Ethan Sullivan propped himself up, dark emotions swirling in his eyes.

His gaze lingered on her as his Adam's apple bobbed slightly.

Slender fingers traced her lips as he murmured hoarsely, "Say it again."

Sophia Laurent's ears flushed pink.

She bit her lower lip before suddenly flipping him onto his back.

Delicate fingers skimmed his throat as she whispered by his ear, "The world admires your polished perfection, but I've seen you at your most vulnerable."

Ethan's breath hitched.

The heat of her touch seared through his chest.

"That's when I decided," Sophia's lips grazed his earlobe, "to give you all my candy."

Ethan abruptly seized her wrist.

His eyes darkened like ink as he rasped, "Sophia, you've become wicked."

A mischievous laugh escaped her, eyes glinting with unspoken promises.

The world spun in the next instant.

Ethan's kiss descended with undeniable dominance.

Moonlight filtered through the car windows.

Tree shadows danced fragmented patterns across the glass.

Dawn arrived with a buzzing phone shattering the peaceful morning.

Blinking sleepily, Sophia checked the notification - her account balance had inexplicably grown by a million.

The sender's name glared back: Grant Auction House.

She immediately dialed Kyle Grant's number.

"Sophia." His voice carried a warmth that spoke volumes.

Her fingers trembled slightly.

Composing herself, she began, "Mr. Grant, about the money—"

"A client purchased your painting at a premium." His chuckle resonated. "This is your rightful commission."

Sophia frowned. "But standard practice—"

"Consider it my personal request." His interruption came softly. "Would you join me for dinner?"

Silence stretched between them.

Ethan's warning gaze flashed in her memory.

"I..." She hesitated. "Could create another replica for your father instead."

Kyle's breathing stuttered.

"Still the same Sophia." The words barely reached her.

Her pulse quickened. "What?"

"Nothing." His tone regained composure. "I'd appreciate that."

After hanging up, Sophia entered her studio.

Rice paper unfurled as ink fragrance permeated the air.

When brush met ink, Bada Shanren's withered lotus materialized in her mind.

Seven days later, two ink lotus masterpieces lay completed.

Studying the second painting's solitary beauty, she called Kyle again.

"They're ready." A pause. "Tomorrow—"

"Six PM at the private dining club." His gentle tone brooked no refusal. "I'll be waiting."

Her grip tightened around the phone.

She dialed Ethan's number. "Can you accompany me to a dinner tomorrow?"

"With whom?"

"Kyle Grant."

The sound of shattering glass exploded through the line.