At 12:04 a.m., Daniel Whitmore awoke to the deafening sound of a mirror breaking.

For a few brief seconds, he remained completely still, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. The family mansion in Beverly Hills, California boasted thirty-eight rooms, two marble staircases, and walls so incredibly thick that barely any noise could make it through. The estate, appraised at over $40 million, had been constructed by his father to represent the Whitmore Holdings empire.

Then, he heard a loud scream.

It definitely wasn't Vanessa, his fiancée.

Daniel rose from his bed, put on a silk robe, and pulled his door open. At the far end of the east corridor, under the flickering glow of a crystal chandelier, he spotted the shattered pieces of his grandmother's antique mirror spread across the hardwood floor.

Resting among the shards of glass was an unconscious woman.

Maria Collins, the estate housekeeper, was dressed in her blue uniform, heavily soaked in blood. She had a deep gash on her forehead, and both of her arms were littered with cuts.

Vanessa Hart, still wearing the gorgeous black dress she had worn to a charity gala that night, gripped Maria tightly by the wrists and was hauling her body away.

“What on earth are you doing?” Daniel questioned.

Vanessa glanced up. For a fleeting second, her eyes contained a chilling coldness he had never witnessed before. Then, the charming smile that had caused him to fall in love with her two years ago reappeared on her face.

“Don't worry, sweetheart. I've already handled everything.”

“Handled what exactly?”

“Maria was heavily intoxicated. She tried to attack me, lost her footing, and crashed right into the mirror. I was moving her to a spare room so we could prevent a media scandal.”

Daniel honestly didn't know much about Maria, despite the fact she had been working at the property for nearly three years. But he did know one concrete detail: she absolutely never drank alcohol. At staff holiday parties, she always turned down even a single sip of wine.

And nobody drags an unconscious woman to safety directly across broken glass.

Daniel crouched down next to her. Maria was struggling to breathe. When he placed a hand on her shoulder, she fluttered her eyes open and stared at him in sheer desperation.

“She knows about Noah,” she breathed out.

Vanessa's warm smile completely vanished.

“She’s completely delirious,” she stated instantly.

Maria attempted to whisper something else, but she faded into unconsciousness once more.

“Call an ambulance right now,” Daniel commanded.

“We can just call our private doctor. If an ambulance arrives here, the press might find out.”

“Call one. Right now!”

For the very first time since he had crossed paths with her, Vanessa actually looked terrified.

Daniel rode with Maria to an emergency room in West Hollywood. He stayed in the hospital waiting area, still dressed in his robe, trying to figure out who Noah was and why that specific name had totally altered his fiancée's demeanor.

At 2:30 a.m., a physician walked out to inform him that Maria had sustained a concussion, two broken fingers, and several severe gashes—but she was going to pull through.

When Daniel was finally permitted to visit her, he found her fully awake, her head heavily wrapped in white bandages.

“Mr. Whitmore, you really shouldn't be in here.”

“Of course I should be here. Maria, who exactly is Noah?”

She gently closed her eyes.

“My son. He is seven years old.”

That response filled Daniel with immense shame. Maria knew how he took his morning coffee, memorized his daily schedule, and never forgot a single important date in his family's history. And yet, he had been completely clueless that she had a child.

“Where is he right now?”

“Staying with my neighbor in East Los Angeles. But we need to get him out of there before Vanessa tracks him down.”

Daniel pulled his hospital chair closer to the bed.

“Tell me the entire truth.”

Maria paused for several long seconds before finally making her decision.

“Noah's father is Andrew.”

Daniel felt the floor completely drop out from beneath his feet.

Andrew was his younger brother. He had vanished six years ago during a sailing trip on the Pacific Coast. His boat had been discovered wrecked off the coast of Santa Barbara, but his body was never found.

That devastating tragedy had completely ruined their mother. She died just two years later, fully convinced that her youngest son had drowned.