Ethan Sullivan entered the bedroom holding a glass of hangover remedy. Sophia Laurent lay against the headboard, her cheeks flushed.

"Drink this," he murmured, his voice deep and gentle.

Sophia squinted through drunken eyes, suddenly looping her arms around his neck. "You feed me."

The glass nearly toppled.

With a resigned sigh, Ethan pinched her chin and tipped the medicine into her mouth.

"Bitter..." She scrunched her face, then abruptly kissed him.

The bitter liquid trickled down their lips.

Ethan's Adam's apple bobbed as he cradled her head, deepening the kiss.

Sophia suddenly pushed him away, swaying toward the bathroom. "Need to shower..."

He hurried after her, steadying her unsteady steps.

Water splashed in the tub.

Sophia thrashed like a restless fish—splashing him, tugging at his shirt.

"Stop." Ethan caught her wandering hands, his voice rough.

Her damp eyes sparkled up at him before she giggled. "Your ears are red."

Ethan exhaled sharply, briskly drying her off.

By the time he carried her back to bed, Sophia was already drowsy.

He brushed a kiss to her forehead. She blinked awake. "You stink."

Ethan froze.

Only then did he remember the alcohol clinging to him. He bolted to the shower.

Ten minutes later, he returned smelling of soap.

But Sophia had already fallen asleep, her long lashes casting shadows.

Ethan stared at her slightly parted lips and gritted his teeth. "Heartless little thing."

He turned back toward the bathroom.

Twenty minutes under cold water finally cooled him down.

Morning light filtered through the curtains.

Sophia woke rubbing her temples, meeting Ethan's intense gaze.

"Morning," he said, his voice morning-rough.

She sat up abruptly, realizing she wore his pajamas.

"Last night—"

"You had your way with me," Ethan stated solemnly.

Sophia's ears burned. "I was drunk."

He leaned in suddenly. "How will you compensate me?"

"What do you want?"

"Come back to me." His gaze burned.

Sophia lowered her eyes.

Silence stretched between them.

She rose and walked to the closet, where her wedding gown still hung.

Her fingers traced the hem as her eyes grew hot.

In the corner sat a black security case.

She entered her birthdate. Twelve flutes lay neatly inside—birthday gifts for Kyle Grant, one for each year.

The scent of breakfast drifted upstairs.

Ethan stood at the kitchen island arranging plates, his back straight.

"Eat before you go," he said without turning.

Sophia picked at her porridge, the food tasteless.

At the door with the case, Ethan suddenly asked, "What's inside?"

"Gifts." She paused. "For Kyle."

Ethan's fingers tightened. "Since when?"

"The year he 'died.'"

As the door closed, she heard him ask, "If I died, would you—"

Sophia whirled around. "Don't say that!"

He leaned against the wall, smirking carelessly. "Just joking."

Three days later, at a revolving restaurant:

Kyle Grant's eyes reddened as he examined the twelve flutes. "Thank you for remembering."

Before Sophia could respond, a shadow fell over them.

Ethan appeared in a tailored suit. "Mind if I join?"

Tension crackled through the meal.

When Sophia excused herself, Ethan slid a check across the table. "Name your price."

Kyle tore it apart with a cold laugh. "Your father did the same thing years ago."

The check turned to ashes in the ashtray.

Their locked gazes sparked with hostility.

Sophia returned to find them discussing wine vintages.

As they left, Audrey Sullivan stood in the lobby.

Her eyes frosted over when they landed on Kyle.