The department head had a smile plastered across his face as he led Sophia over to Samuel. Just as he was about to make the introductions, Sophia—usually so calm and kind—spoke first.

"I refuse to perform the surgery."

Her words dropped like a stone into a still pond. Both the department head and Elizabeth looked at her in stunned surprise.

"Why?" Elizabeth asked quickly, cutting off the department head before he could form a response.

The head of the department, equally taken aback, stared at Sophia, his face demanding the same answer without needing to voice it.

Sophia’s pale, crimson lips quirked slightly as her gaze flicked to Samuel. She offered a faint smile.

“My schedule is completely packed. I don’t have the time.”

She turned slightly, her voice calm and measured as she continued, “There are plenty of other talented doctors in our department, and our head of surgery here is an outstanding expert. He would undoubtedly be a much safer choice for Ms. Zeller.”

The department head beamed with pleasure at the unexpected praise, just as he was about to leap at the opportunity. Only then did Samuel’s voice cut through the air, clear and unyielding.

"Cancel the other surgeries. Clear your schedule."

Samuel stood across from Sophia, his expression impassive, but the weight of his presence pressed down heavily on the room. His gaze slid past her, settling on the department head.

"Can that be arranged?" he asked, his tone leaving no space for negotiation.

The department head glanced nervously between Sophia and Samuel. Something about the dynamic between these two felt...off. Still, for the sake of the broader situation, he nodded in brisk agreement.

“Of course. It can be arranged.”

He turned toward Sophia, tugging lightly at her sleeve to draw her aside. His voice dropped to a whisper, one meant only for her ears.

“I’ll take your small procedure tomorrow. You just focus on Ms. Zeller’s surgery. The hospital’s investment depends on this.”

Sophia’s brows knitted together in defiance. Her gaze bore straight into Samuel, fraught with barely contained irritation.

“My mental state hasn’t been the best lately," she said slowly, her tone not without sarcasm. "Mr. Yates, are you really comfortable entrusting your girlfriend’s life to someone like me?”

Her voice turned colder, more pointed. “After all, accidents do happen on the operating table. You might want to reconsider.”

The department head paled at her words. Quickly, he interjected with an awkward laugh, bowing his head slightly toward Samuel in apology.

“Dr. York must be overworked," he said hastily, choosing his words with care. "Please, don’t take her comments to heart.”

Sophia ignored both men and turned on her heel. As she looked up, her gaze landed on Christopher, waiting not far away. He offered her a casual smile, waving as though the tension she carried wasn’t written all over her face. When he noticed the fatigue tracing her features, he crossed over to her in a few long strides, laying a warm hand on her head and ruffling her hair gently.

“You look like you’re about to fall apart,” he said, his tone brimming with affection. “If you’re this tired, let’s cancel tonight’s plans, yeah?”

Sophia straightened at the reminder. Christopher had promised to introduce her to several real estate magnates at dinner tonight. If the York family’s stalled development projects could find buyers, it might grant her family a desperately needed reprieve.

“No," she said in an instant, steel edging her words. "Our plans are staying exactly as they are.”

Squaring her shoulders, she pushed past the bone-deep weariness and marched back to her office to change out of her white coat. By the time she returned, she was ready to leave with Christopher for the evening.

As the pair exited, Elizabeth stood watching them retreat down the hall. Sophia’s departing figure seemed to weigh heavy on her thoughts.

“Dr. York’s boyfriend really adores her," Elizabeth murmured, her tone tinged with quiet envy. "He drops her off in the morning, picks her up at night."

Her words trailed as she tilted her chin upward, glancing sidelong at Samuel. But his face was a thundercloud. His piercing gaze seemed drawn to some inner storm, his expression dark and inscrutable, his jaw set in quiet fury.

“I’ll have Assistant Carter arrange your admission," he said abruptly, his voice clipped. "I’ve got other matters to attend to."

Without waiting for further response, Samuel turned on his heel and strode toward the elevators. The icy resolve in his steps gave no room for hesitation. The doors slid shut behind him, leaving Elizabeth standing amidst the echoes of restrained rage. Her hands hung stiffly at her sides for a moment before curling into taut fists.

Meanwhile, Christopher ushered Sophia into the restaurant, their evening ready to begin.

Inside the private dining room, only three seats had been left unoccupied; every other place at the table was already taken.

Christopher stepped into the room, pulled out a chair for Sophia, and waited for her to sit before offering an apologetic smile to the gathered crowd.

“Sorry for being late, everyone. Traffic was horrible on the way here—I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

The room was filled with prominent figures from Cloudmere’s business elite. The Quinn family, one of Cloudmere’s oldest and most venerable families, had sustained its influence over the years despite directing most of their ventures abroad. Now, as the reigning head of the Quinn family, Christopher commanded natural deference wherever he went. Tonight was no exception.

“It’s nothing—most of us only got here a short while ago,” someone offered graciously.

