Chapter 1

A week into my probation, I had pretty much gotten a feel for how things worked in Vivienne Witt's house.

I was up at 6:30 AM to make breakfast. It was my job to wake Blair at 7:00 AM, drop her off at kindergarten by 7:40 AM, and pick her up at 4:00 PM.

Vivienne's schedule was all over the place. Sometimes, she would work late into the night, so I would set aside her portion and leave a sticky note.

"Two minutes on high in the microwave."

Blair and I became close in no time.

By day three, Blair climbed on my back for piggyback rides. On the fifth day, she dragged me over to look at her recent drawing of a stick figure with the body of a potato.

A week later, she tugged my shirt before we headed out.

"Troy, you're way better than the other guys before."

That afternoon, a white Porsche was parked on the driveway of the estate when we were back from a school run.

Blair took cover behind me.

"The freeloading one is back. He always brings me chocolate, so he has an excuse to ask Mommy for money."

Opening the door to step inside, we found a man in a floral-patterned shirt sitting on the living room couch.

His hair was styled as if he was fresh out of an indie music venue.

On the coffee table lay a box of chocolates, still in its wrapper.

I had done my homework on him. He was a washed-up idol in a boy band, an Aquarius, whose studio was two to three million yuan in debt.

Remy Talbot looked me up and down, taking in my ten-dollar Goodwill T-shirt.

"It looks like Vivienne is lowering the bar these days."

Remy glanced at Blair. "I brought you some chocolate, Blair."

"I'm not into that anymore."

"Then what's your favorite thing to eat?"

Blair's eyes darted around cheekily.

"I love Troy's chicken pot pie."

I added. "Are you staying for dinner, Mr. Talbot? There's plenty to go around."

Vivienne was home before dinner.

It was Remy's cue to put on a show. He took her down memory lane, talking about the good old days, sighing over his agency's recent dry spell, and subtly hinting that an investment would be welcome.

Vivienne set her cutlery down and turned to me.

"What's your opinion on this, Troy?"

I put my cutlery down.

"You're always welcome to see Blair, Mr. Talbot. If you're here to talk business with Vivienne, please do so when I'm not around. My contract doesn't include keeping my employer safe from gaslighting."

Remy grimaced hard.

"Are you saying that I'm gaslighting her?"

"Typical air sign. Always changing your mind and making empty promises. I'm a Capricorn. I'm terrible with words, but I call it like it is."

Blair cut in.

"You promised to take me to the amusement park eight times, but I haven't been there once. Troy promised craft time after school, and he kept his word."

Remy was stunned, and Vivienne curled her lips.

That evening, Remy walked away empty-handed. He shot a glare at me. "Just you wait." I smiled. "Take the chocolate with you. Blair's losing her baby teeth."

Once the door clicked shut, Vivienne's chuckles echoed from behind me. She looked at me, long and hard, before heading upstairs.

After I cleared the table and retreated to my room, a call from St. Mary's Medical Center's inpatient wing came through.

"Mr. Bard, your mother, Cassandra Bard, ran a fever of 100.4 degrees this afternoon. One more thing. The overdue hospital fees need to be settled by the end of the month."

"Got it."

I sat on the edge of the bed after the call ended.

Tucked beneath the bedside table was a sheet of paper I'd copied from the internet, outlining the process of finding a compatible kidney donor.

I folded the paper and slipped it at the very bottom of the drawer.

…

Saturday marked the fifteenth day of my probation.

While Blair was digging for "fossils" in the sandbox, I crouched down and sifted through the sand.

Lounging on the veranda, Vivienne stared at her phone without looking up.

"Is your mother at the hospital for a kidney issue?"

My hands froze. Not once had I mentioned this to anyone.

"Yes. Chronic renal failure. She's waiting for a donor match."

"How long has she been waiting?"

"Over a year."

Vivienne said nothing else.

When evening rolled around, Vivienne handed me a file.

The folder contained handwritten notes on kidney specialists at three major hospitals, along with instructions for checking donor matches through transplant centers in other states.

"Don't read too much into it." She set the folder on the table.

"If you leave, it'll take me a while to find someone who can care for Blair as well as you."