He was a serious man. A respected widower. And here, in his immaculate mansion at three in the morning, a nanny was performing slapstick comedy in cleaning gloves.
He should have been outraged.
Instead, something inside his chest cracked.
Vanessa spun one last time—and saw him.
She yanked off the headphones. The music cut. Silence rushed back in.
“Mr. Bennett,” she whispered, lowering her gloved hands.
Adrian stepped forward, pulling his cold composure back into place.
“Would you like to explain what exactly this is?” he asked sharply. “Do you think I pay you to run a circus at three in the morning?”
Vanessa swallowed—but she didn’t shrink.
“I tried everything,” she said. “Milk. Stories. Rocking. They were crying in fear, not discomfort. Fear grows in silence. They needed something absurd—something louder than the dark. Laughter pushes fear out of the body.”
Her voice trembled slightly, but her eyes were steady.
“What you call a circus,” she added quietly, “I call peace.”
Her logic irritated him because it made sense.
“In this house,” Adrian replied coolly, “we value order. Not chaos. Let this be the last time I see kitchen gloves outside the kitchen.”