Sophia Sullivan's acting skills had always been impeccable.
Yet hearing these praises, a shadow flickered through her eyes.
Were these old fools blind?
How could they fawn over Sophia Sullivan like this?
She quickly masked her emotions, curving her lips into a gentle smile.
"If Master Macmillan says so, then my sister must succeed."
Chloe Evans suddenly stepped forward and grasped Sophia's hand.
Her voice dripped with sickly sweetness.
"After all, my sister cares so much about her reputation—she'd never disappoint everyone."
What had been a simple promise to do her best now became an obligation.
If Sophia failed, she would be letting down everyone's expectations.
"Miss Evans, we're not that close."
Sophia coldly withdrew her hand.
The lingering touch on her wrist made her skin crawl.
Suddenly, a pale blue checkered handkerchief appeared before her.
"Wipe it."
Ethan Sullivan's voice carried a frosty edge.
The unfolded handkerchief in his palm was pristine.
Sophia took it and meticulously cleaned her fingers.
"Thank you, Mr. Sullivan."
She rubbed the spot where Chloe had touched her, almost scrubbing her skin raw.
Her disgust was palpable.
Chloe's nails dug into her palms hard enough to draw blood.
Liam Winston watched the scene with reddened eyes.
If not for the setting, he would have demanded an explanation for their relationship.
But Sophia remained oblivious.
"Let's continue."
She had promised the elder Mr. Winston, and she would see it through.
As night deepened, Sophia picked up her brush again.
"Mind the pigment density."
Her strokes flowed effortlessly as she worked.
The delicate details of pink lotus petals and yellow stamens were the hardest to restore, yet she handled them flawlessly.
Under the magnifying glass, the finest brush traced the dragonfly's eye, gradually revealing the outline of a lotus.
Painting within a painting tested one's wrist control.
A single misstep could ruin everything.
The room fell silent.
Even Vincent Lowell's team held their breath.
Sophia mixed colors without measuring—her intuition alone produced perfect hues.
The next half hour was a visual masterpiece.
With the final stroke, she murmured, "Done."
Beads of sweat glistened on her nose.
Under the light, her skin glowed like jade, every fine hair visible.
Ethan's gaze darkened.
His heart felt as if brushed by a feather.
When Sophia painted, the world around her ceased to exist.
All sharp edges faded, leaving only quiet detachment.
As though nothing remained but her and the canvas.