The phone rang while I was restoring an ancient painting.

"Ms. Laurent, we've located your biological father," came the officer's formal voice through the receiver.

My brush clattered onto the rice paper, leaving an ink stain.

"He's waiting for you at the station."

After hanging up, I stood frozen. For twenty-three years, the word "father" had been nothing more than an empty concept to me.

Fingers trembling slightly, I dialed Ethan Sullivan's number.

"The police found my dad," I whispered, as if afraid to disturb some fragile truth.

A brief silence. "I'll go with you."

"No, I can handle—"

"Sophia." His interruption was firm. "You need me right now."

An hour later, we stood in the police station lobby.

A tall figure caught my eye. The man wore a charcoal overcoat, his sharp features resembling an ink-wash painting.

His eyes lit up the moment he saw me.

"Sophia?" His voice was warm as jade.

I instinctively stepped back, colliding with Ethan's chest.

"Vincent Laurent." He extended his ID. "Forty-six, though I look younger."

I stared at the birthdate on the card, fingers absently tracing its edges.

"You're... really my father?"

His eyes reddened. "You're the spitting image of your mother."

Those words unlocked something deep inside me.

Ethan suddenly blocked my path when I moved forward. "DNA test first."

Vincent chuckled. "Always cautious, Mr. Sullivan." From his briefcase, he produced documents. "The official police report."

Black letters on white paper declared a 99.99% match.

Tears spilled without warning.

"Dad..." The syllable rolled off my tongue for the first time in twenty-three years.

Vincent opened his arms, only to be intercepted by Ethan.

"Mr. Laurent," Ethan said coolly, "Sophia's an adult now."

Vincent arched a brow. "And?"

"Appropriate boundaries apply."

I tugged Ethan's sleeve, torn between laughter and exasperation. "He's my father."

"Too young-looking." Ethan remained an immovable barrier.

Vincent's lips curved. "Jealous, Mr. Sullivan?"

Ethan's expression darkened.

"Come," Vincent said, turning to me. "I've reserved a restaurant."

In the car, I sat up front. Through the rearview mirror, I saw both men pressed against opposite doors, the space between them vast as a galaxy.

"Your ex-husband," Vincent murmured, "did he treat you well?"

Before I could answer, a derisive snort came from the backseat.

"Current boyfriend," Ethan corrected.

Vincent's "Ah" held layers of meaning.

The hotel elevator was crowded. Vincent subtly shielded me in a corner. His broad shoulders reminded me of childhood envy—other children sheltered by their fathers.

"Careful." He raised an arm against the jostling crowd.

Isabella Valentine witnessed this exact moment.

Ten minutes later, Ethan's phone rang.

"Ethan!" Isabella's shrill voice pierced through. "Sophia's canoodling with some old man at a hotel!"

Ethan chuckled. "That's my future father-in-law. Vincent Laurent, the second son of Laurent Holdings." A pause. "Isn't Valentine Group courting the Laurents' business?"

Silence.

Hanging up, Ethan watched us through the restaurant window—father and daughter deep in conversation. A faint smile touched his lips.

This unexpected father-in-law, he decided, might not be so bad after all.