“I told him I was just a housekeeper.”

Margaret stopped chopping and turned to face me, her posture as rigid as ever.

“You have never been just a housekeeper, Claire.”

She set her knife down with a soft click.

“I have watched girls come and go through this house for thirty years.”

“Most of them look at the floor when Julian walks into a room.”

“Some of them look at his wallet.”

She stepped closer, her sharp eyes scanning my face.

“You looked him in the eye from the first day you arrived, even when you were terrified.”

“That is what this house needs.”

“That is what he needs.”

I looked down at the polished concrete floor.

“He wants me to run the shipping transition.”

“Then you will run it,” Margaret said firmly.

“And what about Emma?” I asked. “I can’t leave her alone all day.”

Margaret’s expression softened, a rare and fleeting change that always surprised me.

“Do you honestly think I would let anyone else look after that child?”

She reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder, her grip surprisingly strong.