Chapter 22 You Are My Trump Card
"Scared of what?" Sophia wasn't arguing; she genuinely didn't understand.
Michael said, "You're afraid of family affection."
Sophia fell silent. Sometimes outsiders could see more clearly, and when Michael pointed out the truth, she knew he was right.
She was indeed scared.
Scared of seeing hope, only to face disappointment again.
She had once yearned for family love, too, but living that lonely life in that cold mansion, she rarely saw her parents.
When she pestered her two brothers to play with her, all she got was their impatience and cruel pranks.
Over time, she understood that her only value to that family was to someday put on a wedding dress and become a bargaining chip in some business deal.
She stopped expecting anything from family.
So when facing the Johnson family's care, she felt afraid.
She thought their behavior defied logic and racked her brain trying to find some trace of ulterior motive, just to put her mind at ease.
In truth, she was just running away from it all.
After a long silence from Sophia, Michael chuckled. "Sophia, when your mind can't figure something out, feel it with your heart instead. You deserve all the love in the world, and you have every right to face whatever comes. There's nothing to worry about."
Michael's few words brought Sophia considerable peace.
Two years ago, when the Johnson family went bankrupt and she simultaneously learned she wasn't the Smiths' biological daughter, she'd told Michael about it, and he'd been comforting and caring for her ever since.
He'd said: "Sophia, no matter what your last name is, no matter what happens in the future, I'll always be by your side."
Perhaps he was the real reason she'd had the courage to leave the Smith family so decisively.
"Sophia."
The young man's slightly deeper voice came through the phone.
"Just keep moving forward. I'll always be behind you."
Sophia's lips curved into a smile as she replied, "I know."
'You are my trump card.'
'Even if I gamble everything, betting it all on one throw.'
'As long as you're there, I won't lose.'
...
Saturday evening arrived in the blink of an eye.
Emerald City Pacific Group's business gala was being held at a countryside manor, with a scale rivaling the Smith family's recent centennial celebration—clearly meant as a competitive statement.
This also gave George and Jane the perfect opportunity to debut their newly returned daughter, Emily, to high society.
The underlying purpose was obvious: to use this occasion to scout suitable marriage prospects for Emily and find excellent allies for the Smith family.
The ballroom blazed with light, massive crystal chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling and casting brilliant refractions. Long tables lined both sides, laden with an array of pastries and beverages, while a champagne fountain on the side sparkled under the lights.
Everywhere you looked was opulence, thick with the stench of money.
Guests mingled and chatted, the sounds of clinking glasses echoing throughout the ballroom.
On the second-floor observation deck, several people stood with champagne flutes, watching the show below with detached amusement.
Amelia wore a sleeveless gown that made her look tall and slender, fiddling with a GoPro in her hands as she muttered, "Wonder if I'll capture anything interesting tonight."
Wayne leaned against the railing with both hands, watching Emily being introduced to business moguls by George and Jane below. "Probably just Emily basking in glory."
"What if?" Amelia finished adjusting her equipment and turned to look at a girl in an elegant champagne-colored dress whose graceful figure couldn't hide her natural nobility. "Sophia, why aren't you saying anything?"
Sophia stood in the corner, gripping a glass of sparkling water, her eyes occasionally darting toward the entrance. "I just have this bad feeling."
...
The ballroom glowed with brilliant lights as George and his wife, accompanied by their newly returned daughter Emily, moved through the elite crowd like stars surrounded by admirers.
"Emily, this is Mr. Parker from Parker Group. He just graduated from Enigma Institute abroad and returned home—so young yet already managing the Southeast regional operations." George beamed with pride as he made the introduction.
Emily nodded gracefully, her snow-white princess gown making her skin look porcelain-smooth, while the pearl necklace at her throat added an air of nobility.
She smiled with her lips curved delicately, her voice soft, "I've heard so much about you, Mr. Parker. I understand you just acquired a premium winery last month?"
Anson Parker's eyes flashed with admiration as he immediately responded, "Ms. Smith, you're very well-informed. How about visiting my vineyard for a tasting sometime?"
"Emily, Mr. Parker just returned to the country and isn't familiar with Emerald City yet. You young people should get to know each other better." Jane interjected at the perfect moment, her smile warm but laden with meaning.
Not far away, several socialites whispered among themselves.
"The Smith family's new heiress—she used to be the Johnson family's daughter, right? Her etiquette training is quite impressive."
"The Johnsons were old money, too, so how bad could her upbringing be? The Smith family bringing her to debut tonight shows she's clearly valued."
"Blood relations make all the difference. Look at the treatment compared to that previous one."
Emily listened to the surrounding praise, a hint of satisfaction gleaming in her eyes.
She lifted her gaze slightly, scanning the ballroom. Those wealthy young men who once looked at her with disdain were now casting eager glances her way.
Just then, a deafening engine roar exploded, causing every crystal chandelier in the ballroom to shake violently.
Sophia's expression darkened as she quickly concealed herself behind a Roman column.
Before anyone could react, the entire western wall of floor-to-ceiling windows suddenly shattered, glass fragments cascading down like a violent rainstorm.
"AHHHHH—" The socialites screamed and scattered, guests diving in all directions.
A speeding Apollo raced in from the back lawn through the air, its tires crushing champagne glasses and French pastries scattered across the floor before screeching to a halt directly in front of the stage.
The car doors lifted like wings, and through the thick smoke emerged a long leg encased in black leather pants, a metal chain at the waist jingling with each movement.
As the white smoke gradually cleared, what came into view was hair like cold moonlight. The figure pushed down sunglasses on the bridge of their nose, revealing pale lashes that framed unnaturally light-colored pupils.
With such distinctive features, you couldn't find a second person like this in all the elite circles.
Someone gasped in a trembling voice, "Mr. John Smith?"