“She was carrying my children.”

“And I was finally getting the life I deserved!”

The words hung between them.

Alexander went completely still.

“What does that mean?”

Sophia realized what she had said.

“Alexander, I didn’t mean—”

“Say it again.”

“Let’s meet tomorrow.”

“You intercepted messages from my pregnant wife.”

“I was trying to protect our future!”

“Our future?”

He looked at the pH๏τograph of Claire and the twins.

“There is no future between us.”

Sophia began crying.

“You can’t do this to me.”

“You did it to yourself.”

He ended the call.

The following morning, Alexander returned to the flower shop.

He did not bring flowers.

He did not bring an expensive gift.

He brought a folder containing every message Sophia had intercepted.

Claire was arranging white roses when he entered.

Her expression immediately hardened.

“I told you not to come back without warning.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Then why are you here?”

He placed the folder on the counter.

“I found your emails.”

Claire looked down.

Her face changed as she recognized the dates.

“You saw them?”

“All of them.”

She slowly turned a page.

Then another.

When she reached the final message, her fingers began trembling.

“I sent this because I thought you deserved to know.”

Alexander lowered his eyes.

“I know.”

“She told me you didn’t want to hear from me.”

“I know.”

“I believed her.”

He nodded.

“I should have checked.”

Claire laughed softly.

“You didn’t check because you didn’t want to know.”

He accepted the accusation without defending himself.

“I won’t ask you to forgive me.”

“Good.”

“But I need to know how the children are.”

She closed the folder.

“They’re fine.”

“Are they healthy?”

“Yes.”

“Do they know about me?”

Claire hesitated.

“They know they have a father who lives somewhere else.”

Alexander’s chest тιԍнтened.

“What do you tell them?”

“The truth, as much as they can understand.”

He nodded.

“Thank you for taking care of them.”

Claire stared at him.

“Don’t thank me for doing what you should have helped me do.”

He looked down.

She was right.

He had no claim to graтιтude for the sacrifices she had made alone.

A little boy suddenly appeared from the back room.

“Mommy?”

Claire turned.

“Ethan, sweetheart, I’m here.”

He held up a drawing.

It showed three stick figures standing beside a house.

A woman.

A little boy.

A little girl.

Above them, he had written three names in uneven letters.

MOMMY.

ETHAN.

EMMA.

Alexander stared at the picture.

There was no fourth figure.

He felt the omission like a wound.

Ethan noticed him.

“Why are you here again?”

Alexander slowly crouched, keeping a respectful distance.

“I came to speak with your mommy.”

“Are you her friend?”

Alexander looked at Claire.

She said nothing.

“I used to know her very well,” he answered.

Ethan considered that.

Then he asked, “Do you have children?”

Alexander’s throat тιԍнтened.

“Yes.”

“Where are they?”

He looked directly at the boy.

“I’m still learning how to be their father.”

Ethan seemed satisfied with that answer.

He returned to the back room.

Alexander stood again.

Claire watched him carefully.

“Don’t make them responsible for your guilt.”

“I won’t.”

“And don’t buy their affection.”

“I won’t.”

“No expensive gifts. No promises about a new house. No sudden holidays or grand gestures.”

Alexander nodded.

“I understand.”

Claire looked toward the children.

“If you want to know them, you’ll have to learn who they are. Not who you imagine they should be.”

“I want that.”

“Then start by respecting the pace I set.”

He swallowed.

“May I come back next week?”

Claire was silent for a long moment.

“Once. We can talk about a supervised visit.”

Alexander nodded.

“Thank you.”

As he turned to leave, Claire spoke again.

“There is something you should know.”

He stopped.

“What?”

“The day you gave me the $150 million, Sophia didn’t just intercept my emails.”

Alexander turned around.

“She called me.”

His expression changed.

“What did she say?”

Claire looked toward the floor.

“She told me you had already chosen her. She said that if I ever contacted you again, she would make sure I lost everything.”

Alexander felt a chill.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Because I was pregnant, alone, and frightened. I didn’t know who would believe me.”

“Claire, I would have—”

She raised her hand.

“Don’t say what you would have done. You didn’t do it.”

He stopped.

Then Claire walked into the office behind the counter and returned with a small envelope.

“I kept something from that day.”

Alexander stared at it.

“What is it?”

“The ultrasound I was holding when I saw you with Sophia.”

He opened the envelope.

Two tiny shapes appeared on the faded black-and-white image.

Two heartbeats.

Two lives.

He pressed his fingers against the paper.

Then he noticed something written in Claire’s handwriting.

Our little miracles. March 18.

Beneath it was a sentence.

I hope their father is as happy as I am.

Alexander could no longer hold back his tears.

He covered his mouth.

Claire watched him silently.

And just as he was about to leave, she said something that made him turn around.

“There’s another reason I never came looking for you.”

He stared.

“What reason?”

Claire’s eyes filled.

“Because when Ethan was born, he almost didn’t survive.”

Alexander felt his heart drop.

“What happened?”

Claire took a shaky breath.

“Your son needed surgery. I called your office from the hospital.”

He remembered nothing.

“Who answered?”

Claire looked straight at him.

“Sophia.”

Then she walked away, leaving Alexander holding the pH๏τograph of two babies whose lives he had almost never known.

And when he finally learned what Sophia had told the hospital that night, he would discover that the secret she buried went far beyond intercepted emails.