Ethan Sullivan's stern features softened imperceptibly when he mentioned family.
Yet an inescapable loneliness lingered beneath the surface.
"Miss Sullivan, pay no heed to the butler's ramblings. This necklace holds no romantic significance—merely an idle remark. Please don't take it to heart."
Having survived life-and-death trials together, especially after their narrow escape from the explosion, Ethan felt this heirloom was the only worthy token of gratitude.
Sophia Sullivan lacked no material comforts, but this piece bore deep connections to her missing mother.
Sophia frowned. "I can't accept—"
Ethan slid the velvet case back toward her.
"Consider it a temporary custodianship. You may return it when you reunite with your mother."
In truth, his mother had indeed intended the necklace for her future daughter-in-law—no casual promise.
Ethan's gaze traced the elegant line of Sophia's neck.
Had she not intervened, he would have perished in that explosion. By rights, the heirloom belonged to her now.
It was the only treasure he could offer in return.
Ryan Lawrence lounged against the doorframe, arms crossed. "If the mighty Mr. Sullivan is feeling generous, perhaps I could—"
Ethan's glacial stare cut him off. "The Lawrence heir wants trinkets? Go beg your stepmother."
Ryan's smirk vanished. His face darkened like storm clouds.
Everyone knew his birth mother had died in childbirth.
At fourteen, he'd been exiled overseas by his father and stepmother's conspiracy.
Sophia's sharp command sliced through the tension. "Enough."
The room plunged into silence. Both men stilled like dueling swordsmen sheathed mid-strike.
"I'll borrow this temporarily. If it leads to any clues, I'll return it immediately."
Snapping the jewelry case shut, Sophia straightened. "It's late. Don't wait up, Mr. Sullivan."
Even when drinking, she rarely lost control.
Tonight's meeting with Ryan concerned urgent Decagon business.
Ethan remained silent, his face half-shadowed in the dim light.
"It will rain. Take an umbrella."
"Understood."
Puzzled, Sophia watched him stride toward the parking lot, car keys glinting in his hand.
"Sister, finally rid of the nuisance."
Ryan's lips curved in genuine pleasure.
"You must be starving after working so late. I've arranged a private dinner on the penthouse floor—five-star chef, your favorite vintage champagne. The suite's prepared if you need rest."
Every detail was meticulously planned. This marked their first unchaperoned meeting.
"Save the hospitality. We're here for Decagon matters."
Sophia prioritized pragmatism over pageantry.
Upon entering the penthouse, she discovered the "private dining room" was in fact a lavish presidential suite, awash in romantic blue-and-pink décor.
The dining table groaned under silver-domed delicacies, flanked by three flickering white candles.
Candlelight danced across the ocean view beyond floor-to-ceiling windows, weaving tranquility into the night.
"Eat first."
Despite his careless demeanor, Ryan pulled out her chair with practiced grace, deftly portioning her steak.
"Wasn't sure about your preferences, so I had the kitchen prepare multiple courses. Hope something pleases you."
His smile held constellations in its curve.
"Excellent effort."
Sophia's reply was polite detachment.
Food had never been a priority—during missions, she'd survived on insects.
This feast was luxury incarnate.
"Another matter requires attention. Track any surviving Sicilian mafia remnants. If rats still scurry in the shadows, pinpoint their holes."
Sophia sliced through her steak with surgical precision.
Her voice dropped to a blade's whisper, cold steel unsheathed.