Will and Joyce Smith sat in stunned silence, unable to string together words as they looked upon the woman seated gracefully before them. Gone was the humble maid who once served tea and folded laundry in quiet corners of their mansion. In her place sat a woman dressed in a fitted emerald gown that shimmered like silk under the chandelier light, her posture exuding a quiet power. Her heels clicked confidently against the marble floor when she entered, and even now, she sat like someone born into class—not one who had served it.
Catarina Johnson, the woman once considered invisible in their world, now sat across from them like royalty. And beside her, seated with a calm yet protective stance, was their second son—Ryan Smith.
Will finally broke the silence, his voice low and uncertain. "Catarina? I still find this... hard to believe."
Catarina offered a small, knowing smile. "I had to grow—to be accepted into the Smith family."
"You didn't need to go that far," Joyce chimed in, her voice laced with sincerity. "I've always liked you."
Catarina's expression remained poised. "But I heard Sophia was sent away because she didn't match your status. Would it have been any different if I had returned still wearing a maid's uniform rather than walking in here financially independent?"
Joyce blinked, momentarily speechless.
Will straightened up, guilt edging into his voice. "We've actually been looking for Sophia. She vanished without a trace—"
"But you chased her away," Ryan interjected, the bitterness in his tone cutting through the air. "And now you search for her? If Catarina had returned as my maid, you'd have turned her away too. Let's not pretend otherwise."
A tense silence followed, before Joyce raised her hands, as if waving off the past. "Can we just let bygones be bygones and focus on what matters? When's your wedding?"
***
In the dining hall, the aroma of grilled lamb and seasoned vegetables floated through the air as Joyce oversaw the maids arranging the evening dinner setup. Her mind was preoccupied—lost in the weight of the recent revelations. Then, the clinking of a glass being poured caught her attention.
Raymond stood by the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a drink. His expression was distant, his eyes glassy. He hadn't spoken to her in days—not since he discovered the truth behind Sophia's disappearance.
"Raymond..." she began softly, her voice trembling just a little. "I know you hate me right now. But I want you to know—we're ready to welcome Sophia back. Even if she's living in the streets, she has our respect. She saved our family."
His jaw tightened as he turned, eyes rimmed with unshed tears. "I don't care what you say now. I don't care about medicine after death."
"She'll come back," Joyce said, almost whispering. "Just like Catarina did."
Raymond's brows furrowed. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"We are the Smiths," she said, taking a few steps closer. "We have establishments across London. Our name carries weight. No one rejects us—not Catarina, not Sophia. You're a Smith, Raymond. You're worth it. And Sophia... she'll come running to you. Sooner than you think."
Raymond stared at her, the disbelief in his gaze almost painful. "What kind of mother do I have?"
"A mother who sees her son's value and fights to protect it," she replied calmly. "Your father is waiting for you in the study."
***
Raymond entered the study, where the air was heavier with leather and aged whisky. Will Smith stood by the bookshelf, flipping through an old blueprint until he noticed his son's arrival.
"Raymond. Glad you're here. Sit."
Raymond settled into the chair opposite him, eyes still clouded with lingering emotion.
"I know you've had a lot on your plate," Will began, "but we need to talk about the London Movie Academy."
Raymond's brows lifted slightly.
"It's ready," Will said. "The facility has been built, the curriculum finalised. It's a partnership with several major Hollywood production companies. This isn't just some arts college. It's a launchpad. Our students will walk out with certificates that qualify them for real auditions in L.A.—as actors, screenwriters, editors... even stunt doubles."
Raymond leaned forward, interest piqued. "Hollywood's on board?"
"They're eager," Will nodded. "We've drawn top-tier lecturers for a six-month crash programme. You'll need to visit the Manchester branch to inspect the first session."
Raymond nodded. "When do I leave?"
"Tomorrow morning. The head manager will walk you through the sessions. Acting, screenwriting, video editing, and..." Will paused, almost amused, "Taekwondo."
Raymond raised a brow. "Taekwondo? Why?"
Will chuckled. "It's for the action sequences. Students will be trained to execute cinematic fight choreography. We want our academy to produce more than storytellers—we want warriors who know how to move on camera."
***
By afternoon the next day, Raymond arrived at the Manchester branch of the Academy. The lecture hall was vast and ultramodern, with polished floors, ceiling-mounted lights, and a massive screen behind the stage.
Ten lecturers were seated before him, awaiting his address. As he stood to speak, the head manager gently tapped his arm.
"We're missing one," she said.
"Who?"
"The Taekwondo instructor. She hasn't arrived yet."
Raymond frowned. "Why do we even need a martial arts trainer?"
"She's one of the best in Europe," the manager replied. "Her expertise isn't just about kicks and punches. She choreographs believable on-screen combat. With her training and our editing department, the students will pull off flawless fight scenes."
Suddenly, the rhythmic click of stiletto heels echoed through the hall.
Heads turned.
Raymond's heart missed a beat.
The woman who entered did not simply walk—she commanded. Her attire was striking: a black leather corset with intricate silver clasps hugged her torso, layered over a fitted dark crimson tunic with high slits on the sides. Her leggings were sleek, tailored, and tucked into knee-high boots made from soft leather, adorned with subtle metallic accents. A long, sweeping coat with shoulder guards and a high collar fluttered behind her like a cape. Her straightened hair framed her face like silk, and her perfume wafted into the air like a spell.
She looked dangerous. Regal. Unforgettable.
Raymond's phone slipped from his fingers and hit the ground with a thud.
It was Sophia Jones.
And on her finger... gleamed an engagement ring.