Victor Sullivan's footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

His knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, but he didn't dare turn around.

How dare this little girl threaten him?

Nitroglycerin? The audacity!

He, the chairman of Sullivan Group, was being manipulated by a mere slip of a girl.

"Mr. Sullivan?" his driver asked cautiously.

Victor took a deep breath, forcing down his rage. "Let's go."

Outside the villa gates, he stared at the glass vial stuck to his palm, cold sweat dripping down his back.

"Hurry!" he barked. "Find someone who can remove Celestial Mender!"

The driver leaned in for a closer look and stumbled back three steps. "T-this is—"

"Explosives!" Victor ground out through gritted teeth. "If you dawdle any longer, I'll lose my hand!"

The driver fumbled for his phone, trembling so badly he dialed the wrong number three times.

Unable to wait, Victor called Ethan directly.

"Your ex-wife glued explosives to my hand!" His voice shook.

A two-second silence hung on the line.

"Nitroglycerin?" Ethan's tone carried amusement. "Just uncap it and pour it out."

"She said it'll detonate in the air!"

"She lied."

Skeptical, Victor tipped the liquid out, but the vial remained stubbornly adhered to his palm.

"How do I remove Celestial Mender?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

"Promise to stop harassing Sophia."

"Dream on!"

After hanging up, Victor stormed straight to Vincent's Porcelain.

Vincent Grandelle's first words upon seeing him were, "Did you bully my apprentice?"

Victor nearly laughed in disbelief. "She's the one who—"

"She never starts trouble," Vincent cut him off. "Diluent won't work. Go find her."

"Impossible!"

In the days that followed, Victor became the talk of the business world.

Whether in meetings or at social events, a glass vial remained permanently affixed to his palm.

Someone secretly snapped a photo and posted it with the caption: #ChairmanSullivansNewLook

Meanwhile, Daily Treasure Appraisal began filming.

Sophia Laurent, the youngest appraisal expert, took her seat on the judging panel.

"Expert, what do you think of this Ming Dynasty Ultraman passed down in my family?"

"A Qin Dynasty terracotta warrior holding an AK-47—very creative."

"That Doraemon bell was made last week, wasn't it?"

With a faint smile, she pointed out each flaw.

The audience erupted in laughter.

Suddenly, commotion broke out at the entrance.

Victor strode in, his face thunderous—his right hand still gripping that damned glass vial.

The room fell silent.

Sophia lifted her gaze, locking eyes with him.

Sparks flew between them.