Chapter4 How Rich Are My Biological Parents?

Sophia's POV

Gary's face turned dark as iron after what I said, veins bulging on his forehead. I could tell that his pitiful bit of rationality was being completely swallowed by rage.

"I'll show you today what a real master is!" He practically roared these words, spinning around to grab the cleaning brush from the workbench, with that dangerous drop of solvent still hanging from the tip.

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, coldly watching this self-destructive performance.

Gary's hand hovered above the canvas, trying to look steady as a rock, but I could see the slight trembling in his wrist. The cleaning brush tip was just a few centimeters from the painting, that drop of solvent hanging there like the Sword of Damocles.

Then, the inevitable happened. One drop, just one drop, slid from the brush tip and landed precisely on the face of the figure in the painting.

The sound was soft, but in the quiet restoration room it rang out like an explosion. The moment the solvent touched the century-old oil paint, the pigment began to melt, corrode, and change color. A mottled, yellowish scar appeared on what had been a delicate face.

"Oh my God!" Gary cried out, the cleaning brush slipping from his hand. His face went from iron-dark to ashen gray, eyes bulging like they might pop out, his whole body frozen there like he'd been struck by lightning.

Walter's body began to shake violently. He staggered to the workbench, his trembling finger pointing at Gary, "You, you... what have you done! That's a Rembrandt! A Rembrandt!"

Gary spun around, glaring at me viciously, "It's her! She deliberately provoked me with her words! This is all her scheme!"

His voice was shrill, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

Curator Clark's face turned completely dark, "Mr. Davis, if your skills aren't good enough, just admit it. How can you blame a young girl? Is this the professional ethics a restorer should have?"

I pushed off from the wall and slowly walked up to Gary, staring into his eyes, "Always blaming others for your own incompetence? What a coward."

Oliver's low laughter came from behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know he was leaning against the doorway watching the show.

"Move aside." I walked past Gary to the workbench and put on my gloves again. I picked up the fine dropper and took out a bottle of special neutralizing solvent from my toolbox. This was something I'd mixed myself - you couldn't buy it anywhere.

Walter and Curator Clark held their breath, eyes fixed on my movements without blinking. I drew up the solvent with the dropper, my hand steady as a precision instrument, then gave it a gentle squeeze.

The solvent landed precisely on that yellowish stain and began working like magic. The corroded paint was neutralized and broken down, the yellowish patch gradually fading as the original colors reemerged underneath. The whole process took less than thirty seconds, and that fatal damage was resolved.

"My God..." Walter let out a long breath, looking at me with eyes full of surprise and awe, "How did you do that?"

I didn't answer, because the work wasn't finished yet. For the next hour, the restoration room was so quiet you could only hear my breathing and the faint sounds of tools touching canvas. I cleaned stains, filled in colors, blended, and applied varnish - every movement precise to the millimeter.

When I put down the last brush, the painting had been completely renewed. Walter stepped forward, eyes moist, voice trembling, "This is how it should have looked... you truly deserve the title of master..."

I took off my gloves, and when I turned around I saw Gary quietly edging toward the door.

"Wait." I stopped him, "I remember someone saying they'd get on their knees for me?"

Gary's body froze, his face instantly turning deathly pale, "That was said in anger! I was joking! Don't go too far!"

"So a master in the restoration world's words are just hot air?" I slowly walked toward him.

I didn't waste more words, just lifted my foot and kicked the back of his knee. He screamed and dropped heavily to his knees. I pressed down on the back of his neck, making him prostrate himself on the floor.

"This is assault! I'll sue you!" Gary's voice became shrill with humiliation.

"Gary!" Walter's voice cut through like an ice blade, "You've really opened my eyes! From today on, all museums and collections under the Foster family will terminate all cooperation with Gary."

Security guards came in and dragged him out of the restoration room like trash.

Walter turned to me, his eyes full of sincerity, "Master Sophia, would you be interested in becoming the Foster family's specially appointed chief restorer? You can name your salary."

"I'm sorry, Walter." My voice was calm, "I'll be leaving here soon."

A flash of regret crossed Walter's eyes, but he didn't press further.

When I walked out of the National Gallery of Art, it was already getting dark. Oliver was leaning against his motorcycle, and when he saw me come out, he immediately grinned from ear to ear.

