Sophia Sullivan and Ethan Sullivan completed their police report at the station.
The eccentric old man insisted they stay for three more days.
Only after confirming their injuries weren’t serious did he let them leave.
As they departed, the old man’s eyes reddened as he waved vigorously.
"You little rascals, take care of yourselves when you get back."
Though reluctant to leave, Sophia had no choice.
She had more important matters to attend to.
Back at the Robinson residence, she took a hot shower first.
Her damp hair cascaded down as she towel-dried it absentmindedly.
She entered the secret room her best friend had specially designed for her.
Retrieving a spare black modular phone, she quickly dialed a number.
Silence greeted her at first.
Then an indignant, surprised voice exploded through the receiver.
"Boss! You finally remembered me! Do you even care about The Decagon anymore?"
Ryan Lawrence’s voice dripped with grievance even through the phone.
Sophia cut straight to the point. "I need you to look someone up for me."
"Oh? A lover, perhaps?" Ryan teased out of habit. "You vanish for ages, then call just to give orders. Who is it?"
"Ethan Sullivan. Full background. Send it to my computer."
"The Ethan Sullivan from Sullivan Group?" Ryan’s tone remained playful, but his fingers flew across the keyboard.
A minute later, an encrypted file transferred successfully.
"His clearance level isn’t low. Plenty of people are curious about him."
Sophia ignored the comment, focusing on the data.
Ethan Sullivan. Mother deceased. Father—
Her frown deepened.
The Sullivan family was indeed a nest of vipers.
The current patriarch had a messy romantic history, with numerous illegitimate children.
Each one eyed the heir’s position like starving wolves.
The current Mrs. Sullivan had risen from mistress to wife.
The woman in the photo, nearing fifty, retained her allure.
Anyone who could claw her way to the top among so many rivals was no pushover.
She had a son—Zachary Sullivan—who’d been making waves recently.
"What’s Zachary’s background?"
"That guy? A legitimized bastard, ruthless as they come. Runs a luxury company, openly and covertly competing with Ethan. Their feud is no secret—he’d kill Ethan in his sleep if he could."
Sophia skimmed Zachary’s profile.
He was almost certainly behind the recent assassination attempt.
Ryan groaned dramatically. "Boss, when are you coming back? I can’t hold The Decagon together much longer! Everyone’s dragging their feet—we need you here."
"Hang on a little longer. I’ll visit soon."
"Really?! I’ll have the place scrubbed clean!"
Ryan’s excitement was palpable. He’d expected remote support at best—not an in-person appearance.
"Don’t make a fuss—" Sophia began, but footsteps outside cut her off.
She gave quick instructions and hung up.
"Sweetie, all fresh and clean?"
Isabella Robinson popped out from behind the couch and hugged her tightly.
She buried her face in Sophia’s neck like an affectionate cat.
"You’re too old for this," Sophia sighed.
She hadn’t told her best friend about the dangers in Potter’s Town, not wanting to worry her.
"Easy for you to say! You went off for two days while I worked my fingers to the bone!"
Isabella pouted, fishing for praise.
"I got you registered for the perfumery competition! Didn’t use ‘Crimson Serpent’—went with ‘Lemon,’ like you said."
"Lemon? Tart enough." Sophia chuckled.
Before she could thank her, Isabella magically produced a set of keys.
"I know you haven’t touched perfumery in three years, so I set up a lab for you. Practice first—we’re winning this!"
"You’re really..." Sophia’s eyes grew moist.
She’d been planning her competition strategy on the way back.
Yet her best friend had already paved the way.
"I should call you my guardian angel."
Isabella lifted her chin proudly. "Now you see how amazing best friends are?"
"I’ll go immerse myself in the lab, then."
"Don’t forget to eat, you brat!"
Afraid Isabella would notice her injuries, Sophia hurried to the lab.
Inside, state-of-the-art equipment greeted her.
Displayed neatly were masterpieces and materials from past perfumers.
Every resource she could need was at her fingertips.
She opened the scent library—over eighty base aromas awaited selection.
But she didn’t start mixing immediately.
Instead, she sat quietly and closed her eyes.
Fragments of childhood memories surfaced.
The enveloping aroma wrapped around her.
They say scents preserve memories.
She would immortalize her fading impressions of her mother in another form.
More importantly, she needed to uncover the truth behind Breeze Perfumes’ mysterious creator.