Three days after the truth came out, the mansion felt different.
Not tense.
Not hostile.
Just aware.
Like every wall was listening.
Noah noticed it first in the way the staff addressed him—more careful, more observant. Not out of fear. Out of curiosity. Word traveled fast in houses like this, even when no one said it out loud.
They knew.
Or at least they suspected.
He didn't correct them.
He didn't confirm anything either.
He was still the butler.
And he intended to stay that way.
Morning light filtered through the tall windows of the dining hall. Matthew sat at the head of the table with Amara perched on his lap, attempting to steal his spoon while Vinny tried to negotiate breakfast like it was a diplomatic treaty.
"No, that is not how porridge works," Vinny muttered, gently catching her wrist before she flung oatmeal onto Matthew's shirt.
Matthew's lips twitched faintly. "She has ambition."
"She has poor aim."
"She gets that from you."
Vinny shot him a look.