"You were absolutely amazing!" He handed me a helmet, his eyes shining with excitement.

I took the helmet and glanced at him, "I'd rather not publicize this whole restorer thing..."

"Don't worry." Oliver made a zipping motion, "I'll keep the secret."

He got on the motorcycle and patted the back seat, "Come on, I'll take you home. Mom and Dad must be waiting anxiously."

The words "take you home" made my heart skip a beat. I put on the helmet and got on the back seat, my voice carrying a warmth I didn't even notice myself, "Okay."

The engine roared to life, and the motorcycle drove into the dusk. Twenty minutes later, we stopped in front of a grand estate. The black wrought-iron gates slowly opened, revealing a white gravel driveway lined with precisely trimmed geometric gardens, and a main house that looked like a classical castle.

I was stunned. Gretl said my birth family was poor and struggling? This is poor? That golden fountain at the entrance probably cost as much as the entire Smith family villa.

"How about it? Not bad, right?" Oliver asked proudly.

Before I could answer, a woman in a light-colored coat rushed out. She had a graceful figure, and even in the dim light you could see her delicate features.

"Who told you to ride that piece of junk!" She scolded Oliver angrily, "What if you'd hurt your sister!"

Then she grabbed my hand directly, looking me up and down, her expression changing from anger to heartache, "You must be Sophia, right? My Sophia... let Mom look at you, how did you get so thin..."

Warm tears dropped onto the back of my hand, and that unfamiliar warmth made my whole body stiffen.

A middle-aged man walked over, his features somewhat similar to Oliver's but more composed and reserved. He put his arm around his wife with concern, "Alright, the child just got home, don't stand at the door."

Then he turned to me, his voice gentle, "Sophia, I'm your father. Welcome home." He reached out to pat my shoulder, his movement hesitant and careful, finally landing gently on top of my head.

The living room's decor was understated luxury, with art pieces everywhere. Maria Spencer pulled me to sit down, tears unstoppable, "It's all our fault, taking so many years to find you."

Logan Spencer picked up the phone, "Dr. Warren, bring your team over and give my daughter the most comprehensive physical examination."

I wanted to refuse, but Maria insisted, "We must check... we don't know if that kind of family mistreated you in food, clothing, or daily necessities."

That kind of family? I silently complained in my mind - the Smith family also lived in a villa and drove luxury cars, okay?

Just how rich were my biological parents?

Twenty minutes later, a medical team of twenty doctors arrived, and the living room was filled with high-precision instruments. Maria and Logan paced anxiously, and only after I persuaded them several times did they sit down.

"Miss Sophia's health is excellent, all indicators are very good," the doctor reported.

Maria and Logan let out long sighs of relief, smiles appearing on their faces.

Maria couldn't wait to take me to see my room. The moment she pushed open the door, I almost thought I'd walked into Barbie's dream house - pink and lace everywhere, a huge princess bed with gauze curtains, and an entire wall of glass cabinets filled with limited edition Barbie dolls.

"We decorated this based on how you were as a child," Maria said ingratiatingly.

I walked to the wardrobe and saw a dress hanging inside - it was a piece I'd designed when I was thirteen.

"This is a dress by the famous Designer Jenny," Maria introduced proudly.

Oh my God!

That was basically my dark history.

Who could keep a straight face seeing their own dark history?

But I still smiled and said, "Thank you, I really like it."

"You don't know how amazing Sophia was today!" Oliver suddenly called out, "She kicked that person down to their knees with one move!"

I quickly kicked his butt and gave him a look.

"What? Someone bullied you?" Logan and Maria immediately became tense.

Oliver scratched the back of his head and wisely shut up.

"I've just been studying antique oil painting restoration," I explained. "A client happened to come today, so I helped with some restoration work."

Logan's eyes reddened slightly, "Being a restorer isn't simple work... you must have suffered a lot these years."

"I'm taking advantage of being young to learn more skills," I said lightly.

Maria suddenly hugged me, her voice choked with tears, "My silly child, why did you have to learn these things... restoring ancient paintings is so tedious, how much mental effort it takes, your eyes, your hands, how tired you must be..."

She held up my hands, seeing the thin calluses on my fingertips and the base of my thumb from long-term use of tools, and tears fell again.

I felt her trembling and heartache, my nose tingling. So this is what it feels like to be cherished and loved by someone.