Adele knew it for what it was.

It was not love arriving late.

It was calculation — the swift, cold recomputation of a woman who had just learned that the baby she’d called worthless was the son of one of the most powerful men in the region, and was therefore, suddenly, an asset.

“Adele, sweetheart,” Ingrid stammered, stepping closer.

“We can fix this.

We didn’t understand the whole situation—”