"I forced open my locked bedroom door to save my twins—only to find our new maid sleeping in my late wife's bed."

For the first time in over a year, the grand kitchen on the ground floor smelled of warm vanilla, roasted chicken, and fresh butter instead of cold, catered health meals.

I sat on a wooden stool at the kitchen island, holding a mug of coffee that had gone cold an hour ago, my eyes never leaving Jordan and Justin. They sat at the breakfast nook wearing their soft fleece pajamas, happily swinging their legs as Annie served them bowls of warm apple cinnamon oats she had prepared from scratch.

They weren't crying. They weren't flinching at sudden noises.

Every few minutes, Justin would glance toward the doorway where I sat, and the moment his eyes met mine, I offered him a soft, reassuring nod. Each time, a small, tentative smile would touch his lips before he turned back to his food.

Annie wiped down the marble counters with a clean towel, her movements efficient, unhurried, and full of a quiet, soothing rhythm.

"Annie," I spoke gently, stepping down from the stool and walking over to the counter.

She turned, her cheeks flushing slightly as she adjusted her apron. "Yes, Mr. Morrison?"

"You're not a housekeeper anymore," I stated, my baritone firm, clear, and absolute.

Fear flickered through her eyes again. "Sir... if I stepped out of line today—"

"You didn't step out of line, Annie," I interrupted, reaching out my hand to gently touch the wooden counter beside her towel. "You saved my children. You gave them six days of peace while I was busy running away from my own grief. Starting tonight, your salary is quadrupled. You are the boys' primary guardian whenever I am not with them."

Annie blinked, her lips parting in quiet shock. "Mr. Morrison... I don't have a degree in child psychology. I don't have references from senators or diplomats."

"I don't care about degrees or references," I answered, looking straight into her warm hazel eyes. "The women with degrees let my sons starve for affection and locked them in cupboards. You held them until they felt safe enough to sleep. That's the only credential that matters in this house."

Jordan looked up from his bowl, his small mouth covered in cinnamon sugar. "Is Miss Annie going to stay, Daddy?"

I walked over to the breakfast nook, kneeling beside my sons, wrapping my broad hands over their tiny shoulders.

"Miss Annie is staying for as long as she wants, buddy," I promised softly. "And Daddy is going to be home every day at four o'clock. No more late meetings. No more business trips."