"About Mr. Bennett..."

"I don’t want to hear anything about Dylan."

Elise cut Oliver off without the slightest hesitation. Her tone was entirely calm, flat even, but it carried an icy finality that left absolutely no room for negotiation.

She didn’t look at him, her attention already drifting elsewhere. "Unless there’s something else, you can leave now."

Every word Oliver had meticulously prepared on his drive over lodged squarely in his throat. For a long, heavy moment, he simply stood there, his mouth slightly open, utterly unable to speak. The rehearsed pleas and explanations suddenly felt useless.

By then, Elise had already turned her back on him, dismissing his presence entirely.

"Melissa," she called out, her voice echoing slightly as she walked back toward the warmth of the house. "Please see Assistant Grant out."

"Of course, Miss!"

The matter was settled. Oliver remained rooted to the gravel path for several agonizing seconds, staring at the closed door, before finally turning around and leaving with a heavy, defeated sigh.

Inside the living room, a suffocating awkwardness hung in the air. Mrs. Lander stood stiffly beside young Robin. Both of them looked entirely out of place, shifting their weight like uninvited guests who were deeply uncertain of their welcome.

Elise walked over, her movements slow. "Mrs. Lander, I’m going upstairs for a nap." She paused, her gaze dropping briefly to the child, who was still clutching Mrs. Lander’s skirt. "You stay inside with him."

Mrs. Lander immediately nodded, her shoulders dropping in relief. "Of course, Madam. Please go get some rest. I’ll make sure Robin keeps his voice down so he doesn’t disturb you."

Elise climbed the stairs, the exhaustion weighing heavily on her limbs. She had already reached her bedroom door and rested her hand against the cool brass doorknob when she suddenly paused.

After a brief, conflicting silence, she turned back toward the banister. Her expression remained neutral, masking the sudden tug at her heart.

"You can take him outside," she called down softly.

Mrs. Lander widened her eyes.

"There’s a swing in the garden," Elise added.

For a second, utter surprise flickered across Mrs. Lander’s weathered face. Then, her eyes brightened noticeably, and the tight knot of tension that had been gripping her chest finally loosened.

She knew it. No matter how cold Elise appeared on the surface, or how fiercely she guarded herself, her heart had never quite learned how to stay hard.

Downstairs, Robin had completely stopped crying. Holding tightly to Mrs. Lander’s hand, his small shoes clicking against the floorboards, he obediently followed her out toward the glass doors leading to the garden.

Elise watched their retreating figures disappear into the sunlight before entering her room and closing the door behind her. A heavy silence settled over the bedroom. Yet, faintly, through the partially opened window, the child’s small, high voice came drifting in on the breeze.

"Pretty Miss’ house is so beautiful." There was a brief pause, followed by the squeak of the swing chains. "I like it here." Another pause, quieter this time. "And I like Pretty Miss too."

Elise closed her eyes against the sunlight filtering through the curtains. A tired, ragged sigh escaped her lips as she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, trying to dull the ache building there.

The truth was, she could have refused. She could have shut the front door, drawn the blinds, and left the chaos of the Bennett family completely behind her.

Yet the exact moment she saw the tracks of tears on his face, her hard-won resolve had fractured. Perhaps it was because she was pregnant herself. Perhaps the shifting hormones and the quiet reality of motherhood had made her softer in ways she couldn’t fully control or understand.

After a moment, she shook her head, forcing the thoughts away. There was no point dwelling on it now. In just a few days, her flights were booked, and she would be gone. Soon, none of this would matter anymore.

An hour later, Elise woke from a restless, dreamless sleep. When she checked the bedside clock, it was already three-thirty in the afternoon.

After washing her face with cold water to clear the lingering grogginess, she headed downstairs.

The house was unusually quiet, the bright afternoon sun casting long shadows across the floorboards.

The first thing she noticed upon entering the living room was Robin asleep on the sofa. The little boy had curled himself into a tight, vulnerable bundle beneath a plush knitted blanket, a decorative throw pillow clutched fiercely against his small chest like a shield.

Mrs. Lander emerged from the kitchen just then, carrying a plate of freshly cut fruit. When she spotted Elise on the stairs, a warm smile touched her face.

"Madam, you’re awake." She set the porcelain plate down on the coffee table and handed Elise a chilled piece of melon. "I just prepared this. Have a little to wake yourself up."

"Thank you." Elise accepted the fruit, but her gaze immediately drifted back toward the sleeping child. "How long has he been out?"

"About half an hour," Mrs. Lander sighed, her smile fading into a look of deep worry. "To be honest, the poor thing hasn’t slept properly for the past three days."

Concern made her voice thick. "Susan resigned so suddenly and returned to her hometown. The young master refuses to stay at Orchard Residence by himself, and I... I don’t really know how to take care of children his age."

She shook her head helplessly. "It’s been incredibly difficult."

Elise frowned slightly, setting the melon down. "Wasn’t there always a live-in nanny at Orchard Residence specifically for him?"

"There was," Mrs. Lander nodded, wringing her hands. "But she packed her bags and resigned a few days ago too."

Her expression turned deeply puzzled, a hint of suspicion lingering in her eyes. "I don’t know the exact reason why everyone left at once." After a heavy pause, she continued softly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I think he’s just frightened, Miss Elise."

Her gaze drifted back toward the sofa. "All the adults he knew and trusted disappeared almost overnight. He doesn’t feel secure anymore."

Mrs. Lander stepped a bit closer to Elise, lowering her voice even further. "He wakes up screaming and crying almost every night. Looking at him... it’s just heartbreaking."

Elise remained silent, the weight of the words pressing down on her. Slowly, almost magnetically, she walked over and sat down on the edge of the low armchair beside the sofa.

Robin was sleeping deeply now, exhausted by his own fears. But even in sleep, his tiny brows remained tightly furrowed, forming a sharp crease between his eyes. The physical resemblance to Dylan was striking—almost unnerving—especially when he frowned like that.

After learning the murky truth about his parentage, Elise had asked Zoey to quietly investigate the records. The results had been entirely conclusive, leaving no room for doubt.

Robin was indeed the biological son of George Bennett and Fleur Bonnaire. The overseas hospital archives still held the undeniable paperwork documenting Fleur Bonnaire’s pregnancy and delivery.

Whatever toxic grievances and sins existed among the adults, Elise knew this child was entirely innocent. And, perhaps, he was more lonely than anyone in that fractured family realized.

Elise studied his soft, flushed face quietly, a rare stir of pity warming her chest. But then, without warning—

"No..."

The child whimpered out loud. His small body tensed violently beneath the blanket, his limbs rigid.

"Don’t hit me... please..." His tiny hands flew up in a frantic, defensive motion, covering his head as if shielding himself from an impending blow. Terror twisted his delicate features into a mask of pure panic.

"I was wrong!" his voice cracked, shrill and breathless with fear. "I’ll be good... I’ll listen..."

Large, hot tears began sliding rapidly from beneath his tightly closed eyelids, soaking into the pillow. "Please don’t hit me!"

The sharp, desperate cry that followed tore through the quiet living room—raw, frantic, and entirely heartbreaking. It was the sound of a child trapped inside a nightmare of a reality he had already lived, running from a terror he could not escape even in his sleep.