I Ctrl+Alt+Deleted My Ex and Ctrl+C'd His Uncle novel Chapter 67

**Through Silent Meadows We Trace Stories Left Behind**

**Chapter 67**

As Marcus strolled past, the fabric of his trousers brushed against the hem of Sophie’s skirt, an almost ghostly touch that sent a shiver through her. Her fingers curled instinctively, betraying the flutter of nerves that had taken residence in her stomach.

“Is this seat taken, Miss Chandler?” His voice, smooth and composed, cut through the air with an ease that made Sophie’s heart race.

“No, it’s not,” she replied softly, her gaze dropping to the floor as she fought to mask the heat creeping up her cheeks.

What was wrong with her? Marcus had done nothing out of the ordinary, yet here she was, a bundle of nerves.

Sophie mentally chastised herself, wanting to scream in frustration.

Marcus settled into the chair beside her, and with him came a wave of warmth and a scent that felt like home, wrapping around Sophie like a comforting blanket.

She inhaled deeply, trying to steady the erratic rhythm of her heart.

The people around them noticed the sudden shift in dynamics, their eyes flickering with curiosity. After a brief moment of surprise, they quickly rationalized the situation.

Of course, Sophie was Marcus’s niece-in-law. It made perfect sense for him to sit there, didn’t it?

Celine, sitting nearby, seemed to be pondering the same thing—and perhaps much more.

Marcus must have been cautious, worried that others would catch on to the subtle spark of interest he had in Sophie, which explained why he had chosen to maintain a comfortable distance.

Ah, classic “reverse psychology,” Celine thought, smirking to herself. She was all too familiar with that game!

“Mr. Morgan, you arrived just in time. I was just having a friendly wager with Miss Chandler,” Celine chimed, leaning forward and addressing Marcus directly, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“Unfortunately, Miss Chandler seems to be a bit naive about the world. She mistook imitation for the real deal. She’s about to become our niece-in-law, yet she hasn’t quite learned how to navigate these waters. Perhaps Mr. Morgan could enlighten her, or else she might embarrass the Morgan family,” Celine continued, her tone dripping with condescension.

Marcus, with his sharp knuckles casually resting against his nose, replied coolly, “What is that? It stinks.”

Celine’s expression froze, the realization of his words dawning on her, and she felt the heat of embarrassment flood her cheeks.

Marcus showed no mercy, his gaze unwavering as he draped his jacket over Sophie’s legs, the fabric still infused with his warmth.

Sophie instinctively pulled her legs back, discomfort washing over her. “Mr. Morgan, I’m not cold,” she protested, her voice tinged with confusion.

Despite the air conditioning humming around them, she felt perfectly comfortable in her long skirt. There was no need for his jacket, really.

Marvin, observing from a distance, couldn’t help but admire how the sheer fabric of Sophie’s dress hugged her long, slender legs, revealing just enough to captivate the eye.

She resembled a blue-eyed enchantress, delicate and ethereal, yet completely unaware of the allure she exuded.

Reflecting on how she had sat there for what felt like an eternity, a wave of frustration surged within him.

“Cover up,” Marcus commanded, his tone firm and authoritative, leaving no room for argument.

Sophie pressed her lips together, knowing she had no choice but to comply with his request, choosing silence over confrontation.

“What bet did you make?” Marcus’s voice grew heavier, curiosity lacing his words.

“I bet on which piece is Liora’s work,” she replied, her seriousness evident as she locked eyes with him.

Marcus turned his gaze toward her, intrigued. “Which one did you bet on?”

“Number six is Liora’s true work,” she stated confidently, her conviction unwavering. “Number eight is just a half-finished piece.”

“If piece number eight was indeed submitted by the Morgan Group, Mr. Morgan could—”

Before she could finish her thought, Liam approached them, his expression tense and urgent.

“Sophie, come with me for a moment. I need to speak with you,” Liam said, his voice tight with intensity.

Sophie frowned, sensing the gravity of the situation. “Liam, you…”

“Sophie, I know what you’re about to ask. Just come with me, and I promise I’ll give you an answer.”

The issue surrounding Liora was too precarious to reveal to Marcus. If it came to light, Liam’s aspirations of becoming the general manager would be jeopardized, not to mention his current position.

“You’re pregnant. I didn’t want you to be overworked, so I had someone finish the half-done piece you abandoned. Everything I did was for you,” he insisted, desperation creeping into his tone.

“But now you’re presenting a completely different piece at the competition. What if people find out? Are you trying to ruin Liora’s reputation?”

Sophie shoved Liam’s hand off her shoulder, her resolve hardening. “Don’t try to manipulate me. You’re just being greedy. You’re terrified of losing Liora and, with it, your chance to be the general manager. That’s why you went to such lengths to submit that piece.”

“Liam, you’re the one ruining my hard work, and you’re the one destroying Liora’s name!”

Liam froze, staring at Sophie as if she were a stranger.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She was meant to be humble and understanding, always attentive to him and his needs.

When had Sophie begun to slip out of his grasp? When had she stopped listening to him?

“Sophie, Liora’s work was submitted by you. You have the right to withdraw it. If nothing’s gone too far, you should withdraw it now, or else you’ll keep tarnishing Liora’s name.”

Sophie spoke firmly, her determination unwavering.

Liora held a prestigious position in the design world, and there were many who would do anything to see him fall.

Most of the attendees today were Liora’s fans, and under their idolized perception of him, they couldn’t spot the flaws.

But any designer with a discerning eye could see the counterfeit work immediately.

In the realm of design, ghostwriting and plagiarism were stains that could never be washed away—once tarnished, there was no redemption.

Sophie was resolute; she would not allow Liora’s reputation to be sullied like this!

“Sophie, if you and I keep this to ourselves, no one will know. It’s not uncommon for designers to suddenly shift their style. As long as we stick to the narrative that it’s Liora’s work, no one will bring him down,” Liam pleaded, desperation etched on his face.

He tightened his grip on her hand, his eyes pleading.

“Sophie, you’ve poured years into perfecting your designs, sacrificing everything to reach this point. Don’t ruin everything you’ve worked for!”