“Still,” another chimed in with playful camaraderie, “you’re the last to arrive. Surely you owe us three penalty drinks for that.”

Christopher laughed good-naturedly and nodded in agreement, raising his glass to the suggestion.

As the dinner began, Christopher devoted himself to tending to Sophia with a care that bordered on the extraordinary. Their rapport did not go unnoticed by the other guests, prompting some to reassess their dispositions toward York Group. Over the course of the meal, as discussions turned to York Group’s developments, Sophia contributed just enough insight to hold her ground, with Christopher subtly bolstering her where needed. Together, they even seemed to sway some interest from the table—enough to spark preliminary thoughts about investment in Southglen’s properties.

The momentum, however, faltered when someone broke the rhythm of agreement.

“With the city’s development shifting toward the Westreach-Northborne corridor,” a voice remarked, skeptical and faintly dismissive, “York Group’s Southglen land doesn’t seem to have much investment potential for at least a decade.”

“Mr. Quinn just returned from overseas,” came another voice, cool and edged with something sharp enough to draw blood. “He’ll need more time to understand Cloudmere’s market if he wants to make headway here.”

Sophia stiffened. The comment had come from Samuel—and though the tone was muted, she couldn’t miss the vein of mockery running underneath it.

When Samuel entered the room, every single person rose from their seat in deference.

“Mr. Yates! Didn’t you mention you’d be too tied up to make it tonight?” one of the hosts exclaimed, their voice tinged with both delight and regret. “We started without you—what a thoughtless mistake on our part.”

The intermediary who had organized the evening hurried forward, offering his seat without hesitation. “Mr. Yates, please, sit here—”

Samuel ignored him entirely, his gaze sweeping the room before landing unerringly on the vacant chair beside Sophia. He loosened the knot of his tie, pulled out the chair, and sat down beside her with deliberate ease.

The sudden drop in temperature around the table was almost tangible. Sophia straightened in her seat instinctively, her spine taut with unease. Of course Samuel wouldn’t make things easy for her. She had anticipated his indifference toward York Group’s endeavors—but this? Intervening solely to jeopardize their prospects?

The silence grew oppressive. Sophia bit her lower lip and glanced sideways at Samuel, who met her gaze with an unaffected calm, as though he weren’t the man who had just unsettled her entire evening’s strategy.

Sensing the strain, the guests began to reclaim their seats, murmuring pleasantries to smooth over the tension. Sophia inhaled deeply, forcing a serene expression back onto her face. She opened her mouth, ready to steer the conversation with measured tact—only to have Christopher speak first.

“Not necessarily,” Christopher countered smoothly.

“Mr. Yates, you might have overlooked one detail. Southglen is home to a thousand-year-old temple.”

Samuel’s eyes darkened. His gaze flickered briefly between Christopher and Sophia, lingering just long enough to amplify the unease twisting in her chest. She watched him closely, noting the glint of derision in his otherwise impassive stare. He was preparing to dismantle Christopher’s argument—of that much she was certain.

Acting on instinct, Sophia shifted under the table and pressed her hand against Samuel’s leg. Her fingertips settled there like a warning; he could unravel this project with a single well-placed word, and she wouldn’t let that happen.

Her touch stopped him mid-motion. Samuel’s outward composure did not falter, but a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. For a man so precise, so unyieldingly in control, the faintest reaction in the line of his jaw betrayed him.

Sophia forced herself to maintain her poise, shaping her lips into a composed smile—a flimsy, artificial thing. “Mr. Yates,” she said, her tone light but deliberate, “while Southglen may not occupy the city’s central development plans, repurposing the temple as a commercial destination—transforming it into an attraction for tourists—would create considerable economic value, wouldn’t it?”

Samuel regarded her through half-lidded eyes, something enigmatic hardening his features as the seconds stretched. His silence was heavier than any spoken word.

Sophia’s pulse quickened, the tension rising with every passing breath. This was it—the tipping point. Whether or not York Group could offload Southglen rested entirely on Samuel’s next move. Her almond-shaped eyes, wide and searching, bore into his face almost pleadingly. She held her breath, waiting for a verdict.

He tilted his head ever so slightly, as if deliberating one last time, and finally spoke. “Hmm.” The sound was low, carrying the faintest rasp of disinterest. “Such a plan could have its merits, I suppose.”

Relief coursed through Sophia so abruptly that she had to steel herself not to exhale audibly. With a practiced ease, she withdrew her hand. The danger had passed—or so she thought.

Before she could fully retreat, Samuel’s hand moved under the table, catching hers firmly in his grasp. She froze, her breath hitching, but dared not look at him.

Fire smoldered in his palm, and though his expression betrayed nothing, the meaning in his gesture was unmistakable.

Sophia’s heart pounded in her chest as the dinner pressed on, the usual droning hum of conversation doing nothing to mask the silent, unrelenting weight of Samuel’s presence at her side.