Sophia Laurent was about to stand when Ethan Sullivan pressed a hand on her shoulder.

"Stay inside."

His tone brooked no argument.

She sank back into the chair.

Ethan strode toward the door.

The security team split into two—one remained on guard while the other scaled the roof in pursuit.

"What happened?" Ethan demanded, his voice low.

"Someone was watching from the rooftop," the guard whispered. "Wearing a mask. Moved like a professional."

Ethan narrowed his eyes.

"Did you get a look at their face?"

"Only the back. Around six feet tall."

Ethan fell silent.

This house had been vacant for years—too long for a common thief.

Nothing had happened during his grandmother's funeral.

But now, right after reviewing the arson case files, they had a tail.

Either someone at the police station was leaking information, or...

He dialed Victor Sullivan's number.

"Father. Did you send people to follow us?"

A cold snort came through the line. "Drop this investigation. It's pointless."

Ethan's gaze turned glacial. "So it was you."

"Not me," Victor snapped. "Get back to the company. Stop wasting time on a woman."

"Is your definition of success being unfaithful to Mother?"

"Watch your tongue!" Victor's voice rose in anger.

Ethan ended the call.

The guard returned empty-handed. "They got away."

"Double the security."

Back inside, Sophia approached him. "What's wrong?"

"Someone's getting nervous," Ethan said with a cold smile. "Not my father. A third party."

The night passed without further incident.

At dawn, they returned to the city.

Sophia resumed restoring the ancient painting fragmented across her worktable.

Iris Evans gaped at the scattered pieces. "How long will this take?"

"Patience," Sophia replied calmly.

Iris's phone buzzed.

"How many times have I said no phones during work?" Sophia frowned.

Iris hurried out, returning moments later with a man in tow.

Shane Prescott.

He carried a black briefcase, his gaze sharp as a hawk's.

Inside lay a gilded Ashoka Pagoda studded with jewels.

"Open a hidden compartment. Retrieve something," he said bluntly.

Sophia glanced at the artifact. "That's against protocol."

"One million," Shane held up a finger.

The air grew heavy.

"I'll supervise the entire process," he added.

As Sophia prepared to refuse, Iris intervened.

Amid the argument, the fingerprint lock chimed.

Ethan walked in, his gaze landing on Shane. "A late-night visit?"

"Artifact restoration," Sophia explained.

Ethan checked his watch. "Couldn't this wait?"

"He insists on staying overnight," she said helplessly.

Ethan arched a brow. "Then I'm staying too."

Shane gave a terse nod.

Deep in the night.

The third-floor swing chair swayed gently.

Sophia bit her lip to stifle any sound.

"Relax," Ethan murmured against her ear.

Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting intertwined shadows on the floor.

Next morning, in the conference room.

Isabella Valentine sidled up under the pretense of delivering documents. "Ethan, I heard last night—"

Without looking up, Ethan cut in, "I was there too."

Isabella paled, hastily producing a photo. "Look at this—"

The image showed Sophia with Kyle Grant.

Ethan's eyes turned arctic.

"Go wash your brain in the fountain." He pressed the intercom. "Security. Escort her out."

As guards dragged her away, Isabella shrieked, "I'm doing this for you!"

Silence reclaimed the office.

Ethan traced the edge of the photograph, his expression unreadable.