When the clock struck midnight, Ethan Whitmore pushed through the doors of his mansion. He’d been dragging the weight of endless meetings, multimillion-dollar contracts, and the impeccable image of the man everyone admired. But something was different that night.
The usual silence of the house was gone. In its place… a soft murmur, a steady breathing, and the gentle rhythm of two tiny hearts.
He followed the sound with a frown, the slow footsteps on the marble. And then he stopped.
In the middle of the living room, under the golden light of a lamp, she saw the cleaning woman. She was fast asleep on the carpet, her turquoise uniform wrinkled and her hair loose. Beside her, two twin babies were resting peacefully. One had a tiny hand clinging to the woman’s finger; the other, resting on her chest, was breathing calmly, as if the beating of her heart were its lullaby.
A jolt of surprise ripped through him.
“What the hell was she doing here? With my children?” he muttered under his breath.
Thoughts immediately flooded him: Fire her. Call security. Demand an explanation.
But something stopped him.
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