Claire complained about the babies crying at night. She referred to them as “extra responsibility” and “too much baggage for one man.” She snapped at staff, treated the nannies like disposable tools, and spoke about Rebecca in past tense too casually, as if erasing her made room for herself.
One afternoon, Daniel heard her scolding Evan for fussing, her voice sharp and impatient. Something inside him hardened. Love should not sound like that. Instinct screamed that something was wrong.
Suspicion, however, wasn’t proof. And Daniel needed proof.
So he planned a test.
He invited Claire to a candlelit dinner in the penthouse, just the two of them. Wine. Soft music. The illusion of intimacy. Then, in what might have been the strangest moment of his life, Daniel did something no millionaire ever imagines doing in his own home.
He hid under the dining table.
That same week, the longtime housekeeper had hired a temporary helper—a young woman from rural named Lily Harper. Her clothes were simple, her hands careful, her eyes observant.