CHAPTER 47: TURNING DEFENSE INTO ATTACK

Eric quickly shut the car door and ducked out of sight.

Inside, Sophia instantly went limp, playing the part of someone on the brink of collapse.

She sprawled across the seat just as Lucas rushed over.

"Sophia? Sophia?"

The moment he opened the door, panic flickered in his eyes.

"Sophia!"

She didn’t move. Lucas scooped her into his arms, only for Sophia to suddenly tighten her grip and snap her eyes open.

"Not giving me trouble anymore, huh?"

There was mischief dancing in her gaze, and only then did Lucas realize—he’d been tricked.

"And your claustrophobia?"

"Claus...what?"

The fire in Lucas’s eyes flared hotter.

Her mind raced, then she clutched her head dramatically. "Oh no, I feel so dizzy... I can’t breathe!"

Lucas loosened his hold. She shrieked and immediately threw her arms tighter around him.

"What are you trying to do? Murder me?!"

Lucas dropped her unceremoniously on the sofa. "Figure out exactly what you did wrong, then go upstairs to sleep."

He turned and left without so much as another glance.

Sophia sighed, rubbing her forehead.

Fake marriage or not, why was he taking it so seriously? Not even letting her go upstairs?

Hah, as if she was afraid he’d suddenly turn into a beast. Fine, if he didn’t want her upstairs, she’d stay put!

Meanwhile, a door upstairs creaked open. Charles and Dustin peeked out, waving her over. Sophia smiled knowingly.

Lucas tossed and turned in bed, restless. No sound at his door, no movement at all.

So, Sophia really had backbone—she wasn’t coming to bed?

A glance at the clock. 1:55 a.m.

Lucas exhaled deeply, got up, and in one smooth motion, opened his door.

The living room was pitch black. He pressed the remote; lights flared to life.

Empty.

No sign of Sophia on the sofa.

He turned toward another room, walked over, and found her nestled under the blankets with the six kids, hogging the covers.

His eyes narrowed.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Sophia, you’re really testing me.

Cold fury in his gaze, he ripped the blanket off her and tucked it over the kids instead.

Then his fist shot up, crashing down—only stopping short at the last second. Just enough to look furious.

Finally, he scooped her up and carried her back to his room.

Sophia rolled across the bed, eventually curling against his chest, pressing her icy feet against him.

Lucas shivered, shoving her away.

She rolled back, those cold toes finding him again.

This time, he smirked darkly and left her uncovered, turning his back.

Two minutes later, with a sigh of pure defeat, he rolled over, tugged the blanket over her, and pulled her into his arms.

Sophia’s lips curved into the tiniest secret smile, unseen in the dark.

...

The next morning, the weather was bright. Sophia was enjoying a late lunch downstairs when the housekeeper fussed,

"Madam, it’s already eleven. Shouldn’t we wake the young master?"

"No need, Mrs. Wilson. Trust me—he doesn’t need it."

Across the table, six little heads bobbed in unison.

Charles grinned. "Nanny Wilson, let Dad sleep. He’s exhausted."

Dustin chimed in through a mouthful of cake. "Yeah, Dad works too hard."

Eric added fuel to the fire, "He knows what he’s doing. Honestly, has he ever slept till noon before?"

Mrs. Wilson hesitated, worried, but... they weren’t wrong.

Not long after, Lucas rushed down the stairs, still buttoning his cuff.

"Mrs. Wilson, why didn’t you wake me?"

For the second morning in a row, right after his wedding, Lucas Hilton—the famously punctual man—had overslept and missed his morning meeting.

"Sir, I thought—"

"Enough. I don’t want to hear it. I’m heading to the office now."

"Lucas, why don’t you at least have lunch before you leave? It’s almost mealtime anyway."

Sophia’s eyes followed him, but Lucas ignored her completely.

She hadn’t woken him on purpose.

Watching his rushed, irritated back, Sophia let out a soft laugh.

Really? You think you can outplay me?

When I called myself a "white lotus," did you think I was joking?

This morning she’d tiptoed around the bedroom, even kindly switching off his alarm clock for him.

By the time Lucas arrived at the office, Alex trailed in right behind.

"Mr. Hilton, you’re late again today?"

"The meeting’s been moved to the afternoon," Lucas replied, striding away.

But Alex suddenly froze—there was a glaringly bright paper stuck to the back of Lucas’s suit.

"Mr. Hilton, wait!"

He rushed over and yanked it off. Lucas narrowed his eyes at the doodled grimacing face on the note before crumpling it into a tight ball.

Sophia.

He’d spared her last night, and now she dared push her luck?

"Mr. Hilton," Alex hurried to report, "early this morning, the Wright Family from City Y sent over an invitation."

Lucas arched a brow. "Oh?"

"They’re hosting a high-society banquet. From what I’ve heard, the Wrights have invested in a world-class fashion show—they’re clearly trying to extend an olive branch."

Lucas glanced at the invitation card with a flicker of disinterest.

"The old man from the Wright Family... still alive?"

Alex coughed lightly. The curse sounded a little too obvious.

"Old Mr. Wright is still in good health. He’s in his seventies, but his spirit is strong."

"And Frank?" Lucas asked lazily. "Didn’t he fail his evaluation?"

It had been a long time since Lucas bothered to pay attention to the Wrights.

"Yes. Old Mr. Wright never dared hand the company to Frank. Besides, his grandson has a reputation for womanizing—and gambling. The old man’s desperate to cling to powerful allies."

The implication was clear: Lucas Hilton was the golden ally. To align with him meant security—and it would lure even more investors in.

Lucas gave a humorless chuckle. "The man’s been in business for decades, yet never secured a true place at the table. That’s a failure in itself."

"Not everyone can be as remarkable as you, Mr. Hilton."

Ah, flattery—the one thing that never failed to slip through unscathed.

"Since the Wrights went out of their way to deliver this, I might as well head to City Y for a change of scenery," Lucas decided. "But before that, bring me every single one of Aiden’s ledgers from the past years. All of them."

Alex blinked in surprise. "Mr. Hilton... are you planning to close the net?"

"Not yet," Lucas said smoothly. "Honestly, their existence amuses me. But I won’t let them feel too comfortable under my watch either."

He lifted his gaze, amusement flickering in his eyes.

The cat-and-mouse game had only just begun.

It was thanks to Aiden that he had once been confined to a wheelchair. If fate ever turned and it was Aiden’s own son who lost the use of his legs... what then?

As if on cue, the very man he was thinking of had already appeared downstairs.

"Dad, are you sure it’s a good idea to go to Lucas now?" Richard asked uneasily.

Aiden’s expression hardened, his voice low and vicious.

"Richard, don’t you forget—everything I’m doing is for you! If it weren’t for you, why else would I go to such lengths to seize Hilton Group?"

His eyes burned with hatred. Lucas’s legs had already healed—clearly, he’d been on guard for a long time.

The car accident hadn’t been enough to kill him. Lucas was just lucky.

But Aiden refused to believe his luck would last forever.