Sophia Sullivan had chosen the area near The Underground City after careful consideration.
Once her plan to reactivate The Nexus was set in motion, she would need frequent access to the underground network. But that world thrived on danger—she refused to drag Isabella Robinson into its shadows. Renting a secure apartment from a trusted contact allowed her to move unseen while severing any potential ties.
Ethan Sullivan tapped his fingers against the table. "The Underground City? A playground for the elite by day, a den of vipers by night."
His gaze swept over the neon lights outside. The district was like a poisoned poppy—deceptively beautiful, lethally dangerous. It was a crossroads for the city's underbelly, where even the air carried the scent of treachery.
"Though my penthouse there is practically a fortress," he added, turning sharply. The crisp lines of his suit pants caught the light. "If you're interested—"
"What's the rent?" Sophia interrupted, tracing the rim of her teacup. "I need to know if my wallet can handle it."
Ethan chuckled. "Two thousand. Market rate."
The chandelier cast flecks of gold across his lashes. The number was clearly a fraction of the property's worth. Sophia sipped her tea, letting the rich flavor linger—his olive branch was obvious, and she saw no reason not to take it.
"That price just happens to match my budget perfectly."
"You're worth it."
Their silent exchange was cut short by the clatter of porcelain. The elderly butler fumbled with a soup bowl, his startled gaze darting between them. He still couldn't fathom how Sophia had turned down 30% of Breeze Perfumes—and now his master was practically handing over his personal safehouse?
"Our young master is the most sought-after bachelor in the city!" the butler blurted, leaning toward Sophia with earnest creases around his eyes. "He could cook a full-course banquet by age eight—"
Ethan cleared his throat, the tips of his ears flushing. "Focus on your meal."
Sophia recalled the perfectly caramelized ribs from earlier and pictured a young Ethan standing on a stool, wielding a spatula twice his size. Had his eyes been as sharp then?
"Just basic survival skills," Ethan muttered, reaching for the serving chopsticks—then freezing.
A sheen of sweat broke across his back. His temples pulsed like war drums. He gripped the table, trying to rise, but pain bent him double, veins snaking across his knuckles like venomous serpents.
"The young master's condition is acting up again!" The butler knocked over a bowl of chicken broth, staining the linen. "Those neuropathic headaches have no cure—"
Emma Sullivan let out a whimper, her nails digging into her palms. She stumbled toward her brother, tears splashing onto his trembling hands.
Sophia pulled the girl close, her voice slicing through the chaos. "Take Emma upstairs. Call the private doctor." She pressed a handkerchief to Ethan's damp forehead and nodded to the butler. "I'll handle this."
As the butler carried a reluctant Emma toward the spiral staircase, he caught Sophia speaking rapid German. Outside, thunder cracked—her profile, sharp as a drawn blade, gleamed against the storm.