Chapter 436

Moonlight spilled like liquid silver across the courtyard. Sophia stood beneath the osmanthus tree, her fingernails digging unconsciously into her palms. Dr. Xavier's words—"You should marry soon"—cut through her like a blunt knife.

She'd known for weeks that Ethan Roscente was engaged to Isabella Valentine.

"Sophia? Why are you out here alone?" His deep voice came from behind.

She quickly wiped her damp lashes before turning with a practiced smile. "Just needed air."

Ethan's gaze lingered on her red-rimmed eyes. Without warning, he pulled her against his chest. Sophia stumbled into him, her nose filling with his familiar sandalwood scent.

"Dr. Xavier is insistent," he murmured against her ear. "I told him I'd marry this year."

Her body stiffened. Her heart skipped.

"Once he returns to Switzerland, it won't matter who I marry—or if I marry at all." His next words doused her like ice water.

Just another performance.

Sophia shoved away, nails biting deeper into flesh. "Your acting is impeccable, Mr. Roscente. I almost believed you."

Inside, Dr. Xavier poured tea. Seeing Ethan return alone, the old man sighed. "That girl's eyes were red as a rabbit's. Did you hurt her?"

Ethan watched tea leaves swirl in his cup, silent.

"Ethan." Dr. Xavier set down the teapot. "Isabella isn't right for you. If you care for Sophia, don't make her suffer."

Darkness flashed in Ethan's eyes. "She'll never escape me."

"Forced fruit tastes bitter." Dr. Xavier shook his head. "That child carries wounds. If you're serious, clarify your intentions."

Outside, moonlight glowed on Sophia's trembling fingers as they brushed her abdomen. Silent tears fell.

How pathetic—her heart had leapt when Ethan mentioned marriage. Even knowing his engagement, his lies still ensnared her.

"Am I worthless, Mama?" she whispered to the empty night.

Wind scattered dead leaves. No answer came.

Footsteps approached. Sophia hastily dried her cheeks. Ethan stood silhouetted in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

"Come inside. It's cold." His voice chilled her more than the night air.

She nodded, passing him—and caught the faintest trace of roses. Isabella's signature scent.

In that moment, clarity struck.

Some dreams were meant to die.