"Sleep." Ethan Sullivan reached to turn off the bedside lamp.

Sophia Laurent studied his chiseled profile in the darkness.

Moonlight traced the sharp contours of his face.

Like a dormant iceberg.

Calm on the surface, turbulent beneath.

She turned slightly.

"I can decline Kyle Grant's genealogy project."

"Unnecessary." Ethan's voice remained flat. "It's your work."

"But you're clearly unhappy."

"I'm not."

The dismissal in his tone was unmistakable.

She wrapped an arm around his waist.

Her fingertips brushed against tense muscle.

"Tell me how to make this better."

"Don't."

Sophia remembered his wheelchair days.

Back then, she'd only silently collected shattered glass.

Now she'd learned more direct methods.

She leaned in to kiss him.

He gently pushed her away.

"I drank tonight. Not suitable during conception planning."

The excuse was flimsy.

He'd consumed less than usual.

Sophia turned her back.

Moonlight cast two distant shadows across the floor.

Morning.

The suitcase by the entrance caught Sophia's eye.

"Business trip?"

Ethan adjusted his tie. "Conference in Seattle."

"Why didn't you mention it sooner?"

"Forgot."

His fingers moved with practiced precision.

Sophia checked the clock. "I'll drive you to the airport."

"No time." He turned with a faint smile. "Just three days."

She embraced him.

The faint scent of ambergris clung to him.

"Miss me," she murmured.

Ethan ruffled her hair.

"I'll work on the genealogy here. Won't go anywhere," she promised, looking up.

Genuine warmth finally reached his eyes.

"Good girl."

After Ethan's departure, Sophia immersed herself in the restoration.

The work demanded absolute focus.

Night had fallen when she finally surfaced.

Seven missed calls lit her phone screen.

All from Ethan.

She called back.

A woman's sugary voice answered.

"Ethan's showering."

Sophia's fingers turned icy.

"Isabella?"

"It's me." The laugh was loaded. "Want to hear the water running?"

Sophia ended the call.

Her grip whitened knuckles around the phone.

Three controlled breaths later, she dialed the driver.

"Book the next flight to Seattle."

"Find out his hotel room number."

The red-eye departed at 3 AM.

Sophia hugged her knees by the floor-to-ceiling window.

Moonlight stretched her shadow long.

Meanwhile.

Seattle hotel suite.

Ethan emerged from the shower, towel-drying his hair.

Isabella Valentine sat on the sofa.

"Who let you in?"

"Your father sent documents." She dangled a keycard. "He provided access."

Ethan's gaze turned arctic.

He strode toward the door.

"Get out."

Isabella lunged at him.

"Give me a chance—"

Ethan sidestepped.

She stumbled against the coffee table.

Papers scattered.

"Security will remove you."

Isabella bit her lip, eyes glistening.

"You'll regret this."

Ethan was already calling reception.

"Room 1108. Unwanted guest."