Sophia had just fastened her seatbelt when the car door slammed shut.

Ethan rested one hand on the steering wheel, his chiseled profile sharply defined in the sunlight.

"What brought you to the museum?" Sophia couldn't help asking.

"Returned some artifacts from abroad." He started the engine, his tone indifferent. "Donating them to the state."

Her eyes brightened. "I didn't know you had such civic responsibility."

Ethan scoffed lightly. "Just business."

The car glided onto Riverside Drive before stopping before a Tang-style building. The vermilion gates bore gilded characters spelling "Tang Palace."

A manager hurried forward as they entered. Ethan gave a slight nod and guided Sophia down a corridor flanked by servers in Tang costumes, as if they'd stepped through time.

In the private dining room, Sophia's fingers hesitated over the menu. Three years of marriage had conditioned her to instinctively select Ethan's favorites first.

"Change that." Ethan suddenly spoke to the waiter. "Order what she prefers."

The confused server retreated.

When the dishes arrived, Ethan placed a piece of fish in Sophia's bowl. "Eat more."

"You've lost weight." She studied his tired eyes.

"Foreign food didn't agree with me." His response was flat.

Sophia smiled faintly. She knew Ethan's exacting standards—even Michelin three-star restaurants often failed to impress him.

Mid-meal, Ethan stepped out to take a call. Sophia headed to the restroom but was abruptly yanked into the garden at a corridor turn.

"Sophia!" Isabella Valentine glared at her, teeth clenched. "Hiring thugs to attack me? How despicable!"

Adjusting her rumpled collar, Sophia remained calm. "Evidence, Ms. Valentine?"

"Who else would do it?" Isabella trembled with rage. "Still clinging to Ethan when you're divorcing—have you no shame?"

Sophia's gaze cooled. "At least I'm still Mrs. Sullivan."

"Ha! As if that matters—" Isabella raised her foot to kick.

A dark figure flashed by, pulling Sophia into familiar arms. The crisp scent of cedar enveloped her.

"Ethan!" Isabella's face paled. "I only—"

"Enough." Ethan's voice was glacial.

Footsteps approached. Theodore Valentine appeared, his expression darkening when he saw Sophia.

That look chilled her to the bone—naked hostility, as if he wanted to devour her alive.

Ethan subtly shielded her, his fingers gently stroking her wrist.

"Uncle Valentine," he said mildly yet firmly, "control your daughter."

Theodore's face turned ashen. Isabella suddenly covered her face and fled, sobbing.

As Ethan led Sophia away, he paused mid-stride without turning.

"Remember," he said softly, "touching her means touching me."

The words hung lightly in the air, yet Theodore visibly stiffened. Sophia felt Ethan's grip tighten—his warm, dry palm radiating quiet reassurance.