When Marcus Thornfield arrived in Nancheng to pick up Sophia Hartwell, the whole city was drowning in rain.
"How long has she been like this?" the guard beside him asked.
By the window, the girl curled up with her knees pulled tight, like she was trying to shrink into some tiny shell. She stared blankly at the rain outside. A breeze lifted a few strands of her hair, revealing a delicate but utterly lifeless face. Even the hem of her white dress getting soaked didn’t seem to register with her at all.
The old butler, the last person from the Hartwell household who hadn’t left, let out a heavy sigh. "Miss Sophia has been like this for a week. She saw her parents shoot themselves… ever since then, she hasn’t spoken a single word."
A cold, low voice—not the guard’s—cut in. "A girl her age… would the welfare home still take her?"
Sophia’s eyes twitched at that. She’d been staring up at the sky the whole time, but now her gaze jerked stiffly toward the voice.
The man was tall, the long black coat on his shoulders whipping open in the storm wind. Everything about him radiated a sharp, unspoken threat. His pale, slender fingers were wrapped around a black umbrella, and the face under it was even colder than the rain—clean-cut, razor-sharp features, eyes carrying a chill that could freeze someone on the spot.
Sophia knew him.
When she was little, she’d followed her mother to the Thornfield home in Beicheng, and she had wandered into his room by accident.
Back then, she had seen a man in military uniform lying on the bed, one arm thrown over his face as he slept. In her childish mind, she had mistaken him for her father. So she had climbed up quietly and fallen asleep using his other arm as a pillow.
When she woke up, the first thing she saw was this same face—handsome, younger than her father, but way scarier.
Especially those eyes. Cold, cutting, like winter steel—sharp enough to make him look less like a soldier and more like some dangerously good-looking outlaw.
Sophia had burst into tears on the spot.
The man had frowned, clearly annoyed. His voice had been even colder than his stare. "Cry again and I’ll let the dogs loose."
Tears had clung to Sophia’s big doll-like eyes, trembling at the edge. She didn’t dare let a single sound slip.
That was when she learned her mother had once been the Thornfields’ adopted daughter—before adulthood.
And this terrifying man was her mother’s so-called younger brother, the Thornfield family’s second young master, Marcus Thornfield.
Her mother had cut all ties with the family after marrying her father. That visit back then had been their first contact in years. This time, with her mother gone… this was the second.
Sophia was sure Marcus Thornfield had never liked her. Otherwise, on the very day she became an orphan, he wouldn’t be talking about dumping her in a welfare home.
He had scared her before, and he was still scaring her now. A welfare home? Everyone knew what going there meant.
Once you were sent in… what future did you have left?
These days had already drowned Sophia Hartwell in one wave of disaster after another, and Marcus Thornfield’s words hit her like the final blow she couldn’t dodge.
Unlike the loud wailing of her childhood, this time she cried without a sound. Tears slipped from her reddened eyes, tracing down her pale, delicate cheeks and falling onto the soft white fabric of her dress, each drop like another crack forming.
With a heavy thud, the old butler dropped to his knees. “Sir, for the sake of her mother, I beg you, don’t send her to a welfare home. She’ll be in her last year of high school after the summer. All she needs is food on the table and support until she finishes college. Once she can stand on her own, you won’t have to worry about her anymore. But right now…”
Marcus acted as if he hadn’t heard a thing. He handed his umbrella to the guard and stepped inside. From above, he looked down at the girl for a long moment, then asked in a cool voice, “Forgot how to greet someone?”
Sophia lifted her teary eyes to meet his sharp, intimidating gaze. After a shaky pause, she whispered, “Uncle.”
Marcus didn’t respond. Instead, his eyes swept over the once-glorious Hartwell estate—now plastered with official seals. Rise to glory, dine with guests, and then crash to ruins all in the blink of an eye.
Politics was a battlefield. One day you soared; the next, you were treated like a rat on the street.
Sophia’s gaze also fell on those cold, accusing seals. Just as her sadness swelled again, a chilly male voice dropped from above her head. “So what now? Waiting for me to pick you up and spin you around, or bring you candy to cheer you up?”
“…”
She’d heard all sorts of stories about this uncle.
Marcus Thornfield. Military at sixteen. National Defense University at eighteen. After graduating, he spent five years in a top-secret facility, collecting more merits than most could dream of. Recently transferred back to Beicheng, now serving in central administration.
People said he was harsh to the bone, decisive to the point of being terrifying. Anyone working with him—or being singled out by him—had every reason to be afraid.
