Chapter 65

The elderly man's scrutinizing gaze swept over Sophia like a winter gale. "Your identity means nothing. What matters is that I won't permit a woman of your ilk to taint my grandson's reputation!" William Thornton's voice dripped with disdain.

Sophia stood rigid under his inspection—her pallid complexion, the exhaustion lining her eyes, the faint scent of cheap perfume clinging to her clothes. The heavy makeup caked on her face only accentuated her desperation. With every word she spoke, flecks of foundation threatened to flake off.

Her outfit? A garish ensemble that screamed "discount boutique."

This was the woman who dared to ensnare a Thornton heir?

"Oh, Grandfather Thornton! What a surprise to see you here!" Charlotte Kensington feigned shock, her saccharine voice slicing through the tension. She shot Sophia a sidelong glance, her lips curling in triumph.

This entire farce had been meticulously orchestrated. Sophia's clownish appearance? Charlotte's handiwork. The "chance" encounter with the Thornton patriarch? Another calculated move.

Charlotte had grown up under the Thornton roof, the orphaned daughter of Darius's late aunt. Raised alongside the heirs, she fancied herself the family's true princess—the only woman worthy of Ethan Blackwood's hand.

But then Sophia happened.

That humiliating public kiss at the family banquet. The way Darius defended her. The whispers that Sophia had bewitched both Thornton men.

Unforgivable.

Today, Grandfather Thornton would see the gutter rat for what she truly was.

Sophia's laugh was brittle. She understood the game now. The maid position on the luxury yacht? A trap. This confrontation? The punchline.

"Mr. Thornton," she said coolly, refusing to meet his eyes. "Even if I wanted to seduce your grandson, does that mean he lacks the will to resist? He's a grown man—perhaps you should lecture him instead."

The old man stiffened. This street urchin had audacity.

"Furthermore," Sophia continued, her voice sharpening, "kindly inform both Darius and Charlotte to stop harassing me. I've no interest in their petty dramas."

She turned to Charlotte. "About that maid job—you promised ten thousand dollars if I performed well. I've held up my end. Don't dare renege."

With that, she strode toward the dressing room, hips swaying defiantly.

William Thornton's face purpled with rage. "Mark my words, girl—you'll never see a cent from my family!"

Charlotte scurried after Sophia, her apology dripping with false contrition. "Sophia, I swear I didn't plan this! Grandfather's been upset about Darius's... associations lately. The servants must've tipped him off—"

Sophia cut her off with a glacial stare. "Save it. Just ensure I get paid."

To the elite, she was merely a plaything—a punching bag for their whims. But hunger had hardened her. Ten thousand dollars could buy months of safety.

As she scrubbed off the clownish makeup, her phone buzzed. The design director's voice oozed faux concern. "Sophia, your artwork needs detailed annotations. Come early tomorrow—we're presenting it to Blackwood Enterprises."

Her fingers clenched around the phone. The design was hers, yet the director would claim credit. Again.

"...Understood," she forced out.

Dawn found Sophia clutching a portfolio outside Blackwood Enterprises' gleaming tower. A receptionist took the designs with an apologetic smile. "Mr. Blackwood's in a meeting. This may take a while."

Sophia nodded. "Perhaps during a break, someone could glance at it?"

Fate, it seemed, had other plans.

When the receptionist slid the portfolio across the conference table, Ethan Blackwood's breath hitched. The schematics—they were identical to the blueprints from his childhood home. The home only one person could've known so intimately.

His head snapped up. "Who designed these?"

The receptionist blinked. "A Miss Montgomery from Sterling Holdings is waiting outside—"

Ethan was already striding toward the door.