A flicker of surprise crossed Sophia Sullivan's eyes.
Ethan Sullivan's perceptiveness exceeded her expectations.
Those were her old sketches from years ago—even Caleb Sullivan couldn't confirm their authenticity, yet Ethan recognized them without hesitation.
He had even managed to locate every single one.
She saw no reason to hide such trivial details.
"I drew them, though they were just casual doodles during my time in Italy."
A subtle shift passed through Ethan's gaze. "So you're September."
"I never imagined you'd be familiar with those works."
"I came across them by chance during the International Perfumery Competition in Italy. They had a warmth to them—healing, even. I'd hoped to meet the artist."
His voice was deep, smooth like aged whiskey.
Memories of their first encounter surfaced.
If their initial meeting had been accidental entanglement, the more time he spent with her, the more layers he uncovered.
The most astonishing part? Their souls resonated.
Whether it was pottery or sketches, they seemed destined to gravitate toward each other.
"Fate works in mysterious ways," Sophia murmured with a faint smile.
She hadn't expected their paths to have crossed long before they formally met.
Perhaps years ago on the streets of Rome, Ethan had casually flipped through one of her comics.
At the perfumery competition, they might have brushed past each other, masks obscuring their faces.
Countless near-misses finally converging into this moment.
But the thought quickly soured.
Fate loved its cruel jokes—hadn’t she once believed her entanglement with Liam Winston was serendipity too?
Three years of that delusion had left her disillusioned.
She stood abruptly. "Is Emma home? I'd like to work on pottery with her."
At his niece's name, Ethan's brow furrowed.
"The recent storms triggered another episode. She locked herself in the closet—won’t eat, won’t come out."
His grip tightened on the newspaper. Years of consulting specialists had yielded no breakthroughs.
"Medication only dulls the symptoms. The psychological trauma runs too deep. It takes time..."
Sophia stilled.
Though she didn’t understand the correlation between thunderstorms and trauma, her concern for the gifted child was genuine.
"Have you considered MDH Pharmaceutical Research Institute? Their facilities are state-of-the-art, with leading experts in psychiatric care."
Beyond wanting to help Emma, this suggestion served another purpose—earning Ethan’s trust.
It would pave the way to treating his grandmother.
And potentially uncovering clues about her mother’s whereabouts.
Ethan tapped his knee thoughtfully.
"They’ve closed admissions for non-members this year."
His gaze met hers, intent.
"If you have connections, name your terms."
"No need for compensation." Sophia waved a hand dismissively. "Consider it a gift for Emma. What a coincidence—I happen to hold membership there."
Ethan’s eyes darkened. "Regardless of the outcome, the Sullivan family owes you."
He knew the exclusivity of those slots.
But if Sophia chose not to elaborate, he wouldn’t press.
Trust required patience.
———
The next day, after confirming Emma’s treatment in M-Country, Sophia arrived at the Sullivan estate.
She knelt before the closet, voice soft as morning mist. "Emma, come out, sweetheart?"
In her palms rested a ceramic doll crafted in the child’s likeness—so lifelike it might breathe.
The closet door creaked open a sliver.
Emma peered through, eyes locking onto the doll with hesitant fascination.
"Shall we play? Your diary mentioned wanting to sculpt someone special."
Recognition flickered across Emma’s face.
After a pause, she nodded—lips shaping a silent word.
Though no sound escaped, Sophia understood instantly.
The whisper on the child’s lips was...
Dad.