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Chapter 7
The scorching sun hung high, heat waves distorting the horizon.
Ethan Carter stood on the dirt path, his expensive leather shoes caked with dust.
He frowned, pressing a handkerchief to his nose, his gaze sweeping over my sweat-drenched face.
"Ten years," he said, his voice low and commanding.
"Haven't you had enough? Come back with me."
I bent down and continued planting rice seedlings, muddy water splashing onto his trousers.
Ethan took a sharp step back, disgust flashing in his eyes.
"Why would the great Mr. Carter stoop to visit a place like this?"
I straightened, sweat dripping from my chin.
"Our agreement ended long ago."
Oliver Carter peeked out from the car, his voice small and hesitant.
"Aunt Sophia..."
His eyes were red, as if he'd been crying.
"Daddy said..."
He sniffled.
"He said he'd bring you home..."
Ethan gestured sharply, and a dozen bodyguards approached, carrying rosewood chests.
The lids were thrown open, revealing neatly stacked hundred-dollar bills gleaming harshly under the sun.
"Is this enough?"
He looked down at me.
"If not, I can add more."
The distant rumble of a tractor broke the silence.
Lucas Harrison jumped out and strode over, his shirt soaked with sweat but his posture unwavering as he stepped between us.
"Planning to force a sale, Mr. Carter?"
Lucas smirked.
"Sophia isn't merchandise."
Ethan's expression turned icy.
"Dr. Harrison, you're overstepping."
Then, his voice softened unnaturally as he turned to me.
"Sophia, I know you're angry. Come back with me—I'll give you the wedding you deserve."
I remembered that rainy night, how he had clutched Isabella's photo album and wept.
That was when I knew—some places would never be mine.
"No need."
I wiped the mud from my hands.
"I'm happy here."
Ethan's temper flared.
He seized my wrist, his grip bruising.
"You don't get a choice!"
I gasped in pain.
Lucas shoved him back hard.
Stumbling, I collided with a firm chest—the familiar scent of antiseptic enveloped me.
"Mr. Carter," Lucas said, shielding me, "forcing a woman isn't what a gentleman does."
Ethan's eyes narrowed like a provoked lion.
"Lucas Harrison. Do you have a death wish?"
Tension crackled between the two groups—until Oliver suddenly darted forward and clung to my leg.
"Aunt Sophia... I miss your braised pork..."
The child's sobs froze the air.
Ethan's mask fractured.
He reached for Oliver, but the boy dodged him.
"Daddy lied!"
Oliver wailed.
"You said Aunt Sophia would come home!"
Under the relentless sun, the shadows of three adults stretched long across the ground—an unsolvable riddle.