“And then Miss Celeste told me if I told Daddy, she would take me far away and I’d never see Miss Hannah again.”

Three days after the arrests at the Moretti mansion, the city of Chicago was rocked by the biggest political scandal of the year.

The front pages of the Chicago Tribune and the Sun-Times were dominated by banner headlines detailing the collapse of the Vaughn Construction empire. Federal prosecutors released a seventy-page indictment charging Marcus Vaughn, Celeste Vaughn, and Detective Owen Price with dozens of felony counts, including grand larceny, bribery of public officials, and the brutal attempted murder of Vivian Moretti.

In hospital room 412 at Northwestern Memorial, the afternoon sun filtered through the high windows, casting warm light over the vase of fresh white roses sitting on the bedside table.

Vivian Moretti was sitting up in bed, supported by plush pillows. Her left arm was encased in a white cast, and a thick bandage covered her right hip, but her eyes were clear, sharp, and full of life.

Hannah sat in a chair beside the bed, carefully peeling an apple into thin slices for her.

The door opened, and Adrian stepped inside, carrying a small leather briefcase.

“How is my favorite sister feeling today?” Adrian asked, walking over to kiss Vivian’s temple.

“Better now that those monsters are behind bars,” Vivian said, her voice still slightly hoarse, but carrying its natural authority. She reached out with her uninjured right hand and squeezed Hannah’s wrist gently. “Hannah... Adrian told me everything that happened in the library that morning. How Celeste tried to frame you, and how you stayed silent to protect Noah.”

Hannah blushed slightly, setting the apple slices on a small plate. “I just did what anyone who loves Noah would do, Miss Moretti.”

“Call me Vivian, dear,” the older woman insisted warmly. “You saved my nephew from a terrible woman, and you saved my brother from making the biggest mistake of his life.”

Adrian sat on the edge of the bed, setting his briefcase on his lap.

“The federal prosecutor called me an hour ago, Viv,” Adrian reported. “Marcus Vaughn offered a full guilty plea in exchange for dropping the attempted murder charge against him. He’s taking forty years in federal prison.”

“And Celeste?” Vivian asked, her brow furrowing.

“Celeste is refusing to take a plea,” Adrian replied coldly. “Her lawyers tried to claim she suffered a nervous breakdown, but the judge rejected it after reviewing the audio recordings from the guesthouse. She’s going to trial. She’s facing twenty-five years without parole.”

Vivian released a long, deep breath of relief. “Good. Let her spend her best years reflecting on what her greed cost her.”

Vivian looked between Adrian and Hannah. She noticed the way Adrian’s eyes lingered on Hannah—not as a master looking at a servant, but as a man looking at a woman who held the key to his entire world.

“Hannah,” Vivian said softly. “Adrian tells me you haven't returned to your quarters in the staff wing since Tuesday.”

Hannah blinked, looking down at her hands. “Oh... well, Mr. Moretti moved me to the guest suite on the second floor while the police were processing the house. I was planning to clean my old room today—”

“You are never sleeping in the staff wing again, Hannah,” Adrian interrupted smoothly.

Hannah looked up at him in surprise. “Mr. Moretti?”

Adrian reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sleek folder, opening it to reveal a legal document stamped with a state seal.

“Effective today,” Adrian announced, “I have restructured the estate management board. You are no longer employed as a domestic maid, Hannah.”

Hannah’s heart gave a sudden, nervous flutter. “I’m... I’m fired?”

Adrian let out a soft, low laugh—a sound so rare and genuine that even Vivian smiled in delight.

“No, Hannah,” Adrian said, leaning closer to her. “You are the new Director of Domestic Operations and Head Guardian for Noah. You will oversee the entire household staff, manage the estate’s personal budget, and have complete authority over Noah’s care and education.”

He handed her the contract.

Hannah looked down at the salary listed on the bottom page—it was four times what she had earned as a maid, complete with health benefits, a private suite in the main house, and a formal seat on the family trust board.

“Mr. Moretti... this is too much,” Hannah stammered, her eyes filling with tears. “I can't accept this—”

“You can, and you will,” Vivian chimed in firmly. “Noah needs you, Hannah. Adrian needs you. And franky, this house needs a woman with a heart to run it.”

Hannah looked at Adrian. He was watching her with an intense, quiet devotion that made her heart race.

“Will you stay with us, Hannah?” Adrian asked softly. “Not as a servant. As part of this family?”