The private wing assigned to Marcus and Mason was an exercise in sterile luxury.

By midnight, the estate had settled into an uneasy silence. The medical team had stabilized Marcus and Mason, and for the first time in nearly a year, both boys were sleeping deeply and naturally, their skin returning to a healthy, natural tone as the toxins began to clear from their systems.

I stood on the second-floor balcony overlooking the rear courtyard, watching the moonlight reflect off the dark surface of the swimming pool. I had wrapped a wool shawl around my shoulders against the damp autumn chill.

A soft step sounded behind me. Nathan walked out onto the balcony, holding two mug of steaming tea. He handed one to me without a word.

"Chamomile," he said, leaning his forearms against the stone balustrade. "Gerald says it helps with sleep."

"Thank you," I murmured, taking a sip.

We stood in silence for several minutes, watching the wind rustle through the oak trees at the edge of the estate.

"They're going to live," Nathan said softly, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to show. "The doctors said if another two weeks had passed..." He trailed off, unable to voice the thought.

"They're strong boys," I said. "They just needed someone to look at the room, not just the bed."

Nathan turned his head to look at me. In the moonlight, the harsh lines of his face seemed softened, almost human. "You could have stayed quiet. You could have taken your salary, done your job, and let the doctors handle it. Why did you meddle?"

"Because children shouldn't pay for the sins of adults," I said simply. "And because I don't like arrogant men in expensive suits who think they know everything."

Nathan let out a quiet, genuine laugh—the first real sound of warmth I had heard from him since arriving at the mansion. "Ashford certainly qualified for that."

He fell silent again, his gaze drifting back out toward the gardens. "Victor and Ashford are being dealt with. They will never threaten my family again. But this estate... it’s compromised. There are too many memories, too many ghosts."

"You should move them," I suggested. "Somewhere with open air. Somewhere near the water. They need sunshine and dirt, not marble floors and security cameras."

"I have a house in Maine," Nathan said slowly. "On the coast. Secluded, quiet. No board meetings. No company politics." He paused, turning to face me fully. "I want you to come with us."

I looked down at my cup. "Mr. Coleman, my contract with the agency was for temporary respite care. Now that the medical crisis is resolved—"

"I don't care about the agency," Nathan interrupted, his voice firm yet quiet. "I don't care about your contract. My sons trusted you within ten minutes of meeting you. I trusted you with their lives, and you saved them. Name your price, Sarah. Anything you want. But stay."

I met his grey eyes. Beneath the power and the reputation, I saw a father who was terrified of being alone in a world that had almost swallowed his children whole.