“Sir, are you hiring a housekeeper? I can clean, cook, anything. Please… my little girl hasn’t eaten.”

Evelyn was not a woman who missed details. By the third week, subtle shifts in my routine began to draw her sharp attention.

I was sitting in my corner office on the top floor of Vance Tower when the oak doors swung open without a knock. My mother stepped inside, her designer coat draped over her shoulders, her eyes sweeping over my desk like a hawk scanning a field.

"You skipped the annual charity gala committee meeting this morning, Daniel," she said, taking a seat opposite me without being invited. "That isn't like you. You've always maintained our public appearances meticulously."

"I was reviewing the merger paperwork with the European syndicate," I answered calmly, keeping my posture relaxed. "I assumed expanding our international footprint was a higher priority than choosing floral arrangements."

She leaned forward, placing her manicured hands flat on the glass desk. "You've been distracted lately. Your personal security detail reported that you altered your route home three times last week."

"I was dodging paparazzi, Mother. You know how relentless they get near the anniversary of the... accident."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, searching my face for any ripple of emotion. For three years, mentioning Lena's death would send me into a silent, withdrawn state. Today, my tone was flat, calculated.

"Be careful, Daniel," she murmured softly, her voice carrying a veiled threat that chilled the room. "Grief can do strange things to a man's mind. It makes people careless. And careless people make mistakes that cannot be undone."