Sophia was still drowning in shock, struggling to catch up. The old butler, however, understood the implication immediately. He tugged her toward the stairs. “Miss, the gentleman means to take you with him. Come on, we must pack at once.”
Much as she hated to admit it, Marcus really was the only person left she could depend on. It was also her mother’s dying wish—no one in the Thornfield family could be trusted, except this uncle.
“And you? Grandpa Chen… if I leave, where will you go?” she asked, watching the old man rush about collecting her things. Her nose stung.
He closed the suitcase and chuckled softly. He said he’d go back to his village, that after all these years of hard work, it was time to enjoy the rest of his life in peace.
He kept reminding Sophia—over and over—that once she entered the Thornfield household, she had to hold back her temper, yield when she could, and endure whatever needed enduring.
But as he spoke, his eyes grew wet. He had watched this girl from the moment she was born, from toddling steps to clear childish words, all the way to the graceful young lady she had become. She had once been the treasure of the entire Hartwell family.
Who would’ve thought that a flower just about to bloom would be hit by frost overnight? And now she was leaving, going somewhere she’d be dependent on others, living under their roof, at their mercy.
Before they parted, the old man’s weathered face and aching, longing gaze soaked through Sophia’s heart.
The girl sat in the black sedan, staring after the old man’s hunched figure as it grew smaller in the distance. Her eyes were so full of tears that the front of her shirt was already soaked.
At last, she turned back, her voice trembling as she pleaded with the man beside her. “Can you… take Grandpa Morrison with us? He can do anything, really, he can…”
“I don’t need a servant.”
Marcus Thornfield lounged lazily against the seatback. In his line of sight were the girl’s pink backpack, the overly fluffy white rabbit plush dangling from the zipper, and the very real cat curled in her arms. His brows tightened, once, twice, like he was holding back a headache.
“Please… I’m begging you…”
“Do I need to remind you that you’re barely able to protect yourself right now?”
His eyes paused for half a second on her red‑rimmed ones. Then, expression blank, he said, “Either come with me, or get out and fend for yourself. Three seconds. You choose.”
In the rearview mirror, the driver snuck a glance at his boss—cold as steel, face like death himself—and then at the teary little thing in the backseat. He coughed into his fist and, before three seconds could even pass, stepped on the gas and pulled the car away.
Sophia Hartwell gave up begging this man with a heart made of concrete. She silently promised herself that once she earned enough money, the very first thing she would do was come back for Grandpa Morrison.
These days had just… crushed her.
Her parents’ final, devastating end.
Their property seized, their home sealed.
The interrogation room, where they questioned her over and over and over…
It was a landslide no one her age should ever have to survive.
Maybe she was simply too heartbroken. Exhaustion washed over her, and it didn’t take long before she drifted into sleep.
At first she kept a tiny thread of awareness, reminding herself not to lean toward this cold‑faced executioner beside her. But as her sleep grew deeper, her small body swayed, tilting… and soon she slumped sideways.
Something soft and warm bumped against his thigh—not too heavy, but enough. Her sweet, steady breaths seeped through the fabric of his trousers, spreading warmth across his skin, creeping to a place that made Marcus’s jaw clench hard.
Heat flared under his skin out of nowhere. He scowled, glancing down at the round little head now resting between his legs. He lifted a hand, ready to move her away—when a soft, trembling sob slipped out.
It came from deep in her sleep. Whatever she was dreaming about, it had her tiny face scrunched up tight in misery.
Not only did she have a perfectly round head shaped like some cartoon mascot… she was still a little crybaby on top of it.
Girls at this age were a bundle of nerves and contradictions, stuck in that awkward in‑between that drove people crazy.
“Captain, are we going straight to the airport and flying back to Beicheng?” the guard in the front asked.
Marcus Thornfield glanced at the warm, lively cat curled in the girl’s arms. “Sure. If you can convince the airline to rewrite their rules and let pets onboard, I’ll call you Captain myself.”
“…”
The guard had followed him out of the army and was already immune to his explosive officer temper. His eyes rolled once, and he suddenly had an idea. “Then… how about we quietly give the kitty away?”
“And when she starts crying, you’re the one comforting her?”
Marcus Thornfield slid a cushion over, tucking it under the girl’s head to keep her soft breath from brushing against his leg. Then he pulled out a cigarette, pinched it between his fingers, leaned back in the seat, and said coolly, “Cut the crap and drive.”
