Sophia Laurent lifted her gaze, her clear eyes meeting his. "Yes, cousin."
Her voice was soft but carried an undeniable stubbornness.
Like a resilient reed—delicate in appearance yet unyielding at its core.
Ethan Sullivan's tense jawline relaxed slightly, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "Fine. Cousin it is."
His arm encircled her waist, pulling her abruptly against his chest.
Sophia stumbled into him, her nose filling with his familiar woody scent—now tainted by a cloying sweetness.
Isabella Valentine's perfume.
Her stomach twisted, and she instinctively tried to pull away.
But Ethan tightened his grip, trapping her effortlessly. He glanced at Dr. Julian Evans with cool detachment. "Thanks for bringing her back."
Julian's gaze flickered between them. "No problem."
The elevator doors slid shut.
In the confined space, Ethan looked down at her. "Is he pursuing you?"
"It's strictly professional."
"Men never discuss business with women without ulterior motives." His tone shifted. "How long have you known each other?"
Sophia's pupils constricted. "Are you investigating me?"
He reached to tousle her hair, but she dodged. Ethan chuckled darkly. "Call it concern."
"Three years ago, he approached me through my grandfather with a lucrative job offer."
"So my wife is in high demand." His voice dropped, laced with sardonic amusement.
Sophia's ears burned.
In three years of marriage, this was the first time he'd addressed her with such intimacy. Her heart fluttered—a featherlight touch that left it aching.
Ding—
The elevator doors opened.
Ethan pressed the button for their floor. When he turned, his eyes darkened dangerously.
The man usually as composed as jade now simmered with something volatile.
Sophia retreated until her back hit the cold metal wall. "What's wrong?"
He caged her in, one hand beside her head. "Calling me 'cousin'—was that a signal to him?"
His breath scorched her neck.
Before she could answer, his lips captured hers.
The kiss was punitive—fierce and relentless.
Sophia's pulse hammered. She pushed against his chest, but he pinned her wrists to the wall.
The elevator camera's red light blinked mockingly.
Humiliation and frustration warred within her, but her struggles only made her seem coquettish.
Ethan nipped her lower lip, his voice rough. "Still calling me that?"
She turned her face away, her earlobes burning crimson.
He laughed low, thumb grazing her swollen lips.
Her glistening eyes, disheveled hair—this disheveled version of her was lethal.
As the elevator ascended, Ethan suddenly asked, "Do you regret marrying me?"
Sophia froze, staring into his fathomless gaze.
"Never."
"Back then, I was wheelchair-bound, volatile—even my family avoided me." He stood tall, his sharp features stark under the overhead light. "What did you see in me?"
She answered earnestly, "You saved my grandmother. You bought my family a home. I’ll never forget that kindness."
Ethan's expression darkened. "Just gratitude?"
The air thickened with tension.
The elevator's arrival chime shattered the silence.
Inside their penthouse, he cornered her in the foyer, demanding again, "Was it only gratitude?"
Sophia met his eyes.
His lashes cast shadows, his Adam's apple bobbing with each breath.
Yet the thought of Isabella sent needles through her heart.
"Yes," she whispered, nails digging into her palms.
Ethan's lips curled into a bitter smile.
Of course. Someone else held her heart.
He released her, scanning the room. "Your mother isn’t here?"
"She’s caring for my grandmother." She turned away. "I’ll make tea."
A phone rang abruptly.
The name Isabella Valentine burned Sophia's vision.
She hurried toward the bathroom.
Behind her, Ethan answered, voice calm. "Did they bandage your hand?"
Even the running faucet couldn’t drown out Isabella’s saccharine tone. "Ethan, is Sophia upset with me?"
"She’s not that petty."
"But at the café earlier—"
He cut her off. "Isabella, Sophia doesn’t gossip."
"I just worry you’re being deceived—"
Crash!
A loud thud came from the bathroom.
Ethan’s face paled. He sprinted over. "Sophia!"