was thick, suffocating. Ashlie sat rigidly in the back seat, Keenen a warm, unsettling we

. He was studying her like a bug under

rms. "I'm hungry," he m

hing about kids, let alone this kid. She loo

ank. He didn't move, didn't spea

clutch, her fingers clumsy. She dug past her phone and wallet,

oy. "Do you... do y

head, his lower

frustration. She was

fluent French. It wasn't a casual chat; it was a barrage of business terms, sharp commands, and clipped tones. He was c

like another wall, a reminder of the vast, unbridgeable gap between

focus was absolute, his gaze directed out the fron

ow quietly tracing the patterns on h

pered, leaning close so only

he whisp

up at her, his big eyes uncertain. An innocent comment slippe

froze

kly at Ellsworth, who was still deep in his call,

she repeated, her v

said, nodding.

hell. She was the... aunt? The knot in her stomach loosened just a fraction. It was still a forced marriage,

she asked, the words tastin

med. He shook his head slowly. "I don't know.

his child had a story,

nto Marshall f

through the hum of the French conversation.

her mind was spinning. If this was just about revenge, why involve the boy?

curb in front of a brick building

around. "Your first task is to take care of him for the r

door. The noise and smell of the city rushed in, a

he car pulled away the second her feet hit

barely knew, staring up at the sanctuary of her studio. It felt

s a nanny f