Alle Kapitel von The Measure of a Touch:from the CEO's contractual wife : Kapitel 21 – Kapitel 30

“Miss Piper…The cook wanted to ask— what Mr. Anderson would prefer for dinner tonight?”Freida's head appeared around the doorframe, one brow raised in genuine curiosity.Piper looked up from where she sat curled into the corner of the long sofa, sketchpad balanced on her thighs, pencil smudges already darkening her fingers. “Hmm?” She blinked, then smiled faintly. “Oh. Uhm, lemon chicken, with truffle mashed potatoes. Yeah. He likes that.”“Good,” Freida nodded, already retreating. “Because he didn’t say a word when I asked, and when Mr. Anderson doesn’t say a word, you figure it out.”Piper let out a soft huff of a laugh and glanced back down at the page.Two boys stared back at her in graphite form.Toby, mid-laugh, missing one tooth at the corner.Leo, chubby-cheeked, arms lifted like he was demanding to be picked up, mouth open in what looked suspiciously like Pie-pie!.Her chest squeezed affectionately, just enough to remind her why the court hearing mattered so much.Two days.

“Mrs. Anderson? This is urgent,” the principal's voice crackled over the Anderson's home line the next morning.Piper's chest tightened at the tone. “Is there a problem Mrs. Hamilton?”“Yes—well—” the voice on the other end hesitated, clearing its throat. “I received a call this morning. If you don't mind, I'd like to see you before you pick up your children later today." Piper paused for a fraction of a second, her hand hovering over the coffee cup she hadn’t even realized she’d poured. "Alright. I will be there." She went to get ready.Piper arrived the children's school just after noon, when the parking lot was already stirring with movement. Parents clustered near the entrance in loose groups—some leaning into car windows, others squatting to hug small bodies wrapped in backpacks nearly their size. A security guard waved cars through with tired patience, his whistle dangling unused at his chest.Piper stepped out in flat sandals and a soft cotton dress, scanning the crowd. Befor

The moment they crossed the foyer, Toby broke loose.His shoes flew off mid-run, his blazer forgotten near the staircase as he tore across the living room, laughter spilling out of him like something uncorked.“We won!” he yelled, skidding to a stop, then spinning back around. From the kitchen, the cook stepped out, hands still dusted with flour. His face lit up instantly.“That's wonderful news.,” he said softly "Congratulations Mr. Anderson. Ms. Piper.""Thank You Adriano." Thomas replied. Piper did same.One of the young housekeeper clapped once before catching herself, grinning anyway. “This is great news! The boys can finally get some rest,” she spoke cheerfully, already turning back toward the corridor.Piper laughed at Toby's joy, breathless, overwhelmed, her heart still racing from the courtroom. She hadn’t cried there—not fully. She’d held it together. Held the boys together.But here, in the quiet safety of the Anderson home, the victory finally settled.She bent, setting

The morning after Piper left, the house woke without knowing how.Morning light crept in through the tall windows, pale and too clean, spilling across marble floors that had already been polished once before dawn.The cook moved quietly in the kitchen, opening cupboards he had opened for years, reaching automatically for things that suddenly felt misplaced.Paige stood in the doorway of the kitchen, barefoot.Not dressed for an audience. Not dressed at all, really—oversized cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up unevenly, hair pulled into a loose knot that had already begun to fall apart. She hadn’t planned to be here this early. She hadn’t planned to wake up in this house only to get busy with mummy duties. But she wanted to prove herself.That thought annoyed her more than it should have.“I’ll do it,” Paige said to the cook, reaching for the knife block.The cook paused, startled. “Ma’am—”“I said I’ll do it.” She smiled, sharp but pleasant. “You can go.”He hesitated. This wasn’t how mor

Six weeks after she left the Anderson's home, Piper learned the sound of Oakland mornings.Not the soft quiet of gated neighborhoods. This was messier. Realer. Delivery trucks coughing awake. Someone arguing into a phone two doors down. A radio somewhere that never quite landed on one station.She liked it.The studio door stuck when she opened it, same as yesterday. She had to shoulder it hard, muttering under her breath, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim.“Don’t start today,” she warned the door, as if it might listen.Inside, the space smelled like turpentine and old wood and ambition. Canvases leaned everywhere—against walls, stacked behind chairs, tucked into corners like secrets. Her big piece dominated the far wall, still unfinished, still breathing.A woman, seated sideways, laughing at something unseen. Hair loose. Spine relaxed. A hand lifted like she’d just waved someone off or dared them closer.Piper set her bag down and rolled up the sleeves of her hoodie. She