The psychiatric hospital corridor was eerily silent.

Sophia Laurent carried a fruit basket, her footsteps light.

When she pushed open the ward door, she saw Vincent Laurent crouched before Evelyn Grandelle, unwrapping an exquisite doll package.

"Evelyn, this is the newest doll," he murmured, his voice tender as if coaxing a child.

Evelyn didn’t even lift her eyelids.

She clutched a faded old doll tightly, her fingers unconsciously stroking its tattered dress hem.

Sophia’s eyes instantly reddened.

She recognized that doll—her mother had sewn it years ago.

"Dad," she called softly.

Vincent turned, unable to hide the sorrow in his eyes.

"The doctor said Mom’s mood has stabilized recently," Sophia set the fruit basket on the bedside table. "It’s a good sign."

Vincent straightened, adjusting his suit cuff. "Yes, at least she’s stopped throwing things."

He suddenly asked, "Your wedding with Ethan..."

"Let’s wait until Mom and Grace are better," Sophia gazed at her mother’s gaunt profile. "I want them both there."

Vincent’s expression softened. "Then I’ll register our marriage with your mother first."

Evelyn abruptly looked up.

Her hollow eyes fixed on Vincent, lips trembling.

"Stay away!" She shrank back violently, the doll in her arms deforming under her grip.

Vincent pulled an antique ring from his pocket.

"Remember? I designed this myself when you were twenty."

Evelyn stared at the ring, her fingers twitching slightly.

Just as she was about to touch it, she suddenly screamed, clutching her head and sobbing.

Tears soaked the doll in her arms.

"Go away! All of you!" She flailed her arms hysterically. "Don’t take my child!"

Vincent gently pushed Sophia forward. "Evelyn, look, this is Sophia—"

Before he could finish, the ward door was flung open.

Theodore Valentine stood in the doorway with a large bouquet of roses, a false smile on his face.

"What are you doing here?" Sophia shielded her mother.

Theodore’s gaze slid past her to Evelyn. "I heard Evelyn was improving. I came to see her."

"Get out." Vincent’s voice was ice-cold.

Theodore ignored him. "Sophia, about Isabella—"

"Dream on!" Sophia sneered. "She deserves to rot in prison!"

Theodore’s face darkened. "Don’t force me to investigate your restoration studio."

He lowered his voice. "The funding for those antique paintings—"

Slap!

A sharp blow struck his face.

Vincent calmly adjusted his gloves. "Threaten my daughter again. I dare you."

Theodore clutched his cheek, then suddenly grabbed Sophia’s wrist. "You’ll regret this!"

A figure lunged forward.

Evelyn, like a deranged lioness, raked her nails across Theodore’s face.

"Ah!" He howled in pain.

Blood trickled down his cheek.

Vincent swiftly removed his tie, working with a bodyguard to bind Theodore’s limbs.

"Madmen! You’re all madmen!" Theodore writhed on the floor.

Sophia drew a dagger from her bag.

A silver flash.

She pressed the hilt into her mother’s hand.

"Mom," she whispered, "this is how he hurt you back then."

Theodore’s pupils constricted in terror.

Evelyn raised the knife, her gaze slowly focusing.

"Theodore..." Her voice was a guttural rasp, barely human.