On Saturday morning, Sophia Sullivan arrived at the Sullivan estate as promised.
She gazed up at the magnificent villa and smiled. "The Sullivan residence is indeed impressive. Though a butler could have shown me the way—no need for the master to greet me personally."
Ethan Sullivan turned his wheelchair toward the inner hall. "Ordinary tutors wouldn't merit such attention. But you're different, Ms. Sullivan."
He paused, his voice softening. "Besides, Emma is shy around strangers. My introduction would put her at ease."
The little princess' pottery studio was adjacent to the master bedroom.
Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows when the door opened. Outside, a rose garden and swing set created a picturesque scene, while the carefully arranged decor radiated warmth and care.
A little girl with a topknot crouched in the corner, engrossed in shaping a clay doll. Pottery tools lay scattered across the floor, yet she remained oblivious to their entrance.
"Is your niece's autism congenital?"
Ethan's knuckles whitened against his wheelchair, the frame creaking faintly. "Emma is my late brother's daughter." Shadows flickered in his eyes. "After his sudden passing, she developed trauma-induced autism."
A flash of barely restrained fury crossed his features when mentioning his brother—gone in an instant, but not unnoticed by Sophia.
"I understand," she murmured.
The deceased second young master of the Sullivan family had once been a celebrated prodigy in business circles. His life ended abruptly by an Italian mafia bullet, leaving only a traumatized child behind.
Such children were often more sensitive than those born with autism. Teaching required careful avoidance of psychological triggers—missteps could backfire.
"Lessons every Saturday and Sunday. Fifty thousand per month." Ethan rotated the ruby ring on his finger, clearly unwilling to dwell on the past. "After you, Ms. Sullivan."
"Eight workdays for fifty grand? The Sullivan generosity knows no bounds."
Her casual remark drew an unexpectedly solemn look from him.
"Mr. York's pottery classes are priceless, let alone lessons from his mentor. If anything, this compensation undervalues your expertise."
Unlike Liam Winston's skepticism, Ethan entrusted his confidence wholeheartedly once given. Not only did he willingly place his niece in her care, but he also approached the compensation with uncommon gravity.
"You won't be disappointed."
Sophia approached the corner and knelt beside the girl. She observed the child's clay-shaping movements in silence, confirming no signs of rejection before picking up clay to knead independently.
Ethan remained by the window, watching.
Afternoon sunlight gilded their silhouettes as rose-scented breezes drifted in. His tense nerves gradually unwound against his expectations.
He'd held little hope beyond his niece slowly acclimating to outsiders.
Yet Sophia's approach surpassed all anticipation.