MasukIrene was already late. The realization hit her the second her eyes flew open and landed on the time. “No—no, no, no—” She shot out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheets, heart slamming hard against her ribs. Twenty minutes she had just about twenty minutes to get to work. The bathroom door flew open and she rushed straight into the shower, twisting the knob, gasping when cold water hit her skin. “Oh my God, why today?” she muttered, scrubbing at herself in frantic, careless movements. “Why of all days…” Last night flickered through her mind—Daniel, the bed, his grandfather, and that stupid performance they’d been forced to put on. She shoved the thought away and rushed out of the bathroom, barely drying before pulling on the first clothes she could find. Her hands shook as she buttoned her blouse, missed one button, went back to fix it, then gave up and grabbed her bag from the chair. She slipped into her shoes and hurried toward the door— —and then stopped short.
I don’t even know why I’m doing this. Or why I even agreed to it Irene thought as she paced the length of the room, bare feet brushing softly against the carpet while going ack and forth. She finally stopped at the edge of the bed, and tugged irritably at the duvet as if it had personally offended her, then turned and paced again. The robe she wore swayed with her movements, and it was loose and annoying, and clinging in places it shouldn’t and slipping in others and it felt really weird on her skin just like this house and even this whole situation she was in also felt weird.Like who the hell gives someone rules about how to live? like who tells a grown woman what she can and can’t do? She screamed to the silent room. Her jaw tightening as fragments of the day replayed themselves against her will—Daniel’s calm, infuriating voice; the way he’d stood there listing his so-called rules and regulations like she was some reckless teenager instead of a grown woman with children. “I
Irene’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she stared at Daniel. “That’s not what I meant!” she snapped, voice rising slightly. “I wasn’t talking about you! She shouted as she lifted her eyes to Daniel, voice trembling with barely contained rage. “And what? Who told you I am some crazy drunk or whatever nonsense you think about me? And how could you even say that in front of my children?” Her words landed sharp, her chest heaving as her jaw tightened. Daniel leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Ah… I can say whatever I want, Irene,” he said softly, each word deliberate. “This is my house and I can decide what is said and what isn’t. Now… shall we move on?” He continued with obvious arrogance. And immediately Irene froze, eyes narrowing in disbelief her fists clenched in her laps, nails biting into her palms. “Move on, you say?” she questioned, voice sharp and rising
“What do you mean,” Daniel’s voice cut through the vast golden-lit foyer, low but sharp, “by in a stranger’s house?” Irene froze. He took one step forward, the expensive marble beneath his shoes echoing the sound like a warning bell. “That’s what you choose to call me?” Daniel continued, his gaze searing into her. “A stranger? In the presence of my sons?” The twins, who had been staring at the chandelier moments ago—still dazzled by the breathtaking interior—whipped their heads toward their mother. Ethan’s jaw tightened; Elias’ eyes widened a little. Irene inhaled slowly, forcing calm into her voice. “Not here, Mr. Blackwood… not here.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the boys. “This is not a conversation we have in front of them.” Daniel scoffed—quiet but dangerous. “No. I still insist.” He stepped closer, not touching her, but invading just enough space to make her breath hitch. “What did you mean by that word? Stranger. Enlighten me.” His voice echoed through the house—this
A week passed, but it didn’t feel like seven days to Irene. It felt like seven steps toward a cliff she wasn’t ready to fall from. The sun hung low that morning, soft and gold, when she found herself standing before a towering mansion inside the well-secured gated estate — a place so quiet, so polished, it felt like she had stepped into a world she had no business entering. Her fingers tightened around Ethan’s hand. Her other hand clutched Elias’s. The boys stood on either side of her, their small faces tilted upward, eyes wide as they stared at the massive building before them. Glass windows stretched across the front like a wall of judgment. The gate behind them had closed with a heavy metallic thunk, one that still echoed inside her chest. Ethan tugged lightly at her fingers. “Mom…” he whispered, voice small, “are we… lost?” Irene swallowed, her throat tight. “No, baby. We’re not lost.” Elias leaned forward, peeking ahead with a squint. “Then why is this place so big? Is i
Irene stood in front of the cafe, her palms pressed tightly against the strap of her bag. Her chest rose and fell as she forced herself to breathe in and out. The cool air did little to ease the heat of anxiety that churned inside her. “Oh my God,” she whispered to herself. “I just have to do this because there is no way I am going to allow anyone to take my sons from me.” Her jaw tightened as she thought of Daniel barging into her home with his threats. She already knew why Mr. Henry Blackwood had sent her the address. It was because of what his son had come to say and she was not ready to give up her children for anything. So she was going to make that clear to him. At least Henry Blackwood, she thought, should be more reasonable than his arrogant son. With that, she pushed the glass door open and stepped into the cafe. The warm scent of coffee beans mixed with fresh pastries surrounded her, but it did nothing to soften the tension in her chest. Her eyes swept the room un







