The display was simultaneously pitiful and profoundly endearing. Elise felt the final remnants of her emotional armor soften. Stifling a genuine smile, she stood up. "Wait here."

In the kitchen, the rhythmic sounds of chopping indicated that Melissa and Mrs. Lander were already deep into dinner preparations.

"Mrs. Lander," Elise called out as she crossed the threshold.

The nanny turned instantly, wiping her hands on her apron. "Madam? Is Robin awake?"

"He is," Elise replied, pausing by the counter. "He’s fine. I just came to remind you and Melissa to add a few extra dishes to the menu tonight." Her gaze drifted toward the doorway, her voice softening slightly. "Something a child would prefer. And make sure it’s gentle on the stomach."

Mrs. Lander’s eyes misted over with gratitude. "Of course, Madam. Right away."

A few minutes later, Elise returned to the living room carrying a bowl of pristine, freshly washed strawberries. The moment she set the dish on the lacquered coffee table, she caught Robin visibly swallowing. Once. Then twice. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

She nearly laughed aloud at the sheer transparency of his hunger. "Dinner will take a little while longer," she said, nudging the bowl toward his knees. "Have some fruit first."

The boy swallowed yet again, his eyes wide. "Thank you, Pretty Miss."

Elise leaned over, smoothing down a stray lock of his hair. "You’re very welcome. Eat up."

Yet, instead of plunging his hand into the bowl, Robin hesitated, holding his fingers out. "I haven’t washed my hands yet," he noted meticulously. Looking up at her with large, imploring eyes, he asked, "Pretty Miss, where may I use the washroom?"

Elise gestured toward the hallway. "The guest bathroom is just down that corridor, to the right."

"Thank you, Miss!"

The boy vaulted off the cushions and launched into a full sprint. Watching his retreating figure, Elise’s brow furrowed with maternal anxiety.

"Slow down," she called after him, her voice carrying a sharp note of concern. "Be careful of the corners."

The instant her warning reached his ears, Robin immediately checked his momentum, dropping his pace to a disciplined, quiet walk.

When he emerged a few minutes later, his hands damp and clean, he selected the largest strawberry from the pile. But instead of bringing it to his own lips, he extended his arm, holding the fruit out toward her like an offering.

Elise, who had been scrolling through her phone, blinked as the bright red strawberry entered her line of sight. She looked up, meeting his sparkling, hopeful gaze. His smile was entirely pure, untouched by the shadows of his dreams.

"Pretty Miss, you should have the first one," he insisted grandly.

Something inside Elise’s chest fractured under the sheer weight of his sweetness. She smiled gently, patting his head. "Thank you, Robin. But I’m not hungry right now. This plate is entirely for you."

Robin blinked, his expression shifting into something uncertain, almost anxious.

The longer Elise observed his behavioral patterns, the more a troubling realization settled in her mind. His politeness wasn’t just standard good manners—it was excessive. Hyper-vigilant even.

His obedience felt cautious, performed with the careful precision of a child who believed he had to constantly earn his right to occupy space, constantly working to appease an unpredictable authority to avoid triggering an outburst.

The suspicion in her mind deepened into a cold, hard knot, though her face remained an unreadable mask. "Go on," she urged softly, pushing the porcelain bowl closer. "Every single one of them is yours."

Only then did the tension bleed from the boy’s shoulders. His face illuminated with unadulterated joy. "Thank you!"

With his gratitude properly logged, he finally popped the fruit into his mouth. The strawberry was exceptionally sweet and burst with fresh juice. To a starving five-year-old, it was an absolute luxury.

After devouring three more in rapid succession, he narrowed his eyes, a small sigh of pure satisfaction escaping his lips.

Watching him, Elise felt a volatile cocktail of conflicting emotions churning within her.

At approximately eight o’clock that evening, Oliver arrived to retrieve Robin and Mrs. Lander. The little boy’s reluctance to depart was tangible; even as he held Mrs. Lander’s hand, he kept twisting around, his eyes anchored to Elise with every step toward the door.

Elise escorted the small party out to the elevator lobby. As the metal doors slid open, she offered a small, reassuring wave. "Go home and get some proper rest," she said, her voice carrying a rare, soft warmth. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

Robin nodded vigorously, a thin sheen of unshed tears shimmering in his eyes as Mrs. Lander gently guided him into the carriage. The elevator doors glided shut, severing the connection and obscuring the small, fragile figure from view.

The moment Elise stepped back inside her apartment, Zoey materialized from the corridor, her voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur.

"We managed to secure the former nanny’s original hometown address." Zoey arched a sleek eyebrow, her eyes glinting with intent. "Do you want me to deploy a team to dig around?"

Elise gave a single, icy nod. "Keep the operation entirely discreet."

"Understood."

That night, sleep became an impossibility. Elise lay stranded in the expanse of her bed, tossing and turning as the hours bled away.

Every single time her eyes closed, the same haunting audio loop replayed in her mind—Robin’s broken, terrified whimpers as he clung to her clothes: Please don’t hit me... Don’t hit me...

The memory scraped against her nerves, irritating her, confusing her.

Why was she harboring this level of profound anxiety for a child that wasn’t hers? Why could she not purge his pale face from her thoughts? Was it merely the volatile cocktail of pregnancy hormones? Had the abstract concept of motherhood rendered her defenses this catastrophically thin?

Mired in a swamp of restless, cyclical thoughts, she watched the first indigo hues of dawn slowly bleed across the morning sky.

Only when the pale light began to illuminate the corners of her ceiling did an iron shroud of exhaustion finally claim her, pulling her into a fragile, shallow slumber.

She could not have been asleep for more than an hour when the muffled, persistent chime of the front doorbell pierced through her dreams.

A moment later, a polite, hesitant knock sounded against her bedroom door. Elise pressed the palms of her hands against her throbbing temples, exhaling a ragged breath before propping herself up on her elbows.

"Come in."

The heavy mahogany door clicked open, and Melissa stepped into the room. The housekeeper’s expression was a tangled web of anxiety and reluctance.

"Miss Elise..." Melissa hesitated, her fingers twisting the fabric of her apron as she delivered the news. "He’s here again... Mr. Bennett is waiting downstairs."