"You didn't sleep," Daniel said.
I looked up from the mirror, my fingers paused at my earring. His voice came from behind me, calm, casual, as though it hadn't followed me through a night I could not escape.
"I did," I replied. "Just not well."
He nodded, accepting the answer without testing it. That was becoming his habit—taking what I offered and leaving the rest untouched.
The house was quiet in the way expensive homes often are. Not peaceful. Just carefully controlled. Every sound felt deliberate. Every silence felt intentional. Maria moved softly through the halls. Linia was already awake, seated at the breakfast counter, her back straight, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Good morning, sir," she said when Daniel entered.
"Morning," he replied.
He poured coffee, didn't sit. His phone buzzed once, then again. He checked it, frowned slightly, then slid it back into his pocket.
"I'll be late tonight," he said, already halfway gone.
"Of course," I said.
He paused at the door, turned back, and studied me. "Are you okay?"
The question felt misplaced. Too late. Too small.
"Yes," I said.
He left.
The door closed with a soft finality that echoed longer than it should have.
I sat across from Linia, watching steam curl from my tea. She didn't reach for her food until I lifted my cup. She noticed things like that. Patterns. Permission.
"Did you sleep well?" I asked.
"Yes, madam."
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the hallway Daniel had disappeared down, then returned to me. The movement was subtle. Almost nothing.
I folded the ultrasound image into thirds and slipped it into my bag.
After breakfast, I walked through the house without purpose, letting my feet decide where to go. The study. The sitting room. The hallway where framed photographs told a story that no longer felt complete. Daniel and I in Paris. Daniel and I at a conference. Daniel and I smiling for reasons that felt borrowed now.
In the study, the scent of leather and paper wrapped around me. Daniel's desk was neat, as always. Too neat. I opened the drawer he never locked. Inside were folders, contracts, and a thin envelope marked with a clinic logo.
My chest tightened.
I didn't open it.
Some truths demand courage I didn't yet have.
By afternoon, the quiet pressed in. The house felt larger when Daniel wasn't in it. Or maybe emptier. Linia moved from room to room, assisting Maria, learning the rhythm of a place that had once belonged only to me.
"Madam," Maria said gently, "would you like lunch?"
"Later."
She hesitated. "The young lady has been very helpful."
"I know," I said.
Linia stood near the doorway, pretending not to listen. Or maybe not pretending at all.
Later, I found her in the garden, trimming roses with careful hands.
"You don't have to do that," I said.
"I like it," she replied. "It keeps my mind busy."
I nodded. "How long did you live on the streets?"
She paused. Just long enough. "Long enough."
"And before that?"
She glanced up at me. "Does it matter?"
The question caught me off guard.
"Not in the way you think," I said.
She returned to the roses. "People only ask about the past when they want to decide what you deserve."
Her words lingered long after she excused herself.
That evening, Daniel didn't come home at all.
I waited. Watched the clock. Read the same paragraph three times without absorbing it. By midnight, I sent a message.
Me: Are you okay?
The reply came an hour later.
Daniel: Long night. Don't wait up.
I set the phone down and stared at the ceiling. The house breathed around me—soft sounds, controlled stillness. Somewhere down the hall, a door opened quietly. Footsteps moved. Stopped. Continued.
I rose from bed and followed the sound.
Daniel was in the kitchen, tie loosened, jacket slung over a chair. Linia stood across from him, holding a glass of water.
"You should drink," she said softly.
"I will," he replied. "Thank you."
I stayed in the shadows, my heart pounding.
"You work too much," she said.
He smiled faintly. "That's how things get built."
"And how things fall apart," she said before she could stop herself.
Daniel studied her, surprised. "You're wiser than you let on."
She looked down. "Life teaches quickly."
Silence stretched between them, thick and fragile.
"I should go," she said.
"Yes," he replied. "Good night, Linia."
She hesitated. "Good night, sir."
I stepped back before they could see me, my pulse racing. Back in bed, sleep refused to come. The quiet no longer felt neutral. It felt alert.
The next morning, the envelope was gone from the study drawer.
I stood frozen, the empty space staring back at me like a confession.
At breakfast, Linia avoided my eyes. Daniel didn't join us.
"Did Daniel leave early?" I asked Maria.
"Yes, madam. He received a call."
Of course he did.
I spent the day in meetings, my mind drifting despite my best efforts. Every smile felt practiced. Every conversation felt distant. By the time I returned home, the sun had already dipped low.
Linia was in the living room, sorting documents.
"What are those?" I asked.
"Mr. Morelli asked me to organize some files," she replied quickly.
My stomach tightened. "Since when does Daniel involve you in his work?"
Her cheeks flushed. "He said I'm careful."
Careful. The word echoed.
That night, I confronted Daniel.
"You moved something from the study," I said.
He didn't look up from his phone. "I reorganized."
"You didn't tell me."
"I didn't think I needed to."
I took a breath. "Why is Linia handling your documents?"
He finally looked at me. "She offered to help."
"With sensitive files?"
"You're reading too much into this."
"And the clinic envelope?"
His jaw tightened. "What envelope?"
The lie was smooth. Too smooth.
"I'm tired," he said, standing. "We'll talk later."
"Daniel—"
"Later, Isabella."
He walked past me, leaving the words hanging between us.
I stood there long after he disappeared upstairs, my hands clenched at my sides.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Quiet houses keep the loudest secrets.
I stared at the screen, my breath shallow.
Before I could respond, another message appeared.
Unknown Number: Check the guest room.
I turned slowly toward the hallway.
And for the first time, the billionaire's quiet home felt like it was watching me back.