Sophia Sullivan clicked open the mysterious forum page.
The screen displayed rows upon rows of bounty listings.
Each mission came with an eye-watering price tag.
The endless string of zeros made her vision blur.
She ignored the astronomical rewards with practiced ease.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed the keywords.
The search results for the serpent bracelet appeared.
Still blank.
This forum that claimed to trade anything under the sun.
Yet couldn't trace a single piece of jewelry.
Sophia exhaled softly.
She'd expected this outcome.
Closing the laptop, she leaned back in her chair.
An indescribable hollowness settled in her chest.
That bracelet was the only keepsake from her mother.
Her sole clue to unraveling her parents' disappearance.
And then there was Breeze Perfumes...
Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the desk.
A nervous habit when deep in thought.
The fragrance created by Ethan Sullivan under a pseudonym.
Its scent was unmistakable.
Cold notes wrapped around delicate orchid blossoms.
That interplay of warmth and chill.
So reminiscent of her mother's signature style.
This couldn't be coincidence.
She wouldn't overlook any lead.
"The Fourth International Perfumery Competition."
Sophia repeated the name under her breath.
Entering meant exposing herself to public scrutiny.
Dangerous beyond measure.
But for the truth.
She'd take the risk.
Her gaze drifted to the window.
City lights drowned out the stars.
Only the moon hung solitary in the sky.
Had it gotten so late already?
She stretched her stiff shoulders.
Time to wash up and rest.
The full-length mirror caught her attention.
Her neck looked bare.
The necklace was gone.
Sophia frowned, retracing her steps.
She hadn't seen it since that night.
Clothes torn beyond recognition.
Let alone delicate accessories.
Her teeth clenched.
"Absolute animal."
At least it was just an ordinary piece.
Nothing that could compromise her.
Saturday in Potter's Town brought peaceful quiet.
Mr. York preferred this serenity to the city's chaos.
The ceramic artist lived alone among clay-scented breezes.
Flowers bloomed riotously in his courtyard.
Roses cascaded over the pergola in full splendor.
Dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves.
Every corner whispered tranquility.
The moment Sophia pushed open the gate.
Her eyes locked onto the figure by the window.
Ethan Sullivan sat in his wheelchair.
Two cats curled asleep at his feet.
His hands shaped a clay vessel with focused precision.
The business world called him the Reaper.
Notorious for his mercurial temper.
But none could deny his striking features.
Sharp brows, chiseled jawline.
Every movement exuded aristocratic grace.
The mole on his Adam's apple added unexpected allure.
Now bent over his pottery.
Long lashes casting delicate shadows.
Clay spinning between elegant fingers.
He looked almost... gentle.
Sophia blinked.
Never thought she'd associate that word with Ethan Sullivan.
"Mr. Sullivan."
Her greeting was perfunctory.
They'd met once before.
Now she understood Mr. York's "brat" reference.
Ethan had heard her approach.
But waited until she spoke to respond.
"Long time no see."
His attention remained on the clay, brow slightly furrowed.
"Happy divorce."
Sophia's eyebrow arched.
"An unusual congratulation."
"But appropriate in your case."
Finally, he looked up.
Dark eyes held hers.
"Liam Winston wasn't worthy of you."
Matter-of-fact, yet absolute.
"Spineless. Incompetent."
"And most importantly..."
The wheelchair turned slightly.
"His judgment is atrocious."