Hell Hath no fury like a billionaire's Ex-Chapter 71: The Weight of Truth

Sophie’s POV

"Hello?" My voice sounded foreign to my own ears, hollow and small.

"Sophie? Oh, thank goodness." My mother’s voice was thick, as though she’d been crying. "I got your message. Are you alright? You sound terrible."

"I’m fine," I lied automatically, then reconsidered. "No, actually, I’m not fine at all. But that doesn’t matter right now. What’s wrong? You sound like you’ve been crying."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, a hesitation that made my heart beat faster with dread.

"Never mind about me," she said finally. "Your message worried me. You said you needed me, that you were sorry. What’s happening, Sophie?"

I’d pulled into a side street now, just a few minutes away from Liam’s mansion. I parked, suddenly unable to drive while having this conversation.

"Everything’s falling apart, Mom," I admitted, my voice breaking. "The whole world knows what I did to Diane. The interview... She told everyone about me and Liam. People were waiting outside my apartment. They vandalized my car, threw things at me. They hate me."

Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks as I continued, "And they should hate me. I hate myself. I’ve ruined everything. I betrayed my own sister, my family. And now I’ve found out Liam is dangerous—he’s planning to hurt Diane. I’m trying to stop him, but I don’t know if I can, and even if I do, it won’t undo what I’ve done."

The words poured out of me in a torrent, months of guilt and shame finally breaking through the walls I’d built around them. "I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m sorry for ruining our family, for being such a disappointment, for hurting Diane. I never meant for any of this to happen. I’m trying to make it right, but I don’t know if I can."

There was silence on the other end of the line, broken only by the sound of my mother’s steady breathing. Then, when she spoke, her voice was thick with emotion.

"Oh, Sophie. You’re not the only one who needs forgiveness in this family."

I frowned, confused by her response. "What do you mean?"

"I’ve failed you both—you and Diane. I’ve failed as a mother. I’ve hurt you both so deeply, and I don’t know if either of you will ever be able to forgive me."

"Mom, what are you talking about?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. Whatever I’d expected her to say, it wasn’t this.

She took a shuddering breath. "I haven’t been completely honest with you and Diane. About your father."

My heart stuttered in my chest. "What about Dad? He died when I was a baby."

"No, Sophie." Her voice broke on my name. "He didn’t die. He left us. Your father is alive."

The phone slipped from my suddenly numb fingers, clattering to the floor of the car. I could hear my mother’s voice, tiny and distant, still coming through the speaker.

"Sophie? Honey, are you there? Please say something. Sophie?"

My hand flew to my mouth, stifling the sob that threatened to tear from my throat. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, reality shifting beneath me. My father—alive? It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. Yet even as disbelief flooded through me, memories surfaced—hazy.

I was shaking uncontrollably now, my entire body trembling as though I had a fever. With fumbling hands, I retrieved the phone from the floor.

"—so sorry," my mother was saying. "I should have told you both years ago. I thought I was protecting you. He abandoned us, Sophie. He had a gambling problem, and he left us with nothing. You were just a baby, but Diane was three—she remembered him, kept asking when Daddy was coming home. I couldn’t bear it. So I told her he’d died, and as you grew up, I told you the same lie."

"How could you?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. "All these years... all these years, I thought he was dead. I mourned him. I visited his grave!"

"There was no grave," my mother admitted, her voice small with shame. "The headstone belonged to my brother, your uncle Michael."

"And the obituary? The photos?"

"The obituary was fake. I wrote it myself when Diane needed it for a school project. The photos were real, but the stories I told about them weren’t."

I leaned my head back against the seat, feeling as though I might be sick. My entire childhood had been built on deception. The father I’d longed for, the tragic hero I’d wished was alive, so I could tell him all of my problems— was a fiction created by my mother.

"Why are you telling me this now?" I asked, anger beginning to replace the shock. "After all these years, why now?"

There was a pause, then my mother said, "Because he’s back in our lives. He’s been helping Diane since her accident."

"What?" The word came out as a gasp. "He’s with Diane right now?"

"Yes. His name is Andrew. He ran over Diane the other day—by coincidence. He didn’t know who she was until later. And then... Well, he couldn’t walk away. Not again."

I couldn’t process it all. It was too much, coming on top of everything else. My father was alive. He’d reconnected with Diane. He’d been helping her while I was destroying her life.

"Does she know?" I managed to ask. "Does Diane know who he is?"

"She found out few days ago. It... didn’t go well."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "I can imagine. Another betrayal. Another lie." My voice hardened. "You two deserve each other, you know that? Both liars. Both abandoning your responsibilities when things got tough."

"Sophie, please—"

"No." I cut her off, anger surging through me like a wildfire. "You don’t get to ask for understanding. Not now. Not after lying to us our entire lives. Do you have any idea what that did to us? To grow up thinking our father was dead?"

"I thought I was protecting you," my mother protested weakly.

"You were protecting yourself," I shot back. "It was easier to make him a hero than to admit he’d left you."

The silence that followed told me I’d hit my mark. When my mother spoke again, her voice was small, defeated. "You’re right. I was protecting myself too. I couldn’t face the shame, the pity. It was easier to be a widow than an abandoned wife."

The brutal honesty of her admission took some of the wind out of my sails. I closed my eyes, suddenly exhausted beyond words.I know that I’m guilty just like she is, we’ve really have not been kind with our actions towards Diane.

"I can’t deal with this right now," I said finally. "I just can’t. I’m about to walk into a dangerous situation with Liam, and I need to focus on that. On helping Diane."

"Sophie, what do you mean ’dangerous’? What are you planning?"

The genuine fear in her voice almost broke me again. Despite everything, she was still my mother. She still cared, listening to me and giving me a shoulder to lean on, despite all that I’ve done.

"I’m going to record Liam confessing that he wants to hurt Diane, look for anything in the house that could help diane," I explained, too tired to lie. "He told me on the phone that he’d considered ’getting rid of her’ if it wouldn’t stain his hands with blood.’ I need to get him to say it again, on record, so I can protect her."

"Sophie, that’s too dangerous. If he’s truly capable of violence—"

"Then he’s a threat to Diane and my nieces or nephews," I finished firmly. "I’ve already done enough damage. I need to do this one thing right."

"Please, don’t put yourself at risk," my mother begged. "Call the police, tell them what you know."

"With what evidence? They won’t believe me. Not after what I’ve done." I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "I have to go now, Mom. I’m almost at Liam’s."

"Sophie, wait—"

"Goodbye, Mom. I’ll call you after, I promise."

I ended the call before she could protest further, then sat in silence, trying to process everything that had happened in the past hour. The public humiliation, the revelation about my father, and now the confrontation that awaited me at Liam’s house—it was overwhelming.

But underneath the chaos of emotions, something had solidified within me. A resolve, cold and certain. I had spent my life envying Diane, resenting her, and finally betraying her in the worst possible way. I couldn’t undo that damage, couldn’t erase the pain I’d caused.

But I could do this one thing. I could protect her from Liam. Even if it meant putting myself at risk. Even if she never knew or never forgave me.

I checked my phone, making sure the recording app was easily accessible. Then I took a last look at my reflection in the rearview mirror—at the tear-stained face of a woman I barely recognized anymore.

"Time to face the music," I whispered to myself, and started the car again.

As I pulled up to the imposing gates of Liam’s mansion, the vandalized car drawing curious looks from the security man, I felt strangely calm. Perhaps it was because, for the first time in months, I knew exactly what I was doing and why. No more lies, no more excuses, no more selfish choices.

Just one sister, trying desperately to protect another.

Even if it was the last thing I ever did.