He simply placed a warm hand on my back and guided me inside the high-ceilinged foyer.

The scent of beeswax, woodsmoke, and lavender instantly wrapped around me.

“Your old rooms are ready,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “The nursery has been set up exactly as you requested.”

“Thank you, Dad,” I said.

“The security detail is posted at the perimeter,” he added, looking down at Maisie. “No one enters this property without my personal clearance.”

I carried Maisie up the wide oak staircase to the west wing.

The room was warm, a fire crackling in the small stone hearth.

I placed her gently into the antique wooden crib I had restored myself during my second trimester.

The smooth cherry wood felt cool under my fingers.

I sat down at the writing desk by the window and opened my laptop.

Clara had uploaded the rest of the financial files to our secure server.

I began to read, my eyes stinging from exhaustion.

The depth of Nolan’s betrayal was written in cold, hard spreadsheets.

Pierce Development was not just failing; it was actively cannibalizing itself.