Chapter 391

Ethan leaned over, casting her in his shadow. His warm lips brushed lightly against her forehead. "Rest first. I'm going to shower."

Sophia glanced at his sweat-drenched shirt, recalling the earlier tension between them. Her ears tinged pink as she gave a small nod.

He chuckled lowly, his long fingers grazing her flushed cheek before turning toward the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the air. Sophia finally relaxed, the tightness in her nerves easing.

If they stayed alone like this any longer, she feared she might lose control.

She burrowed under the covers, pressing her face into the soft pillow. The distant chime of a school bell made her feel as if she’d slipped back into her high school days. Exhaustion washed over her like a tide, pulling her swiftly into sleep.

Ethan stepped out of the bathroom, drying his damp hair. His gaze settled on the sleeping figure.

Moving quietly, he retrieved the first-aid kit and carefully peeled back the slightly damp bandage on her arm.

Just as the antiseptic swab touched her wound, a soft knock sounded at the bedroom door.

"Come in," he murmured without looking up, keeping his voice hushed.

Zachary pushed the door open—and froze.

He had never seen Mr. Roscente like this: kneeling on one knee beside the bed, gently blowing on the wound.

This was the same ruthless man who made cutthroat decisions in the boardroom. Yet here he was, impossibly tender.

A pity this tenderness had come far too late.

"Did you find anything?" Ethan asked without lifting his head, his hands deftly wrapping fresh gauze around her arm.

Zachary lowered his gaze. "It was Isabella’s assistant who orchestrated it."

Ethan’s fingers stilled. A cold glint flashed in his eyes.

"The attacker was an obsessive stalker with mental health issues," Zachary continued. "His reward was supposed to be private photos of Isabella Valentine."

A cigarette sparked to life between Ethan’s fingers. He let out a humorless laugh. "How clever of her."

Smoke curled around his striking features, his expression darkening dangerously.

The last time he’d dealt with Dominic Valrose, it had been a warning. Yet this woman hadn’t backed down—instead, she’d escalated.

"The attacker is already detained, but..." Zachary hesitated.

"Mental illness?" Ethan exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his gaze icy. "Then send him where he belongs."

Zachary’s spine stiffened. The place Mr. Roscente meant was no ordinary psychiatric facility.

"As for Isabella..." Ethan crushed out the cigarette, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. "Let her experience what it’s like to be hounded by a stalker."