A sharp pain shot through her fingertips. Sophia Laurent looked down to find her nails digging into her palms.

She gazed at the man before her—his deep-set eyes, his chiseled features. The words "Let's not divorce" lingered on her tongue, unspoken.

Victor Sullivan's words had cut like a knife. She was just Isabella Valentine's replacement. Any woman who resembled her could have received Ethan Sullivan's tenderness these past three years.

"Go back," she forced a smile, her fingers lightly tracing his tense jawline.

Ethan stubbornly grasped her hand. "I'll walk you to your building."

The night was ink-black, the moonlight like an unhealed scar. Their shadows merged under the streetlamp, yet an unshakable loneliness clung to them.

Only when her figure disappeared into the hallway did Ethan finally look away. He dialed his assistant. "Call off the search for Isabella's attacker."

Confused questioning came through the line.

"That's all." He ended the call and lit a cigarette. In the swirling smoke, he thought of that man—Kyle Grant. After the divorce, Kyle would return to her side, wouldn't he?

He didn't want her to hate him.

The next morning, Sophia walked down the hospital corridor carrying a thermal lunchbox. A sickly-sweet voice called from behind her. "Sophia, what a coincidence!"

Isabella waved her bandage-wrapped hand, her smile grating. "Here to remove my cast today—all thanks to you."

"Had nothing to do with me," Sophia replied coldly, turning away. "Unlike my hand—"

"Proof?" Isabella stepped closer, taunting. "Heard you signed the papers? Ethan will be mine soon."

Sophia tightened her grip on the lunchbox. "The cooling-off period isn't over. Don't celebrate too soon, Isabella."

"Who are you pretending to be?" Isabella suddenly raised her hand and slapped Sophia across the face.

The stinging pain made Sophia's vision blur. She set down the lunchbox and slapped Isabella back—hard.

"Ethan!" Isabella wailed, looking past Sophia with tear-filled eyes.

Sophia turned to see Ethan striding toward them, carrying a food container. Her heart skipped a beat—he'd seen her hit someone.

The man walked straight to her, lifting her reddened palm. "Does it hurt?"

Sophia froze.

"Should've kicked her instead," he murmured, his thumb gently massaging her burning skin.

Isabella clutched her cheek, shrieking. "She hit me!"

Ethan ignored her, handing the container to Sophia. "Buddha Jumps Over the Wall. Enough for three."

Understanding dawned. Sophia's eyes curved into crescents. "You're amazing."

"Only realizing that now?" His low chuckle was drowningly tender.

Isabella trembled with rage before running off in tears.

The moment she was gone, Sophia's smile vanished. "Don't do this again."

"Right." Ethan's gaze dimmed. "I forgot we're divorcing."

He walked her to her hospital room door. As he turned to leave, Sophia suddenly called out, "Thank you... for seeing she struck first."

Ethan paused mid-step but didn't look back.

The next morning, a photo from Natalie Sullivan jolted Sophia upright in bed—Isabella's meticulously maintained face now swollen like overproofed dough.