A sharp crash echoed from the bathroom.

Ethan Sullivan's brow furrowed as he strode toward the sound.

"It's nothing. I just knocked over a vase," Sophia Laurent murmured, crouching on the floor with delicate fingers reaching for the razor-sharp shards.

"Don't touch!" He yanked her upright, tossing his phone carelessly onto the counter. "Let me."

Sophia handed him the trash bin, her fingertips trembling slightly. "Be careful."

"Don't worry." He bent to gather the fragments, lips quirking. "My thick skin won't get cut."

"Nonsense." Her eyes suddenly glistened. "No one has skin that can't be cut."

Ethan froze mid-motion, lifting his gaze to hers. "Those two years when I smashed things daily... Cleaning up after me must have been exhausting."

Sophia lowered her lashes, long eyelashes fluttering. "It wasn't."

"You," he brushed a strand of hair from her face, "are far too patient."

"Am I boring?" she whispered.

"A little," he chuckled.

"You're awful." She playfully raised a hand to swat him, only for him to catch her wrist.

Their laughter traveled through the phone to the other end.

Isabella Valentine slammed the call shut and hurled her phone onto the car seat.

"What's wrong?" Victoria Windsor frowned at her daughter's bandaged fingers.

"That Sophia!" Isabella ground her teeth. "Ethan turned back halfway from taking me to the hospital because of her!"

Victoria passed her a glass of water. "Patience. She's just a doppelgänger."

"A doppelgänger?" Isabella sneered. "Ethan only has eyes for her now!"

"Then make her disappear." A cold glint flashed in Victoria's eyes. "What use is a restoration expert without her hands?"

Isabella jerked her head up. "Mother!"

One week later, at Antique Treasures.

Sophia locked the restoration room and entered a Hong Kong-style café. She ordered shrimp rice and sat quietly in a corner.

Sunlight filtered through the window, casting dappled patterns across her porcelain skin. Her slender fingers holding the ebony chopsticks looked like carved jade, a stark contrast to the noisy surroundings.

After finishing her meal, she pushed open the heavy glass door.

Suddenly—

"Crash!"

Excruciating pain shot through her left hand. Sophia collapsed to the ground, watching helplessly as her fingers swelled grotesquely, blood dripping.

"Sorry!" A helmeted delivery rider threw down a wad of cash. "I'm in a hurry!"

Sophia couldn't speak through the agony. Staring at her misshapen fingers, tears flooded her vision.

These were hands honed through twenty years of practice.

Hands carrying five generations of her family's legacy.

Hands she cherished more than life itself.

By the time the café owner rushed out, the perpetrator had vanished.

At the hospital, Ethan arrived in haste, abandoning a mid-meeting to take the call.

"Who did this?" His voice was glacial.

"A delivery rider... got away..." the owner stammered.

"Find them!" Ethan's command cracked like a whip. "Turn over every stone if you must!"

X-rays revealed fractures in her middle and ring fingers. The surgery succeeded, but Sophia lay listless, vacant eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Ethan gently wiped her tear-streaked face, spoon-feeding her congee. She swallowed obediently but remained silent.

At eight that evening, his assistant whispered in his ear.

Ethan's jawline sharpened abruptly, knuckles whitening.

"I'll be back." He pressed a kiss to Sophia's forehead, eyes dark with gathering fury.