Matthew King appeared at the top of the stairs.
He was the owner of the house, a man whose name carried weight far beyond the walls of his estate, known in business circles for calm authority and ruthless precision. Today he wore no jacket, only a dark shirt with sleeves rolled back, yet the presence he carried made the entire space feel smaller.
His gaze moved across the hallway and settled on Talia.
“What is happening here,” he asked, his voice low and steady, yet powerful enough to silence even the most curious thoughts.
The supervisor hurried forward with explanations that tangled over each other, but Matthew did not look at her. His attention remained fixed on the woman trembling with a crying child in her arms.
He stepped closer. “She has been crying for a while,” he said, more observation than accusation. “Have you tried everything.”
Talia nodded, shame flooding her face. “I am sorry, sir. She never cries like this. I do not understand what is wrong.”
Matthew extended his arms without hesitation. “May I.”
For a moment, Talia thought she had misunderstood. Her heart raced. Her hands shook as she carefully transferred Ava into his grasp.