Sophia Sullivan floated in hazy consciousness when a warm hand brushed against her forehead.
A cool compress pressed against her fevered skin.
She sighed in relief.
"Don't go..." she murmured unconsciously.
The nightmares swallowed her again.
She dreamed of that rainy night years ago when she fled the orphanage.
The shadow of an assailant loomed over her.
Pungent chemicals temporarily blinded her.
Darkness consumed everything.
Every faint sound made her tremble with terror.
Then a teenage boy lifted her onto his back.
His footsteps were heavy but determined.
"Big brother, what's your name?" she whispered.
The boy hesitated.
His crisscrossed scars blurred in the moonlight.
"...Liam Winston," he answered quietly.
"I'll find you again," she promised.
......
Sophia hadn't dreamed of the past in years.
Three years with the Winstons had killed her spirit.
Yet now the memories returned.
Her heart ached as if gouged by a knife.
Too weak to open her eyes, she sensed someone exhaling beside her.
"The fever broke."
A man's steady voice overlapped with the boy's in her dream.
Ethan Sullivan was tending to her.
He kept replacing the cooling cloths.
Dipped cotton swabs to moisten her cracked lips.
Every movement precise and gentle.
For the first time in her drifting life, Sophia felt safe.
This warmth was foreign after years of solitude.
She remembered endless nights at the Winston estate.
Lying alone in icy sheets.
Whether ill or heartbroken.
Silently swallowing tears beneath the moonlight.
Now someone kept vigil at her bedside.
......
Sophia sank back into exhausted sleep.
Her body heavy as if drowning in deep waters.
When she awoke again, she was at the Sullivan estate.
Sunlight filtered through frosted windows.
The scent of roses drifted from the garden.
She stirred slightly and felt weight against her hand.
"...Emma."
Little Emma Sullivan slept curled beside her.
The child startled awake.
Her grape-like eyes instantly brightened.
Small fingers clutched Sophia's hand tightly.
"Ah..." Emma couldn't speak.
But her face shone with relief.
Sophia understood the fear—the girl dreaded she'd sleep forever like her father.
"It's alright, sweetheart," Sophia soothed.
Turning, she saw Ethan in his wheelchair.
Bandages wrapped his torso, dark circles beneath his eyes.
Clearly he hadn't slept all night.
When Sophia tried to speak, her throat burned raw.
She could only smile at Emma.
Gently stroking the child's hair.
Ethan, a light sleeper, awoke instantly.
"You're awake." His gaze locked onto her first.
Noticing her parched lips, he offered water.
"Drink first." His voice was husky.
He pressed the call button.
The butler appeared promptly.
"Take Emma to rest."
"Glad to see you recovered, Miss Sullivan." The old man smiled warmly.
"Young master should rest too."
"I know."
The butler carried Emma away.
The girl had stubbornly kept vigil for days.
Now she could finally sleep peacefully.
Silence returned to the bedroom.
Ethan appeared composed.
But his fists clenched tightly.
He'd dealt with the remaining assassins.
Flayed their skins and fed them to dogs.
Yet the violence couldn't quell his rage.
Remembering Sicily's dangers still choked him.
"Your wounds are treated," he said quietly.
"Anywhere else that hurts?"