Camille’s face didn't shatter—not immediately. That was the most terrifying part of it. The masterclass in composure that had fooled a self-made billionaire for two years didn't fail her even now; it merely shifted gears. Her breath hitched for a microsecond, her left hand tightening its grip on the lapel of her silk robe before her expression smoothed out into a mask of wounded, fragile confusion.

The sun was fully up by 8:00 A.M., casting warm, golden shafts of light across the kitchen breakfast bar where Rosa was nervously wiping down the marble counter with a damp cloth.

Ethan walked in wearing a fresh charcoal-gray suit, his tie neatly knotted, his expression no longer cold and guarded, but thoughtful, almost softened by the events of the harrowing night.

Sitting on a high stool at the counter was little Sophia, wearing her purple cloud pajamas, happily swinging her legs back and forth while dipping a piece of toast into a cup of hot cocoa.

When she saw Ethan walk in, she stopped swinging her legs and looked up with wide, innocent eyes, suddenly remembering that adults had been very angry a few hours ago.

"Mr. Ethan?" she whispered timidly, lowering her toast. "Am I in trouble?"

Rosa quickly stepped forward, her face flushed with worry. "Mr. Whitmore, I am so sorry about last night again. If Sophia hadn't wandered out—"

Ethan held up a single hand, stopping Rosa mid-sentence. He walked over to the counter, pulled out the stool right next to Sophia’s, and sat down.

"Rosa," Ethan said softly, looking directly at the housekeeper. "You and Sophia have lived in the staff quarters for two years, and not once did either of you ever ask me for a penny outside your agreed wages."

Rosa blinked, confused. "Well... yes, sir. We earn what we work for."

Ethan turned his gaze to the little girl. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a small, shiny silver object—a custom-engraved brass key attached to a heavy velvet ribbon. It was the master key to the estate's private southern gardens, a place filled with exotic flowers, hidden fountains, and a small duck pond that Sophia had spent months staring at from behind the iron staff gates.

"Sophia," Ethan said, his voice gentle—a tone no one in the mansion had ever heard him use before. "You saved this house last night. You asked a question that nobody else was brave or smart enough to ask."

He placed the shiny brass key right beside her cup of cocoa.

"This is the key to the secret garden behind the east wing," Ethan told her, smiling faintly. "From now on, whenever you want to feed the ducks or pick flowers, you don't need anyone's permission. You just use your key."

Sophia’s eyes grew wide as saucers. She looked down at the shiny brass key, then up at Ethan, her small face breaking into a radiant, gap-toothed smile.