Over the years, York Group had weathered more than one economic crisis, emerging intact every time thanks to the combined savvy of her elder sister and their father. Sophia assumed that this time would be no different.

She couldn’t have been more mistaken.

This time, the situation was dire enough to push her father to the brink—enough for him to attempt suicide by swallowing a fistful of pills.

“Sophia, I…”

Ruby’s gaze bore into her, sharp and unyielding, her words slicing through the tension with an air of command.

“I don’t care what you have to do—Samuel must agree to help York Family. Don’t you dare forget what Father sacrificed to see you wed to him. Now it’s time to pay that debt.” She paused, every syllable dense with finality. “Even if it means divorcing him, you’ll skin him alive for what York Group needs to survive.”

Her sister left no room for argument, no reprieve from the burden she heaved onto Sophia’s shoulders.

Sophia’s chest tightened with a bitter ache. Her mind reeled, rushing back to that pivotal decision years ago. At the time, Samuel had been backed into a corner: his parents taken from him in a fatal car accident, the Yates Group under siege from hostile shareholders, competitors circling like wolves. Samuel was a man teetering on collapse, and it was Sophia, blinded by her infatuation, who had begged her father to offer the Yates family a lifeline.

Her father, indulgent as he was toward her, had obliged. By the very next day, Madame Yates had announced the engagement.

Sophia had been too consumed by her own happiness to see then what was now glaringly clear—Samuel had loved someone else before her. And it had been she, in her yearning, who had turned his first love into an impossible dream.

Now, how could she possibly expect Samuel to lift a finger for her?

The harsh fluorescent light above the emergency room flickered off. After what felt like an eternity, the doctors emerged to announce their success in stabilizing Mr. Yan’s condition. He was past the worst of it now, transferred to a regular room for close observation.

Sophia exhaled slowly, as if releasing the air she hadn’t realized she was holding. Relief, though fleeting. Beside her, Ruby’s words returned like a stone dropped into still water.

“I’ll stay here with him. Just don’t forget what I said.”

“I won’t,” Sophia replied, her tone subdued.

—

Threebrook Parkreach, later that evening.

Sophia sat on the edge of the sofa, her phone pressed against her palm. With a steady breath, she dialed Samuel’s number.

He answered almost at once. Before he could utter so much as a word, Sophia’s tone cut through the silence, clear, controlled:

“Come back. Pick up the divorce agreement.”

She didn’t linger, didn’t leave room for him to respond. The line snapped dead as she hung up.

Exactly thirty minutes later, the front door swung open. At the sound, Sophia’s posture straightened instinctively. Her previous composure, so carefully cultivated, tightened like an invisible knot pulling taut.

Samuel strode in, shoulders squared, his presence immediately commanding. Dust clung to his coat, his disheveled appearance evidence of a day spent far from home. Her home, though calling it that had grown more absurd with each passing day.

Her lips curled into a faint, self-deprecating smirk.

The last time he had crossed this threshold had been a month ago. And the morning after, without a word of prelude, his lawyer had delivered the divorce papers to her door. No explanation. Just a curt acknowledgment that the moment had come, and she was expected to comply. Quietly. Efficiently. As if the remnants of their marriage were nothing more than expired formalities to be packed away.

Only today, after seeing Elizabeth, did the pieces of that puzzling abandon finally slot into place.

Samuel halted before her, his gaze flickering only briefly to the papers she had laid out on the table between them. Her signature block remained empty—a small act of defiance if one could call it that. He regarded her with faint impatience, the set of his jaw hardening visibly.

“Sophia, what game are you playing now?”

Her response was measured, her voice devoid of heat, almost clinical as she turned his demand back at him. “Have I ever played games with you?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his expression settled into that familiar mask of indifference, smooth and impenetrable as stone.

Sophia’s hands curled tightly around the hem of her sleeve before releasing. She drew a sharp breath as if bracing herself for impact and looked up, her eyes locking onto his.

“Is this about Ms. Zeller coming back?” Her question came quietly at first, but the edge crept in as she continued. “Or is it because your darling wife’s family is now broke and beneath your notice? Just tell me, Samuel—are you divorcing me because I no longer fit your image of success?”

Something unreadable flickered in his gaze, but he waved it off as if swatting away a nuisance. “Does it matter?”

The words landed heavy and deliberate, as if tipped with needles. Sophia’s breath hitched in her throat, though she caught it before it could turn into a gasp.

She reached for the papers on the table, flipping to the section marked with bold figures: five million dollars, a small fortune in alimony and a luxurious property deed. Her voice grew quieter as she ran her finger along those terms, though her stance remained firm:

“I don’t want the money. There’s only one condition.”

Samuel’s brows lifted in vague curiosity, though the cynicism in his gaze turned sharper.

“Go ahead.”

