Isabella Valentine slammed her phone down on the couch, watching it bounce twice before settling.

Her chest heaved with barely contained fury.

Why?

Why did everyone favor Sophia Laurent?

That unsophisticated country girl had no family background, no taste, and couldn't even wear decent jewelry properly.

While she, Isabella Valentine, had grown up in luxury, draped in designer labels, educated abroad with impeccable manners.

In what way was she inferior to that peasant?

Her nails dug deep into her palms as resentment burned hotter.

They must all be under Sophia's spell!

Even her own grandfather wasn't immune!

Meanwhile...

Sophia carefully spread the ancient genealogy across her worktable.

After Vincent Grandelle granted permission to restore it at home, she'd immediately begun preparations.

The spacious study Ethan Sullivan had custom-built for her was flooded with natural light, equipped with every restoration tool imaginable.

The centuries-old pages had yellowed and grown brittle.

Edges had disintegrated into fibrous strands, while insect holes, mold stains, and acid damage marred the interior.

The restoration process would be painstakingly complex.

Sophia retrieved precious Ming Dynasty paper from her collection cabinet.

Following her grandfather's secret formula, she'd scoured half the city to gather all necessary materials.

As she carefully dismantled the genealogy, she marveled at the illustrious Sullivan lineage.

An aristocratic family since the Ming Dynasty, producing generations of accomplished individuals.

Every name exuded scholarly refinement.

Her hands froze when she reached the final volume.

"Xavier Sullivan" stood out boldly.

Ethan's grandfather.

What shocked her more was discovering Xavier and Kyle Grant's grandfather Leonard were actually cousins.

Sophia stared at the revelation, lost in thought.

The wall clock chimed nine.

Ethan had mentioned a business dinner tonight—he should be home by now.

Setting aside her tools, she hurried downstairs.

The front door opened just as she reached the living room.

Ethan entered, his crisp suit carrying the heavy scent of alcohol.

His chiseled features looked weary, shadows darkening his striking eyes.

"You drank a lot?" she asked, stepping forward.

"Mmm." His curt response came with an averted gaze.

Sophia took his suit jacket, wrinkling her nose at the clinging smoke and liquor.

"Did the meeting go poorly?"

"Went fine." His tone remained detached.

As Ethan bent to remove his shoes, his loosened tie swung forward.

He undid two shirt buttons, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbone.

Sophia's gaze lingered despite herself.

Even inebriated, the man radiated devastating allure.

"I'll make hangover soup." She turned toward the kitchen.

His hand caught her wrist.

Ethan tilted her chin up, nipping lightly at her nose.

When their lips met, it was only the briefest brush.

Sophia blinked in surprise.

This wasn't like him.

Previously, any contact would have deepened into a claiming kiss.

"What's wrong?" she couldn't help asking.

He massaged his temples. "Had too much. Don't want to affect your...preparations."

The flimsy excuse hung between them.

Sophia followed as he headed for the bathroom. "I discovered something interesting today—"

"Just a coincidence," Ethan cut in. "Kyle Grant and I share no relation."

The shower started behind the closed door.

Left standing outside, Sophia pressed a hand to her tightening chest.

Downstairs, she prepared hangover soup, the kitchen filling with the herbal scent of mung beans and licorice root.

When she returned with the steaming bowl, Ethan had already showered.

His black robe accentuated his angular frame.

"Drink it warm," she offered.

He drained it in one go.

In bed, Sophia wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Tell me what's bothering you."

"Nothing."

She sat up, drawing a steadying breath. "We're married. Problems should be discussed. I value this marriage."

Ethan's lashes flickered. "So do I."

"But you've been distant all evening."

The truth gnawed at him.

Kyle's frequent appearances around Sophia, always under professional pretexts.

Worse was Isabella's taunting call.

A million dollars?

Since when did his wife need another man's charity?

But voicing this would sound petty—might push Sophia further away.

So he swallowed the insecurity, letting the torment of uncertainty fester silently.