The museum's soft lighting bathed the priceless masterpiece in a golden glow.

Sophia Laurent stood before "Travelers Among Mountains," her gaze intense. She leaned forward slightly, almost pressing against the glass display case. Her slender fingers traced invisible lines in the air, as if recreating the ancient brushstrokes.

"Madam, you've been standing here for three hours," Maggie Clementson reminded gently.

Sophia seemed not to hear. Her world had narrowed to this single painting. Every textured stroke, every intentional blank space formed a three-dimensional image in her mind.

Across the hall, Kyle Grant leaned against a marble pillar. His charcoal gray trench coat blended into the museum's shadows. Only his eyes remained fixed on Sophia's silhouette.

He watched her brows knit in concentration, then smooth in understanding. Saw her eyes widen at some newly discovered detail. This was the Sophia he remembered from their first meeting.

"What's so special about this painting?" Maggie muttered. "It's just rocks and trees."

Sophia finally turned, a satisfied smile curving her lips. "This is Fan Kuan's original work from the Northern Song Dynasty. A millennium-old national treasure."

As she turned, she sensed a gaze upon her. But the gallery held only scattered visitors.

Sunset painted the sky when they exited the museum.

The attack came without warning.

A motorcycle roared past. The passenger grabbed Sophia's purse. In that split second, a gray blur intercepted.

"Ah!" The thief screamed in pain.

Kyle released the man's twisted arm. "Leave," he commanded coldly.

The motorcycle sped away, kicking up dust.

"Are you hurt?" Kyle's voice softened as he turned to Sophia.

She shook her head, her pulse still racing. Staring at the man who'd materialized from nowhere, she gasped, "Mr. Grant?"

"Just passing by," he said tersely, though his eyes swept over her, ensuring she was unharmed.

Maggie wedged herself between them. "Madam, you've had a shock." She emphasized the word "Madam."

Kyle's expression darkened.

Sophia remained silent during the return to the hotel. The encounter felt too coincidental.

Late that night, she unrolled rice paper.

Ink wetted her brush. She closed her eyes, reconstructing every detail of the painting. Yet when the brush touched paper, something felt missing.

At 3 AM, she jolted awake.

The porcelain-skinned infant from her dreams had vanished again. Tears soaked her pillow.

Unfamiliar city lights glittered beyond the window. Hugging her knees, Sophia felt loneliness wrap around her like a shroud.

The doorbell's chime seemed imaginary.

"It's me."

That voice pierced through the door, striking her heart.

The moment the door opened, she was engulfed in familiar arms. Ethan Sullivan carried the chill of night travel, yet his embrace radiated warmth.

"How did you—"

"Felt you needed me," he murmured, tightening his hold.