Sophie was humming as she tidied the nursery during Leo’s nap. The penthouse felt less like a mausoleum and more like a home.
Her phone buzzed. *Private Number.*
She answered, her stomach dropping. “Lady Beatrice.”
“I have been waiting for your weekly report, Ms. Laurent,” Beatrice’s voice crackled like dry leaves. “And yet, all I receive is silence. Have you found proof of his incompetence? Is he drinking? Is he neglecting the heir?”
“He… he is doing better,” Sophie stammered, gripping the phone. “He is working on the Conservatory. He loves Leo. There is nothing to report.”
“Do not mistake my generosity for patience,” Beatrice hissed. “I paid your father’s medical bills. I own your debt, and I own you. I hired you to find dirt, not to play house with my grandson.”
The threat hung heavy in the air. “Destroy him, Sophie. Find me the leverage I need to take custody. Or I will reveal your family’s debt to the world and ensure your father is evicted from his care facility by the end of the week.”
Sophie hung up, her hands shaking. She looked at Leo sleeping in his crib. She was protecting him from the paparazzi, but she was the one who had opened the door to the wolf.