Chapter 3 - The Broken Rule
The next morning, the mansion was shrouded in thick fog rolling in from Lake Michigan.
Claire woke up in a massive guest suite on the third floor. The bed was softer than anything she had ever slept on, but she had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard her father's cold pen scratching the paper, her mother's harsh voice saying, “You should have been useful,” and the terrifying sight of Victor Dane’s grin.
She showered, washed the dried blood from her lip, and dressed in a simple grey sweater and black trousers that Arthur had thoughtfully provided for her.
When she walked down to the kitchen on the first floor, she found a battleground.
The kitchen was huge, modern, with marble countertops and commercial-grade appliances. Standing near the island was Mrs. Gable—the senior housekeeper—looking overwhelmed as Leo threw a bowl of cereal against the wall, milk splashing everywhere.
"I don't want oatmeal!" Leo screamed. "Mom used to make blueberry pancakes on Saturdays!"
"Master Leo, your father set strict dietary rules!" Mrs. Gable pleaded, holding a towel.
In the corner, little Lily was sitting on a high stool, crying quietly because her teddy bear’s arm had ripped off during the chaos. Julian was ignoring everyone, aggressively spreading peanut butter on a burnt piece of toast. Maya was nowhere to be seen.
Claire stepped into the kitchen quietly. "Mrs. Gable, it's alright. Let me handle this."
Mrs. Gable looked relieved but doubtful. "Miss Whitmore, Mr. Cade said you were to rest—"
"Please," Claire said gently.
Mrs. Gable nodded, handed her a towel, and backed out of the kitchen.
Claire walked over to the mess on the floor, picked up the shattered plastic bowl, and wiped the spilled milk with the towel. She didn't yell. She didn't look angry.
Leo watched her with suspicious, narrowed eyes. "You can't punish me. You're not my boss."
Claire threw the dirty paper towel in the trash and looked at him. "I'm not going to punish you, Leo. But throwing cereal at walls is a waste of good food."
She walked over to the pantry, opened it, and pulled out a box of flour, sugar, baking powder, eggs, fresh blueberries, and butter.
"What are you doing?" Leo asked, crossing his arms defensively.
"Making blueberry pancakes," Claire said simply, tying an apron around her waist.
Julian stopped spreading peanut butter, looking up in surprise. "Dad said no sugar in the morning."
"Your dad isn't in the kitchen right now," Claire said, winking slightly at Julian. "And rules are meant to be negotiated."
For the first time, a small crack appeared in Julian’s defensive shell. He looked at his brother.
Claire turned on the stove, pulled out a large copper skillet, and began mixing the ingredients in a large glass bowl. She had learned to cook from her grandmother before her parents fired the old woman for being "too lower-class." Cooking was the only thing that had ever brought Claire peace.
The sweet, rich scent of sizzling butter and fresh batter soon filled the cold kitchen.
Little Lily sniffed the air, her tear-stained face lifting from her torn teddy bear.
Claire flipped a golden-brown pancake onto a plate, loaded it with fresh blueberries, and walked over to Lily’s stool. She placed the plate in front of the little girl, along with a glass of cold milk.
Lily looked at the pancakes, then up at Claire with wide, innocent blue eyes. "Blueberries?"
"Fresh ones," Claire said gently. She noticed the torn teddy bear on the counter. "May I see him?"
Lily hesitated, then slowly pushed the brown plush bear toward Claire. "His name is Barnaby. His arm broke."
Claire pulled a small sewing kit from her pocket—something she always carried with her. She sat on the stool beside Lily, selected a brown thread, and began carefully, deftly stitching the bear's arm back onto its shoulder. Her hands were precise, gentle, and practiced.
Leo and Julian watched in absolute silence.
Within three minutes, the bear's arm was fully repaired, reinforced with double stitches. Claire tied off the thread, cut it, and handed Barnaby back to Lily.
"All better," Claire whispered. "He's strong now."
Lily took the bear, hugged it tightly against her chest, and then did something that caused the air in the kitchen to freeze.
She reached out her small, syrup-sticky hand and patted Claire’s cheek.
"Thank you, Claire," Lily whispered.
Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, Roman Cade watched the scene in complete silence. He was dressed in a dark grey suit, his coat over his arm, ready for a day of meetings in the city.
He had expected drama. He had expected screaming. He had expected to find Claire crying in her room.
Instead, he found his four-year-old daughter—who hadn't let anyone touch her stuffed bear since Julianna died—smiling at the woman he had bought for five million dollars.
Claire looked up and met Roman’s dark, intense gaze.
For a long moment, neither of them said a word.
May you like
"Pancakes?" Claire offered softly, raising a spatula.
A faint, almost invisible twitch appeared at the corner of Roman’s stern mouth. "Black coffee," he replied. "And two pancakes, if there are any left."
