That night, after Vincent yelled at me, I lay on my bed in the small guest room at Grandpa’s estate, staring blankly at the ceiling. The silence was heavy—too heavy. Every corner of the room seemed to echo his words, his voice, that sharp edge of disappointment that still lingered in my chest.

Thank God we hadn’t gone back to the main mansion yet. If we had, I wasn’t sure how I’d face him. The awkwardness between us now felt unbearable—like walking on glass, every breath a reminder of what had broken.

I turned on my side, staring at the dim light spilling through the curtains. My hand instinctively rested on my stomach, the faint curve that held my secret comfort.

“Babies,” I whispered softly, almost smiling through my exhaustion, “what do you think I should do? Your father probably hates me now.”

A small sigh escaped my lips. “Gosh, I’m pathetic,” I murmured, pressing my face into the pillow. “Always this weak, always breaking apart when I should be strong.”

Still, deep down, I wanted to fix things. No matter how cold Vincent was, I wanted to believe we could start again—somehow, even if it was just as two people learning how to breathe in the same space without hurting each other.

“I’ll make him forgive me,” I whispered, eyes heavy. “Maybe things will get better… maybe.”

And with those hopeful, foolish thoughts, I finally succumbed to sleep.

---

The soft rays of dawn filtered through the curtains when I woke. My eyes fluttered open, puffy from the night’s tears, but I was determined. Today would be different. I would try again.

I quickly washed up, brushed my hair, and tied it back into a loose ponytail. The morning air was crisp, the faint scent of flowers from the new garden wafting through the open window.

“Thank God Lilian isn’t here,” I muttered under my breath, pulling my sleeves up. “At least I can have one peaceful morning without her drama.”

The thought gave me enough courage to step into the kitchen.

The maids immediately began bustling when they saw me. “Madam, please, we can handle breakfast—”

“It’s fine,” I interrupted with a small smile. “I just want to cook something myself today.”

They exchanged confused glances, but I gently ushered them out, insisting they rest for a while. The chef tried to argue, but I gave him my best polite-but-firm look until he sighed and relented.

When they were gone, I finally felt… free.

Rolling up my sleeves, I began chopping vegetables, humming softly to myself. The kitchen smelled warm—eggs frying, butter melting, coffee brewing. For the first time in a while, I felt useful. I felt like *me*.

As I stirred the soup, I imagined Vincent’s reaction. Maybe he’d be surprised. Maybe he’d even thank me. Or maybe, just maybe, he’d finally look at me the way he used to—before everything fell apart.

I smiled faintly at the thought, but the sound of footsteps behind me made my hand freeze mid-stir.

The quiet rhythm was familiar—steady, firm, commanding.

I turned slightly, and there he was.

Vincent.

He looked fresh and composed, dressed in a tailored black suit. His expression, however, was unreadable. Cold. Distant.

He didn’t even glance at me as he walked past, opening the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water, then heading toward the door as if I were invisible.

My heart squeezed painfully.

Are we back to square one?

I forced a small smile, pretending not to feel the sting. “Good morning, Vincent,” I greeted softly, hoping my voice didn’t tremble.

He stopped for a second but didn’t turn around. “What are you doing here?” His tone was clipped, impersonal.

“I—I’m preparing breakfast,” I stuttered, fumbling for words.

He turned then, his gaze sharp. “Breakfast?” he repeated, almost incredulous. “You’re supposed to start work today. And instead of preparing for that, you decided to play housemaid?”

His words sliced through me like a blade.

The spoon slipped from my hand and clattered loudly against the tiled floor. I bent down quickly, blinking back tears that threatened to spill.

“I just wanted to do something nice,” I said quietly, my voice small.

“Then learn to prioritize,” he said coolly, setting the bottle down. “You’re not here to impress anyone. You’re an employee now, remember? Behave like one.”

My chest tightened painfully. He didn’t even give me a second glance as he walked away.

“Don’t be late for work,” he added as he reached the door. “And try to act like a well-trained employee while you’re there.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

For a long moment, I stood there frozen, staring at the door. The scent of burnt butter filled the air, and only then did I realize the eggs had overcooked.

I turned off the stove and sank into a chair, covering my face with my hands.

“Why can’t things just be simple?” I muttered under my breath. “Why does everything between us have to hurt so much?”

The silence didn’t answer, but the faint kicking in my belly reminded me that I wasn’t completely alone.

“I’ll still bring you breakfast,” I whispered softly, glancing at the tray I’d been preparing. “Even if you don’t want it.”

By the time I finished, the food was neatly packed into a lunch box, carefully sealed. I stared at it for a moment, a small flicker of determination returning to my chest.

“Maybe he’ll eat it later,” I murmured. “Maybe…”

I picked up my bag, straightened my clothes, and took one last look around the quiet kitchen before stepping out into the morning sunlight.

No matter how cold Vincent had become, I wasn’t ready to give up on us just yet.

Not today.

Not ever.