Ethan Sullivan's eyes turned icy cold.

He dialed his bodyguard, his voice laced with frost. "Where is Sophia Laurent?"

"Young Madam said you granted us a two-day leave out of consideration for our hard work..." The bodyguard's voice tightened.

A cold smirk curled Ethan's lips.

His usually docile little rabbit had learned to forge orders.

"Where did she go?"

"I don't know, sir..."

The call ended abruptly. He immediately dialed Maggie Clementson's number, only to hear the mechanical voice announcing a powered-off phone.

"Check the surveillance," Ethan commanded coldly.

Ten minutes later, his assistant reported nervously, "All relevant footage has been deleted."

The phone creaked dangerously in his grip.

In the nephrology ward, Grace Langley was adjusting the elderly Eleanor Sullivan's blanket.

"Grace, where's Sophia?" Ethan cut straight to the point.

Grace didn't even glance up. "You lost your wife, and you're asking me?"

"Her hand injury hasn't healed. It's unsafe for her to be out alone."

Though polite, his words carried an undeniable edge of command.

Grace scoffed. "My daughter served you for two years, enduring everything without complaint. For her to disappear without notice now—what kind of pain must she be in?"

Ethan's expression darkened.

"Of course, to the great Ethan Sullivan, she was just a high-end nurse. Now that your legs are fine, she's no longer needed."

"I never thought that," he said, his voice dropping several degrees colder.

Grace crossed her legs. "Either treat her right or divorce her cleanly. My girl has beauty and talent—she'll marry well without you!"

With an icy smile, Ethan turned and slammed the door behind him.

Late into the night, Ethan combed through every possible place Sophia might have gone.

At 3 AM, his black Maybach sped along the winding mountain road.

The old Laurent family home stood locked and silent.

Ethan lay fully dressed in the car, eventually drifting into an uneasy sleep.

At dawn, his bodyguard woke him. "Young Madam is in the courtyard."

Pushing open the creaking wooden gate, he was met with a flurry of pear blossoms swirling like snow.

Beneath the tree, two figures were tending to an injury. Dr. Julian Evans's slender fingers brushed the bandage around Sophia's wrist, their shared smile piercing Ethan's heart like a blade.

"Visiting your grandfather without telling me?" His voice was laced with venom.

Sophia looked up, her gaze distant. "You're a busy man."

Julian turned. "Cousin—"

Ethan strode straight to Sophia. "I've been searching for you all day."

"No need to trouble yourself," she replied, her tone as light as discussing the weather.

"When Isabella Valentine nearly fell, I was just steadying her."

"No explanation necessary."

Ethan's Adam's apple bobbed. "Her hand was injured by Kyle Grant, and her depression worsened—"

"Come with me," Sophia abruptly interrupted.

They walked down a dusty country path until they reached a gloomy willow grove.

Crows circled overhead, their cries mournful.

Sophia stopped before a low grave and whispered, "Kyle is here."