Adrian’s wife, Isabel, had died from complications shortly after Lucas’s birth. Her pale blue robe still hung over a chair in the master bedroom. Her perfume lingered near the dressing table.

No member of the staff dared move anything without Adrian’s permission, and Adrian could not bear to give it. The mansion functioned, but it did not live.

Breakfast trays arrived cold. Expensive produce spoiled in the pantry. Guards survived on coffee and packaged snacks. Staff moved through the corridors with tense shoulders, terrified that a misplaced document or a dropped glass would wake Adrian’s anger.

Theresa Marino, the sixty-year-old house manager, greeted Hannah at the door. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her dark eyes swept over Hannah’s inexpensive coat, worn boots, and flour-stained fingernails.

“You’ll be staying beside the nursery,” Theresa said. “Dr. Bennett’s staff will check the baby every four hours.”

“And Mr. Vale?”