Time flew by.
The restoration progress bar skyrocketed.
But a new problem emerged.
David Macmillan pointed at the painting with a troubled expression.
"I can attempt to restore this section, but it might compromise the artwork's authenticity..."
The water damage left uneven stains.
The edges had become blurred beyond recognition.
The painting was in terrible condition.
He looked up at Sophia Sullivan, his face conflicted.
Sophia had just finished smoothing out the soaked and wrinkled sections.
The surface was now flawlessly flat.
As smooth as if carefully ironed.
Such speed and skill in restoration were unheard of.
The ancient techniques left everyone in awe.
The moment she set down her tools, she was surrounded.
"Ms. Sullivan, is this your own method?"
"Could you explain the process in detail?"
"I'd love to invite you to my studio for guidance."
"I have several problematic paintings with no viable restoration plans..."
David raised his voice abruptly.
"Is anyone even listening to me?"
The chatter died instantly.
Sophia's gaze settled on one corner of the painting.
The artist's seal was there.
She had noticed it the first time she saw this artwork.
"David is right. Blind replication would miss the mark."
"I can recreate the imagery, but the calligraphy style is impossible to replicate."
Sophia paused.
David immediately added, "Unless we have another piece by the same artist for reference!"
The group collectively turned toward Mr. Winston Sr., seated in his carved armchair.
The elderly man looked ashamed.
"I'm afraid this is the only piece of his I own."
Regret weighed heavily on him.
If only he had taken better care of it.
Sophia frowned slightly.
"It's fine. I'll think of another way."
The restoration work was temporarily suspended.
Sophia excused herself to the restroom.
Inside, she hesitated before finally making a call.
Two rings later, the line connected.
"Ms. Sullivan."
A deep, velvety voice answered.
Rich with magnetism.
Sophia took a steadying breath.
"I need your help."
In the top-floor office of Sullivan Tower, Ethan Sullivan arched a brow and stood, walking to the window.
"Go on."
He didn’t even ask for details.
Sophia was direct.
"I need to borrow a painting."
......
When she returned from the restroom, her expression was calm.
No trace of emotion showed.
But inwardly, she wasn’t certain.
Though Ethan had agreed over the phone,
she knew how much that painting meant to him.
Without a reference, the group focused on restoring other sections.
Lights flickered on throughout the estate.
The study remained brightly lit.
Night deepened.
The sky darkened to an inky blue.
The butler hurried in with an announcement.
"Sir, Mr. Sullivan is here!"
Before the words fully left his mouth, the man had already crossed the courtyard.
Sophia looked up.
A tall figure appeared at the study’s entrance.
The crowd instinctively parted.
Ethan’s coat was draped over his right arm.
The muscles of his forearm were taut and defined.
His black dress shirt sleeves were rolled up,
revealing prominent veins beneath his skin.
Every movement exuded an air of dominance.
"Ms. Sullivan, the painting you requested."
His dark eyes lifted lazily.
Deep as midnight.