Chapter 8
1328words
A commanding figure strode in—silver-haired but ramrod straight, flanked by a phalanx of suited men who screamed "security."
"Is that... Thomas Wright?"
"Holy shit—it's Thomas Wright himself! The Wright Corporation founder!"
"I can't believe I'm breathing the same air as Thomas Wright..."
"I thought he was in Switzerland or something? Hasn't been seen in public for years!"
The guests scrambled to their feet, champagne flutes forgotten.
The Wright name carried more weight than gold in Riverdale.
Charles's jaw went slack. "Mr. Wright? What are you doing here?"
Vivian wobbled to her feet, plastering on a desperate smile. "Mr. Wright, what an honor—"
My grandfather cut her off with a contemptuous snort, his gaze sweeping the room like a general inspecting enemy territory.
When his eyes found me, they softened instantly. "Had to come. These Kosters vultures were about to pick my granddaughter clean."
He opened his arms, and something inside me shattered. I crashed into his embrace, tears flowing freely. "Grandpa... where were you? Why did it take so long?"
He stroked my hair gently. "Had to finish what I started, sweetheart. Those bastards who murdered your parents and forced us to hide your identity? I've been systematically erasing them from existence."
"From today, no more hiding. You're Sophie Wright, heiress to the Wright empire, and the whole damn world better get used to it."
The room exploded into chaos at his declaration.
Every face turned to me, eyes wide with disbelief.
Charles looked like he'd been hit by a truck, rooted to the spot.
He gaped at me, his brain visibly struggling to process this new reality.
The memory of his own words echoed in his head—"countryside pig-slaughterer," "pathetic nobody"...
Had I been telling the truth all along?
Grandfather gave me one last reassuring pat before turning to Old Mr. Kosters, whose face had gone ashen. "So, Kosters," he growled, dropping all pretense of politeness, "this is how you protected my granddaughter? By letting her be treated like garbage in your house?"
Old Mr. Kosters seemed to shrink before our eyes. "Thomas, I've failed you completely. Failed Sophie terribly."
He whirled on Charles, who stood paralyzed like a deer in headlights. "You IDIOT!" he roared.
Charles flinched, looking up with bewildered eyes.
"That mystery investor I've been telling you about for years—the one who repeatedly saved our family from bankruptcy? That was Sophie!"
"I dropped hint after hint, praying you'd use the brain God gave you. But you were too arrogant to listen!"
"Those major contracts you've been strutting around taking credit for? All orchestrated by Sophie behind the scenes."
"Without her, the Kosters name would be nothing but a footnote in Riverdale's history. Did you honestly think your mediocre talents kept us afloat? And this—THIS is how you repaid her."
Charles swayed on his feet, the blood draining from his face.
He stumbled backward, staring at me like he was seeing a stranger—which, in truth, he was.
Memories flashed through his mind—all the dismissive comments, the casual cruelty, the deliberate humiliation...
Horror dawned in his eyes as the full weight of his actions crashed down on him.
"I didn't—" his voice cracked. "Grandpa, you never explained... Sophie, please—"
He reached toward me, desperation etched into every line of his face.
I looked straight through him, focusing instead on Vivian, who was inching toward the exit, trembling like a cornered animal.
"Vivian Woods," I said, my voice eerily calm.
She froze mid-step, a visible shudder running through her body.
"At my mother's grave today," I enunciated each word with surgical precision, "you said 'like mother, like daughter.' You suggested finding my mother a 'ghost marriage companion.'"
I let the words hang in the air, watching her face turn the color of chalk.
I took a single step toward her. "I promised to erase the Woods name from Riverdale. I always keep my promises."
"A ghost marriage?" My grandfather's voice dropped to a dangerous growl, the temperature in the room seeming to plummet.
In clipped sentences, I recounted the day's events to my grandfather.
With each word, his expression darkened like a gathering storm.
"Execute Protocol Black on Woods Corporation," he barked into his phone. "I want them erased from Riverdale by morning." He flicked a dismissive glance at Vivian. "Remove this piece of trash from my sight. If she's still in Riverdale tomorrow, bury her."
Two mountain-sized men materialized beside Vivian, clamping vice-like hands around her arms.
"No! Please—wait!"
"Mr. Wright! It was a misunderstanding! A stupid joke! I'll do anything—"
"Sophie! Please! I'm begging you—"
"Charles! Help me! CHARLES!"
Vivian's carefully cultivated poise shattered completely as she screamed and thrashed, mascara streaming down her face.
No one even bothered to watch as she was dragged away.
Charles was too busy drowning in his own nightmare to spare her a glance.
With Vivian's screams fading down the hallway, all eyes turned to Charles, who stood ashen-faced in the center of the room.
Before I could open my mouth, Charles lunged forward, grabbing desperately for my hands. "Sophie, I was wrong—so wrong. Please—"
"If I'd known what you were doing for us, for me—if I'd known who you really were—"
"Had I known your value to the family, I never would have treated you that way. Never would have mentioned divorce. Please, Sophie—"
As he reached for me, Eric smoothly intercepted, placing himself between us like a shield.
"A bit late for the groveling act, Charles," Eric said coolly.
"Sophie's with me now. Have some dignity. Your girlfriend's being thrown out like yesterday's trash—shouldn't you be running after her?"
Eric's words landed like physical blows, each one making Charles flinch.
Grandfather turned to me, his expression softening. "Sophie, what do you want done with him? Say the word, and it's done."
Before I could respond, Old Mr. Kosters seemed to collapse in on himself, aging a decade in seconds.
He stared at his golden child with a mixture of heartbreak and disgust before his eyes fell shut.
When they opened again, something had hardened in them. "No need for the Wrights to dirty their hands. This is a Kosters failure—my failure. I raised this ungrateful worm who can't distinguish gold from garbage."
He drew a shaky breath. "Effective immediately, Charles Kosters is excommunicated from the family. His fortunes, his very existence, are no longer our concern."
"Grandpa!" Charles's head snapped up, horror flooding his face.
The sentence was far worse than anything he'd imagined—total excommunication, complete abandonment.
Old Mr. Kosters didn't spare him another glance, turning instead to Eric, who watched the proceedings with calculated calm.
His eyes filled with a complex mixture of guilt and hope. "Eric... I know we've wronged you. Wronged your mother terribly all these years."
"You've proven yourself the better man—more capable, more worthy than your brother ever was."
"The Kosters empire stands on the brink of collapse. Will you return and take the reins?"
A collective gasp rippled through the room.
Eric didn't react, taking his time as he glanced at his shell-shocked brother before his eyes found mine.
Finally, he turned back to the old man. "I'll step in temporarily to stabilize things."
"Not for the Kosters name—for Sophie. To ensure her efforts weren't wasted."
Charles staggered as if physically struck.
The half-brother he'd dismissed as irrelevant had just effortlessly claimed everything he'd thrown away.
All because of me.
I stood motionless, watching Charles's world implode, watching karma collect its debts with interest.
Enough of this circus.
I slipped my arm through Grandfather's, letting exhaustion seep into my voice. "Grandpa, I'm done here. Take me home."
He squeezed my hand, understanding in his eyes.
Without a backward glance at Charles, I walked out with my head high, feeling the weight of stunned stares on my back as I left the mansion that had been my gilded prison.
Behind me lay the ruins of Charles Kosters and the dynasty he'd taken for granted.
