Sophia Laurent froze in astonishment as she stepped into Richard Grant's private collection room.

The climate-controlled space displayed countless priceless treasures. Bronze artifacts gleamed mysteriously, Tang dynasty ceramics stood vibrantly lifelike, and jade pieces glowed with aqueous softness—each piece worth a fortune.

"This Heavenly King Scroll requires restoration." Richard carefully unrolled a severely damaged ancient painting.

Sophia slipped on white gloves, her fingertips lightly tracing the painting's edge. The brushstrokes flowed like drifting clouds, every line bearing the distinctive spirit of the master painter Wu Daozi.

"It's authentic." Her voice held certainty. "But restoration will take at least two months."

Richard's eyes brightened. "No rush. You're the only one I trust."

On the main wall hung two paintings Sophia had gifted Kyle Grant—Bada Shanren's solitary bird amidst withered lotuses cast an austere glow under the lights.

"These works..." Richard marveled. "Who would believe they came from a twenty-three-year-old?"

Suddenly animated, he spread out rice paper. "I heard you excel at the Slender Gold calligraphy style?"

Sophia grasped the brush. Ink fragrance permeated the air as her strokes danced across the paper, perfectly replicating Emperor Huizong's "Fragrant Flowers Poem."

"Magnificent!" Richard exclaimed, slapping the table. "Surpasses forty years of my practice!"

He seized her hands eagerly. "Become my daughter-in-law! Kyle is—"

"Uncle Richard!" Sophia's ears burned. "I'm already committed."

"To whom?"

"My ex-husband."

Richard sighed in disappointment but persisted. "When you're truly separated..."

Dinner unfolded in the cavernous dining room with only the two of them. Richard piled food onto Sophia's plate with such fervor that the servants exchanged glances.

Upstairs, Willow Grant stood at the bedroom window, nails digging into her palms.

"Why bring her here?" Her voice trembled.

"Just for restoration—"

"She can't be with Kyle!" Willow whirled around, tears streaming.

"What are you truly afraid of?" Richard frowned. "Is Kyle perhaps—"

"No!" Willow snapped. "His father died long ago!"

At the mention of Victor Sullivan's name, her eyes blazed with decades-old hatred. Memories of that rainy night's betrayal surged like a tide—the broken vow, the retreating back of the faithless man.

Watching his wife's shaking shoulders, Richard suddenly recalled that drunken night ten years ago when she'd clutched his throat, screaming that very name.

Deepening night shadows made the ancient paintings flicker under the gallery lights. No one noticed the Heavenly King's painted eye glinting strangely in the dimness.