LOGINAlice had been unsettled all afternoon.Not fussy exactly—just off. Like something inside her couldn’t quite settle. She clung to my hand longer than usual, dragged her feet when I tried to guide her upstairs for her nap, kept glancing toward the hallway as if waiting for someone who hadn’t arrived yet.“Hey,” I murmured, crouching in front of her. “What’s going on in that busy little head?”She shrugged, lower lip wobbling.My heart tightened. I brushed her hair back gently. “It’s okay. I’m here.”Her arms wrapped around my neck instantly, small fingers gripping my sweater like she was afraid I might disappear if she let go.Behind us, I could feel eyes.I didn’t need to turn around to know who they belonged to.Ella sat on the sofa, posture composed, hands folded neatly in her lap. Willow stood near the window, phone in hand, gaze sharp and assessing. They’d been hovering all day—present but distant, polite but watchful.I ignored them.Alice mattered more.“Let’s sit down, okay?” I
The moment Sophie agreed, the air around the table changed.Not relief—focus.Willow didn’t smile. She never did when things went her way. She simply folded her hands atop the tablecloth, spine straight, gaze steady, like a general about to map out a battlefield.“Good,” she said. “Then we’re done circling each other.”Sophie leaned back, crossing her legs. “So what’s the plan?”I swallowed. The panic was still there, humming under my skin, but it had sharpened into something else now—urgency. “We can’t just accuse Lily,” I said quickly. “Ace won’t hear it. He’ll defend her.”Willow’s eyes flicked to me. “Correct.”Sophie scoffed. “Then what? We wait around while she plays house with his kid?”“No,” Willow said calmly. “We make Ace afraid.”The word settled heavily between us.Sophie’s brows lifted. “Afraid of what?”“Losing control,” Willow replied. “Of Alice. Of his authority as her father.”My pulse jumped. “You think that’ll work?”“I know it will,” Willow said. “Because it alread
“What do we do now?”The question tore out of me before I could stop it. Panic sat tight in my chest, sharp and relentless, like I’d swallowed something with edges.Willow didn’t flinch.She stood by the window of her bedroom, hands folded neatly in front of her, staring out at the manicured gardens as if I’d just asked her what she wanted for lunch.“Ella,” she said calmly, “you need to breathe.”I let out a shaky laugh. “Breathe? You just told me Lily is Alice’s mother. You stole her baby. Ace doesn’t know. Alice just called her Mama in front of everyone. And you’re telling me to breathe?”She turned slowly, fixing me with a look so sharp it sliced clean through my hysteria.“Yes,” she said. “Because panic is useless.”I pressed my hands into my hair, pacing the length of the room. “This is a disaster. If Ace finds out—”“He won’t,” Willow said firmly.“You don’t know that.”“I do,” she replied. “Because I won’t let it happen.”I stopped pacing. “And how exactly do you plan to do th
“There’s something I need to tell you,” Aunty Willow said, her tone deceptively calm. “Come with me.”Curiosity sparked immediately.I followed her without hesitation as she turned down the corridor leading to her private suite. This wasn’t an invitation she extended lightly. Willow Grant did nothing without intention, and the fact that she hadn’t continued speaking already told me this wasn’t a casual conversation.Inside her room, the air felt heavier. The curtains were half drawn, muting the morning light, and everything was pristine in that cold, deliberate way that always made me feel like I was stepping into a strategy room rather than a bedroom.She closed the door behind us.Then she locked it.The soft click echoed, sharp and final, and my curiosity tipped into unease.I turned to her. “What’s wrong?”She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she walked past me, smoothing the sleeve of her blouse as she went, and poured herself a glass of water. Her movements were unhurried. Co
I woke up smiling.Not the soft, sleepy kind. The sharp one that came with victory.The guest room ceiling stretched above me—high, white, trimmed with the kind of molding that cost more than most people’s rent—and for a moment I simply lay there, breathing it in. The quiet. The space. The knowledge that I was back where I belonged.The Grant mansion.I rolled onto my side, sheets whispering against my skin, and let my fingers trail over the silk pillowcase. Everything here felt intentional. Permanent. Like the house itself knew who was supposed to occupy it.And I was done being on the outside.I got out of bed and headed straight for the bathroom. The shower warmed quickly, steam fogging the glass as I stepped under the spray. I tilted my face up and closed my eyes, letting the water run over me while my thoughts sharpened.Ace would be downstairs soon.Willow would already be seated.And Lily would be there too.That thought didn’t anger me the way it used to. Not anymore. Anger wa
I closed the door behind me and let my shoulders sag—just enough to look exhausted, just enough to invite concern.Aunty Willow was already inside, removing her coat with deliberate care, every movement precise. She didn’t rush to me. She never did. That was fine. I knew how to bridge the distance.I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around her again, pressing my face into her shoulder like I’d been holding myself together by sheer will alone.“Oh, Aunty Willow,” I said, my voice catching perfectly. “I’m so relieved you’re here.”Her hand came up, resting between my shoulder blades. Firm. Reassuring. Exactly where I wanted it.“There, there,” she murmured. “Sit down. You look worn out.”I obeyed, lowering myself onto the edge of the bed, letting out a shaky breath as if I’d been carrying something heavy for far too long. She watched me closely, her expression unreadable, and I knew better than to rush. Willow Grant valued composure—but she valued vulnerability when it was offered c
Ethan stood in the doorway, arms folded, expression unreadable. I didn’t even need to ask what he wanted. His posture, the way his eyes darted briefly toward the floor before meeting mine, said everything: trouble.“Miss Lily,” he said carefully, “Sir has a message for you.”I crossed my arms, tilt
Alice’s bedtime routine begins at exactly eight o’clock.Not because she needs the structure—she would sleep whenever exhaustion finally claimed her—but because children thrive on consistency. Predictability. It fosters security. That’s what every expert says. And I do not rely on instinct when dat
We’d just gotten back from the grocery store and Margaret walked ahead of us into the building. Alice took her shoes off by the door without being asked.She lined them up neatly, toes facing outward, then looked over her shoulder at me as if waiting for confirmation. When I didn’t say anything, s
The footage played without sound.I preferred it that way.The camera angle was wide, fixed high above the park, designed to observe rather than participate. Children moved like scattered pieces on a board—erratic, unpredictable. Parents hovered at the edges, distracted, careless. And at the center







