Sophia Sullivan lowered her head, her voice soft.
"Life in the orphanage was hard, but having a cat kept me company. Looking back now, I remember more happiness than sorrow."
The few sources of warmth in her life had been her mother, the orange tabby, and the mentor who taught her how to survive.
But their faces had all blurred in her memory.
Sophia feared forgetting. So even if the hope was slim, she had to find any clue about her mother.
"If you like this cat but don’t have time to care for it, I can take it to the Sullivan estate. The old butler loves cats too."
Ethan Sullivan took out cat food and fed the tabby slowly.
His tone was even. "That way, when you come to tutor Emma, seeing it might brighten your day."
"No need. It’s doing fine here. If it were human, it’d probably be chubbier than me. The food’s good here, and it was a stray to begin with—it prefers the freedom."
This gated community had tight security.
Most importantly, everyone treated the cat as their mascot.
Sophia reached out to stroke the plump tabby, asking seriously, "Would you like to go with this gentleman?"
The cat gave Ethan a disdainful glance, its expression haughty.
"Meow!"
It sauntered out with elegant steps and vanished in seconds.
Ethan: "..."
He had never seen a cat make such a face before.
Sophia nearly laughed.
"This cat takes after me—full of pride."
Ethan watched her rare, childlike expression, his gaze tender. "Yes, very much like you."
Beautiful and utterly captivating.
Sophia stood and wiped her hands.
"If you don’t mind, Mr. Sullivan, you can wear one of my shirts after your shower. I have a few loose-fitting ones."
She added, looking up.
"They’re unisex. They should fit you. You can change into fresh clothes at the office or have Ian bring you something."
Her eyes lingered on Ethan.
The man had removed his apron. Perhaps from the heat of cooking, fine beads of sweat glistened on his arms and abdomen.
His physique was impeccably maintained. When he had crouched earlier to pet the cat, the lines of his back had been sleek and defined.
Now, with the kitchen’s warmth fading, his lean but powerful muscles looked even more striking.
Like a married man sneaking out for an affair.
Those shirts would fit him perfectly—while they’d drown Sophia’s slender frame.
"Thank you, Ms. Sullivan."
Ethan didn’t refuse.
He truly had nothing else to wear. His charcoal-gray suit from yesterday was soaked with wine stains, the marks glaring.
The white dress shirt beneath was even worse. In the heat of passion, Sophia had torn off several buttons.
And then there was the tie.
Ethan lowered his gaze. He had rarely indulged so completely.
In the throes of desire, that tie had bound his wrists, blindfolded him, and even been stuffed into his mouth by Sophia until he gasped for air.
The man who always held control had surrendered utterly.
Between them, body and soul aligned perfectly.
It was the submission of a dominant, the taming of a beast.
Every dark impulse in Ethan’s heart had been purged clean.
"Let me look for it."
Sophia thought for a moment—the clothes were probably upstairs.
She tied her hair into a loose ponytail and rummaged through the second-floor wardrobe until she found an oversized white shirt.
Simple. Clean.
By the time she folded it and returned downstairs, Ethan was already showering.
The water’s soft rush soon ceased.
"Just leave it outside," his voice came, unhurried. "But what I need more right now is a towel. Could you bring me one, Ms. Sullivan?"
"Sure." Sophia handed him the towel from the chair.
The bathroom door cracked open slightly, steam curling out in damp tendrils.
Like last night’s unrelenting rain.
A flood without end.
"Here."
Sophia met his gaze.
There was no denying it—in daylight, his physique was even more apparent.
But what truly caught the eye was his face.
Ethan stood drenched, droplets clinging to his dark hair, yet he looked anything but disheveled.
Instead, there was an air of restrained desire about him.
Especially those pitch-black eyes—bottomless as an abyss.
"Are you satisfied, Ms. Sullivan?" he asked.