Damon’s POV
Chairman Morgan’s 80th birthday was the kind of event where everything had to be flawless—perfect speeches, polished smiles, and reputations carefully maintained in front of the entire family and business circle.
I arrived at the grand hall with Natalie on my arm.
Her pregnancy was now obvious enough to draw attention. Whispers followed us, subtle but constant. I ignored them all and kept my expression controlled.
Composed. Detached. In control.
That was what mattered.
Only when my grandfather, Chairman Morgan, entered did I let go of Natalie’s hand.
He wasn’t just the head of the family. He was the man who built the Morgan empire from nothing. And more than that, he had always treated Sophia like she belonged to the family.
His eyes landed on me immediately.
“Where is Sophia?” he asked.
“She’s preparing your birthday gift,” I answered smoothly. “She’ll arrive later.”
He studied me for a moment, like he was deciding whether to believe it. Then he said nothing more and moved on.
Two hours passed.
Dinner was served. Toasts were made. The celebration continued without pause.
Still no Sophia.
I kept glancing toward the entrance without meaning to. Every time—nothing.
My patience thinned.
Where was she?
I was about to step out and call someone when the doors opened.
A courier walked in carrying three neatly wrapped boxes.
“Delivery for Chairman Morgan,” he announced. “From Mrs. Sophia Steele.”
My chest tightened immediately.
Her name always did that.
I stepped forward. “Give them to me.”
The courier shook his head. “I was instructed to deliver them directly to the recipient.”
Of course she would be precise about something like this.
I exhaled and stepped aside. “Then do it properly.”
The courier approached my grandfather and bowed slightly.
“These are from Mrs. Sophia,” he said. “She sends her birthday wishes.”
My grandfather frowned. “Why didn’t she come herself?”
No one answered quickly enough.
The courier only repeated, “I was only instructed to deliver the packages.”
A strange silence settled over the room.
Something felt wrong.
Still, my grandfather accepted the boxes and placed them on the table in front of him.
He studied them for a long moment. “I’ll open them myself.”
The first box opened slowly.
Inside was an embroidered piece—intricate, delicate, clearly handmade. A detailed tapestry that reflected years of patience and care.
My grandfather’s expression softened.
“She made this,” he said quietly.
I already knew. I had seen her working on it late at night, refusing help even when her fingers were injured.
The second box followed.
A velvet case.
Inside were heirloom jewelry pieces—my grandmother’s. The same set Sophia had worn on our wedding day.
My throat tightened.
Something cold settled in my chest.
Why would she send these back?
My grandfather’s expression changed slightly, more serious now.
Then the third box was placed on the table.
I didn’t wait.
My hand moved first.
“Damon—” my grandfather started, but I had already taken it.
I pulled it closer and ripped it open.
The moment I saw what was inside, everything in me stopped.
My face went pale.
My hand froze midair.
Inside the box was Sophia’s wedding ring.
And beneath it—a folded note.
