Sophia Sullivan's momentary hesitation vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Her lips curved into a brighter smile than before.
"Of course I wouldn't want anything to happen to you, Mr. Sullivan."
Her voice was light, yet it brushed against his heart like a feather.
Ethan Sullivan's breath hitched.
His lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze locked onto her face.
Sophia added leisurely, "After all, I still need your help to treat Emma."
Ethan's eyes darkened.
So it was for Emma.
That faint, inexplicable hope in his chest dissolved into bitterness.
He chuckled, self-deprecating.
"Right."
Sophia met his gaze, suppressing the turmoil in her heart.
Ethan protected her only because she could save Emma.
She had seen it clearly these past days—how deeply he cared for his niece.
If someone could save her own loved one, she would do the same.
Nothing more to it.
Sophia shifted the topic.
"But Mr. Roscente surprised me. The CEO of Radiant Beauty Group, the world's largest advertiser, yet he keeps professional killers and radar-evading yachts on hand."
Her smile turned playful, as if their near-death encounter had never happened.
"He hides his depths well. Though I suppose it makes sense, given the company you keep."
Ethan remained impassive.
"He has his talents. I'm just an ordinary businessman."
"Businessmen who fake disabilities and shoot guns?"
"And 'ordinary' women like you, Ms. Sullivan?"
The air between them crackled.
Their locked gazes brimmed with unspoken tension before both broke into laughter.
Sophia was certain—they were cut from the same cloth.
Behind their banter lay darker truths. Julian Roscente's assassins and military-grade yachts weren't the tools of any legitimate businessman.
Neither were Ethan's ruthless methods, which rivaled the underworld.
Sophia rested her chin on her hand.
"After today, do you trust me even less?"
Was that why he kept testing her?
Ethan's voice deepened. "I trust you."
"Then what's your bank account password?"
Ethan laughed.
She'd tricked him again.
But instead of annoyance, he found it refreshing. The old Sophia had been suffocated by the Winstons, forced to wear masks every day.
Now, she was vibrant. Alive.
They were alike in many ways. Their seamless teamwork in danger betrayed shared pasts steeped in darkness.
So when she laughed freely, his lips unconsciously mirrored her.
"We've been through life and death together," he said casually. "Call me by my name."
"Ethan Sullivan?"
"I'm here."
Sophia's ears burned.
His voice reminded her of that night—his ragged breath scorching her skin, leaving her weak.
She blinked.
"In public, I'll still call you Mr. Sullivan. Office gossip spreads fast."
Ethan nodded.
That "Ethan Sullivan" had echoed strangely in his mind, as if heard in a dream.
He must be exhausted. Shaking it off, he turned serious.
"Julian has extensive connections, both legitimate and otherwise."
He omitted that those resources answered to him.
"Use him as you need. Don't hold back."