In the CEO's office of Sullivan Group, Ethan Sullivan was reviewing documents when the door suddenly swung open.

Victor Sullivan strode in, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, radiating energy.

"I've prepared some tonics for Sophia," he announced without preamble. "They're in my office—send someone to fetch them."

Ethan looked up. "What kind?"

"Wild snow frog, deep-sea bass, premium sea cucumber." Victor's tone was solemn. "All beneficial for conception."

Ethan arched an eyebrow. "How unexpectedly thoughtful of you."

Victor turned to leave but paused. "Oh, and tell Sophia not to stress. The doctor says anxiety lowers fertility."

Ethan glanced out the window.

"I'm speaking to you. Why are you staring outside?" Victor frowned.

"Checking if the sun rose in the west today," Ethan remarked dryly.

Victor stiffened. "That child... I do bear responsibility."

The corner of Ethan's mouth lifted slightly. He'd waited too long to hear those words.

Rubbing his temples, Victor added, "You should get checked too. Infertility isn't always the woman's issue."

Ethan nearly choked. This stubborn old man's sudden enlightenment was downright shocking.

"We'll handle our own affairs," he said, standing.

"You're my son. Who else should I worry about?"

Ethan gestured toward the door. "With your busy schedule, you should get back to work."

An hour later, they met again in the executive elevator.

Victor checked his watch. "I'm treating you both to dinner this weekend."

Ethan narrowed his eyes. "What's your agenda now?"

"Mainly inviting Sophia. You're just the plus-one." Victor maintained a straight face. "She'd decline if I asked her alone."

Ethan snorted, reassessing his father. For once, the obstinate old man seemed slightly less insufferable.

——

At noon on Saturday, the rotating restaurant was abuzz.

Sophia arrived arm-in-arm with Ethan, right on time. Victor had been waiting for ages.

Today, he looked exceptionally sharp—a black bespoke suit, burgundy satin shirt, hair meticulously groomed.

Ethan raised a brow. "Why not book a private room?"

"Your mother has shares here. She visits often." Victor tapped the table knowingly.

Understanding dawned on Ethan. The dinner invitation was just a pretext—a chance encounter with his mother was the real goal.

The old man was getting craftier with age.

Once the food arrived, Victor zealously served Sophia with serving chopsticks.

"Eat more," he urged. "Young people have fast metabolisms."

Sophia thanked him politely.

Victor responded absently, his eyes repeatedly darting toward the entrance.

Ten minutes later, Audrey Sullivan made her grand entrance, her black overcoat amplifying her commanding presence.

Victor immediately straightened his posture.

"Sophia," he suddenly boomed, "boys or girls—it makes no difference. Three children are allowed now."

Sophia nearly spat out her drink. One wasn't even on the horizon, and he was talking about three?

Victor slid a black card across the table. "Pocket money. One billion per child."

Sophia's eyes widened.

Ethan smirked. "She earns faster than she could pop out babies."

"Do it for your mother's sake," Victor muttered under his breath.

Sophia turned to see Audrey glancing their way. Amused, she pocketed the card.

This father-in-law could infuriate to death—or amuse to death.

Audrey approached gracefully.

Victor sprang up to pull out her chair. "Audrey, darling, have a seat."

Ethan and Sophia exchanged a look.

The acting was Oscar-worthy.

"I'm making amends to Sophia," Victor declared to Audrey like a child seeking praise.

Audrey shot him a glance. "Don't forgive him too easily. His memory's terrible."

"At least spare me some dignity in front of the kids," Victor grumbled, his pride wounded.

"Dignity? You have that?"

Victor suddenly grinned. "I have you. You're my greatest pride."

Sophia turned away, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

The cheesiness was off the charts.