Driven by an impulse she couldn’t entirely explain, Elise reacted on pure instinct the moment Robin’s muffled cries broke the silence of the room. Perhaps it was the primal pull of maternal instinct.

Without a second thought, she reached out and gently pressed her palm against the child’s trembling back, offering a steady, grounding weight.

"Robin, don’t be afraid," she murmured, her voice a soft, soothing friction in the quiet room. "No one is going to hurt you here."

"Dad!"

The little boy suddenly shrieked, his eyes flying open, glazed with terror. With a broken sob, he lunged forward, throwing his entire small frame straight into Elise’s arms.

"I’m scared..." he whimpered, his tiny fingers burying deep into her clothes as he clung to her like a lifeline. "Dad... Dad, save me... I’m scared... Please don’t hit me... Don’t hit me..."

The sheer force of his desperation caught Elise completely off guard. For a fleeting moment, she froze, her body stiffening under the unexpected weight of his panic.

Then, slowly, her raised hand settled on the crown of his head. Over and over, she stroked his soft hair, her rhythmic, deliberate movements carrying a quiet reassurance.

"It’s alright," she whispered into the dark. "You were only dreaming. Everything is fine now."

Gradually, anchored by her calm presence, the boy’s frantic breathing slowed, and he drifted back into the depths of exhaustion. Yet, even in sleep, his small arms remained wrapped fiercely around her waist. When Elise attempted to gently loosen his grip, a violent tremor ran through his body.

"Don’t hit me..." he mumbled into her side, his brow furrowing in unconscious misery.

It was a heartbreaking sight, enough to soften the hardest facade. Standing a few paces away, Mrs. Lander watched the scene unfold, her face etched with helpless concern.

"These past few days have all been like this," the older woman sighed heavily. "Every time he closes his eyes, the nightmares take over. He’s terrified to even go to kindergarten now."

Elise lowered her gaze to the sleeping child curled against her. She remained quiet, her expression thoughtful and unreadable. A moment later, she looked up, her sharp eyes fixing on the housekeeper.

"Does he always say things like this when he’s having nightmares?"

Mrs. Lander nodded vigorously. "He does. Whenever he wakes up crying, he keeps begging someone not to hit him."

She paused, a cloud of confusion settling over her features. "But when he’s fully awake and I ask him if anyone has ever hurt him, he shuts down and says no. He insists it’s just a dream about someone chasing him and trying to beat him."

Elise’s brows drew together into a tight line. "Have you mentioned this to Oliver?"

"I have." Mrs. Lander waved her hand in a gesture of utter defeat.

"Assistant Grant thinks the child is just feeling insecure after everything that’s happened." A bitter, weary smile touched her lips. "But he’s a grown man who’s never raised a child in his life. Talking to him doesn’t change anything. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have come here to trouble you, Madam."

Elise fell silent, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily in the room. Several tense seconds ticked by before she finally spoke, her voice dropping an octave.

"Children don’t develop recurring nightmares of this nature without a catalyst." Her eyes drifted back to Robin’s pale, sleeping face. "Given his psychological state, I think you need to inform Dylan."

Mrs. Lander’s posture instantly stiffened. "Madam..." A tremor of real fear entered her voice. "Do you think... do you think someone was abusing him?"

"I’m only speculating," Elise replied, her tone perfectly measured, masking whatever anger she felt. "But Robin is not a difficult or overly sensitive child."

She reached down, meticulously smoothing the edge of the blanket over his shoulders. "If the problem were simply the trauma of his parents suddenly vanishing from his daily routine, his subconscious wouldn’t be fixated on physical violence."

The color drained from Mrs. Lander’s face as the implication settled in. The more she parsed Elise’s words, the more chilling the reality became. Fumbling with urgency, she pulled out her phone.

"Then I’ll call Assistant Grant right away," she said, her movements rushed and frantic. "I don’t know the exact details of what’s happening with Mr. Bennett right now, but Assistant Grant is at the hospital every day."

Elise gave a single, curt nod.

Mrs. Lander quickly dialed the number, her voice hushed but strained as she relayed every troubling detail they had observed. On the other end of the line, a heavy, suffocating silence stretched out after she finished speaking.

Finally, Oliver’s voice filtered through the speaker, sounding entirely spent.

"I understand." He paused, exhaling a breath that sounded like a defeat. "But Mr. Bennett still hasn’t regained consciousness. As for Miss Foster, she’s barely functional herself at the moment."

Another agonizing pause followed. "Mrs. Lander... perhaps you could ask Madam if she might be willing to question Robin directly? See if she can draw anything out of him."

Mrs. Lander glanced toward Elise, her eyes pleading. "I suppose that’s our only option left."

Hanging up the phone, she turned to Elise with visible hesitation, but before she could utter a word, Elise cut her off, having already deduced the reality of the situation.

"Dylan can’t handle it, can he?"

Mrs. Lander shook her head dismally. "Assistant Grant says Mr. Bennett still hasn’t woken up."

At those words, the hand gently stroking Robin’s hair froze. A complex, turbulent emotion flared deep within Elise’s eyes before being swiftly suppressed.

Truthfully, she had suspected something was terribly wrong back at Mrs. Bennett’s funeral. Dylan had looked ghastly—far worse than someone merely hollowed out by grief. His injuries were clearly catastrophic, far exceeding what anyone had been willing to admit.

Without wasting another second, she pulled out her own phone and speed-dialed Aaron.

The call connected almost instantly. Bypassing any pretense of pleasantries, Elise demanded coldly, "What exactly is Dylan’s condition?"

A heavy silence stretched across the line, thick with reluctance. When Aaron finally spoke, his voice was a grim, low murmur. "He was stabbed in the abdomen."

Elise’s fingers tightened imperceptibly around the frame of her phone.

"On top of that, he’d been traveling nonstop without treating it. The wound became severely infected and progressed into full-blown sepsis."

Aaron’s tone grew heavier, weighted by the grim reality. "By the time he collapsed at the hospital after the funeral, he was already in septic shock. They managed to pull him back from the edge and save his life... but he still hasn’t regained consciousness."

A long, loaded pause followed. Elise’s grip tightened further, the pressure turning her knuckles stark white against the phone.

"Are you calling because you’re worried about him?" Aaron asked softly, testing the waters.

Elise’s expression remained an absolute mask of stone. Cold. Controlled. Entirely unreadable.

"I’m confirming his clinical status," she replied, her voice stripped of any warmth, cutting through the line like ice. "He can die if he wishes. But he should forget any delusion of abandoning Robin on my doorstep."

Her gaze dropped to the small child curled defensively against her side.

"I don’t owe him a thing," she added, her words falling with brutal, absolute finality. "In fact, I don’t owe a single soul in the Bennett family anything."

On the other end of the line, Aaron let out a long, weary sigh. Then, a trace of helpless, dark amusement colored his tone.

"If Dylan could hear you say that right now, he’d probably wake up from his coma out of sheer rage."