She met his eyes then, a quiet determination blazing through the weary sadness behind her expression. “Help York Family survive this crisis. That’s all I ask. And after the divorce—no matter the circumstances—we live our lives separately. No contact, no interference.”

Her statement fell heavily into the space between them. Samuel’s reaction came almost immediately—a low, humorless laugh that echoed like a crack of ice splitting open.

“Separate lives? That’s it?” His voice, a velvet rasp, grew sharper. He leaned back, the mirth curling his lips was cold, almost cruel. “Sophia. Surely you don’t think I’d ever want to hold onto you?”

Every word cut clean through her, but she forced herself not to flinch. He had mocked her affection before, turned his indifference into an art form, but hearing it spoken aloud—not even a half-measure of regret to soften it—was unbearable.

He continued without waiting for her retort, his tone dropping further into detached disdain:

“This? Help your family? The answer is no.”

“York Group’s collapse is inevitable. Empires fade, Sophia. What made you think yours would be an exception?”

His words were delivered in a voice so calm, so unwavering, that even without meeting his gaze fully, Sophia could feel just how merciless he was. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew them—in this moment especially—cold, devoid of even a flicker of past tenderness.

And for the first time, as silence blanketed the room, she couldn’t bring herself to respond.

Sophia’s eyes darkened instantly. She was on the verge of defending the York family when a sudden vibration from the phone on the table interrupted her.

Samuel glanced at the caller ID and immediately rose to answer. A few seconds later, Sophia heard him speak, his tone steady but with an unmistakable edge of urgency.

“Aunt Warren, don’t worry. I’ll be there right away.”

Sophia froze for a moment. When he hung up, he turned to her, his expression distant, his voice colder than she’d ever heard, devoid of even the faintest warmth.

“Sophia, let’s not waste each other’s time.”

Her lips curved into the faintest, tight-lipped line. She didn’t reply. Her long, dark lashes veiled the disappointment that shadowed her gaze.

The sound of his hurried footsteps retreating echoed in the air.

She sat frozen on the sofa, paralyzed by the weight in her chest. It was a long time before she even realized tears were slipping down her cheek. Silent, trembling, she fought to suppress the sobs threatening to break free.

Her father had always said she was strong enough to weather anything. After all, he had always stood behind her, a towering pillar of unwavering support, ever since her mother’s death when she was just a child. He spoiled her, let her chase her dream of becoming a doctor when the world expected her to follow in his corporate footsteps. And when she confessed her love for Samuel, her father had taken on the burdensome partnership with the Yates family for her sake.

But now even her father—her unshakable, invincible father—was gone.

And there she was, utterly powerless to do anything.

Her phone lit up and vibrated across the table, snapping her from her thoughts. She instinctively wiped the tears from her cheek and glanced at the screen, hesitating. After a beat, she answered.

“Hello?”

Her voice was measured, carefully controlled to hide any trace of hoarseness or emotion.

“Young Madam, the matriarch has asked you to come to the Old Manor tonight for dinner.”

“All right.”

*****

The Yates family’s Old Manor.

“Sophia, I asked Mrs. Liu to make chicken soup just for you. Do drink more of it, dear. Look at you; you’ve lost weight again.”

Madam Yates’s voice brimmed with maternal warmth as she smiled lovingly at Sophia. At her gesture, a maid stepped forward to ladle the golden broth into a porcelain bowl.

“Thank you, Grandma.”

Sophia accepted the bowl obediently. She lowered her head, the heat of the soup clouding some of the turmoil lodged deep in her heart. She forced a soft smile, masking the ache beneath the surface.

Madam Yates, watching her drink, tilted her head ever so slightly in approval. Her tone carried the gentleness of someone who thought herself wise.

“Samuel’s been treating you well, hasn’t he?”

Sophia stiffened, her fingers tightening imperceptibly against the smooth handle of the spoon. A coldness crept through her fingertips, but she didn’t let it reach her face. Smiling even brighter, she looked up with an expression that could have shone on the cover of a magazine: serene, happy, effortless.

“Samuel has always been good to me.”

Madam Yates seemed satisfied, nodding slightly as if to mark her approval in some unspoken ledger.

“You and Samuel have been married for some time now,” she started, her tone conversational but laced with clear expectation. “It might be time to start thinking about a child.”

Sophia’s smile faltered just a fraction. Her lips pressed together briefly before she managed to will them back to their poised curve. Panic clenched at her stomach, hot and sharp, but she pushed it down as quickly as it rose, ready to offer some deflection, some polite response.

Before she could speak, Madam Yates glanced up at her again, more pointedly this time. Her tone remained light, but there was no mistaking the weight behind her words.

“Lily mentioned something curious… that your monthly cycle hasn’t come yet this month.”

Sophia froze, the words landing like sharp, deliberate pinpricks. For the briefest moment, the warmth of the room seemed to leech away, replaced with a tension she wasn’t sure how to dissolve.