The water dripping from Maya Lin’s uniform was ice-cold, but the shock that paralyzed her blood was far worse.

While Maya sat in a stark holding cell at the precinct, the Vance estate was silent.

Arthur stood in the doorway of the second-floor nursery, watching his son sleep in his carved wooden crib. Leo’s tiny chest rose and fell evenly, but every now and then, the baby would let out a soft, whimpering sigh in his sleep.

Arthur reached down, gently touching the child’s soft cheek. His mind was a chaotic storm.

She tried to kill him, Arthur told himself again and again. Victoria saw her. Maya pushed him.

Yet, every time he closed his eyes, he didn't see a cold-blooded killer. He saw Maya—soaked to the bone, shivering violently, holding Leo tightly against her chest, crying out, "I saved him!"

He remembered the way Maya had looked at him when he shoved her. It wasn't the look of a caught criminal; it was the look of a person who had just been stabbed in the heart by someone she trusted.

A quiet knock at the door broke his thoughts.

Victoria stepped into the dim nursery, holding a silver tray with a cup of hot chamomile tea. She had changed into a soft cashmere sweater, looking every bit the grieving, supportive aunt.

"How is our little angel?" Victoria whispered softly, setting the tray on a side table.

"He's resting," Arthur said, his voice raspy. "The doctor said his lungs are clear. Thank God."

"Thank God indeed," Victoria murmured, wrapping her arms around Arthur’s elbow. "Arthur, you look exhausted. You need to sleep. I can stay in the nursery tonight and watch Leo."

Arthur looked at Victoria. A strange, quiet impulse made him hesitate.

For three months, Maya had slept on the daybed in the nursery, waking up every two hours to feed Leo. Victoria had never once offered to stay overnight. She had always complained that the baby's crying ruined her beauty sleep.

"No," Arthur said smoothly, pulling his arm back slightly. "I'll sleep on the armchair here tonight."

Victoria’s smile stiffened for a fraction of a second before recovering its sweet exterior. "Arthur, don't be silly. You have an international board meeting tomorrow morning regarding the shipping port acquisition. You need your rest. Clara would want me to take care of her son."

The mention of Clara’s name usually softened Arthur instantly. But tonight, it felt heavy. Artificial.

"I said no, Victoria," Arthur said, his tone turning firm. "I am staying with my son."

Victoria’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flash of irritation breaking through her sweet facade. "Fine. If you insist. But at least drink your tea. It will help you sleep."

She handed him the porcelain cup.

Arthur took it, looking down at the amber liquid. He held it to his lips, but just as he was about to take a sip, Leo stirred in his crib, letting out a sharp cry.

Arthur immediately set the cup down on the table, un-tasted, and bent over the crib to lift his son.

Victoria watched the full cup sitting on the table, her hands clenching into tight fists inside her sweater pockets. "I'll... I'll let you be," she snapped quietly, turning on her heel and marching out of the nursery.

Arthur picked up his son, holding him close. As he paced the floor, his eyes fell upon the nightstand beside Maya’s empty daybed.

Sitting there was a small leather-bound notebook.