Ethan Sullivan leaned close to Sophia Laurent's ear, his warm breath brushing her earlobe. "Stepping on my feet so many times—do you want me limping home?"

Sophia glared up at him. "Ex-husband."

Before the word fully left her lips, she stomped on his polished leather shoe again.

Ethan's brow twitched in pain. He chose silence.

Dancing with a novice was pure torture.

His shoes were ruined. His feet might be too.

Thankfully, the royal ball soon ended.

In the car back to the hotel, Sophia exhaled deeply. "So many palace rules. Even breathing had to follow the rhythm."

Ethan ruffled her hair. "You were stunning tonight."

"Stunning? I stomped on you over twenty times." She bit her lip guiltily. "Did it hurt?"

"Yes." He caught her reaching hand. "Compensate me another way."

Dark currents swirled in his deep-set eyes, making Sophia's ears burn.

Steam fogged the bathroom mirrors.

Ethan pinned her against the tiled wall, his kiss fierce and urgent.

"Your feet—" she gasped between breaths.

"Doesn't matter." He swept her up effortlessly.

The mattress dipped under their weight.

His lips trailed from her hairline to her collarbone, igniting wildfires wherever they touched.

When passion ebbed, Ethan suddenly nipped her earlobe. "That man who asked you to dance—"

Sophia laughed. "You're jealous over that?"

"Let's have a baby." His voice muffled against her neck.

Her fingers stilled. The memory of their lost child flashed before her eyes.

"After the remarriage," she whispered.

The plane touched down at Kyoto Airport.

The familiar air stung Sophia's eyes.

A crimson banner stretched across the arrival gate: "Welcome Home, Our Esteemed Art Restoration Expert!"

Camera flashes erupted like lightning.

"Sophia! Over here!" Fans' screams overlapped.

Ethan shielded her in his arms as bodyguards held back the surging crowd.

Neglected elder experts shook their heads. "This world only cares about beauty."

In the following days, Sophia barely had time to breathe.

Interviews, artifact appraisals, variety show invites flooded in.

She no longer shied from cameras.

Those past sneers about her "mediocre background" had become badges of honor now.

At the awards ceremony, the Minister of Culture personally pinned the medal to her lapel.

That evening at a banquet, the drunken minister clinked glasses with Victor Sullivan. "Presented your daughter-in-law with an award today."

"Which one?" Victor swirled his wine.

"Sophia Laurent."

Victor's lips twisted. "Her."

The minister slammed the table. "She's a national treasure! Your son married up!"

Amidst the shocked murmurs, Victor's face turned beet red.