Sophia Sullivan gazed at the steaming dishes on the table and decided to let Ethan Sullivan off the hook—for now.
She rested her chin on her palm, her eyes lingering on the man.
Last night's memories remained vivid.
Yet neither of them mentioned it.
Sophia couldn't help but wonder—what exactly were they now? She knew the truth: Ethan would never marry her, and she wouldn’t stay.
This was enough.
If they spoke it aloud, even this fragile balance would shatter.
Ethan emerged from the kitchen with plates, his brow slightly furrowed.
"As a shareholder of Breeze Perfumes, Ms. Sullivan, surely you aren’t too busy to eat." His gaze swept over the barren fridge. "It’s emptier than last time. Not even instant noodles."
Only snacks remained—proof of her haphazard meals.
"I’ll do better next time."
Sophia blinked playfully.
She pulled the bowl of pasta toward herself and inhaled deeply. "It smells amazing."
She hadn’t eaten properly in ages.
The first bite was rich and savory.
Having someone cook for her felt wonderful.
If not for the secrets in her villa, she would’ve hired a housekeeper long ago.
But Ethan’s skills surpassed any professional.
"If you’re truly pressed for time, you’re welcome to dine at the Sullivan residence," Ethan said evenly. "Emma adores you."
"Maybe later."
A clear brush-off.
Ethan didn’t push.
Watching Sophia eat, his throat moved slightly.
Then he looked away.
No matter how intimate the nights, daylight demanded distance.
Their unspoken rule.
Restraint by day, abandon by night.
Ethan sometimes felt like a dog at her beck and call.
Yet she always unraveled him.
No title? Fine.
At least those other men stood no chance.
Suppressing his thoughts, he took the seat across from her. "I’m taking Emma to Potter’s Town tomorrow. Care to join?"
Sophia shook her head. "You go ahead. I’ll meet you there later."
They usually ate in silence, but tonight, conversation flowed in fragments.
Countless banquets, countless delicacies—yet this simple meal felt rare.
Neither wanted to disrupt the peace.
Then—
"Meow!"
A plump orange tabby squeezed through the patio door.
Catching the aroma, it pawed at Sophia’s calf, its meow accusatory—as if scolding her for eating alone.
"Your cat?" Ethan asked.
Sophia stiffened.
"Probably a stray."
Her tone was calm, but Ethan didn’t miss her flicker of unease.
He sensed the weight behind her evasion.