Grease was the first thing I remember about that night. Not rain. Not headlights. Not the old man’s trembling hands wrapped around a black leather loafer

The morning sun broke over Lake Michigan, casting long golden light across the estate.

When I walked down to the dining room, I found Arthur sitting at a long table, eating pancakes. When he saw me, his face lit up with a brilliant, youthful smile.

"Chloe!" he chirped, waving his fork. "Look, Julian made the little round ones!"

Julian was sitting at the head of the table, dressed in a sharp navy suit, reading a tablet. He looked up as I entered, gesturing to the seat beside his father.

"Good morning, Miss Wells," Julian said formally. "Eat. Then we talk."

I sat down, still bewildered by the strange domesticity of the scene. Arthur spent the next twenty minutes chattering happily, telling me stories about his youth in Italy, occasionally forgetting a word, but completely calm. Whenever he grew slightly confused, I gently redirected his attention to his food or his tea.

Julian watched us in total silence, his sharp gray eyes tracking every gesture I made.

When Arthur was escorted to the garden by a nurse, Julian motioned for his lawyer—a slick man in a grey pinstripe suit—to step forward and place a thick document on the table in front of me.

"What is this?" I asked, eyeing the paper suspiciously.

"A employment agreement," Julian said smoothly, setting his coffee cup down. "Position: Personal Companion and Specialist Caregiver for Arthur Rossi."

I blinked. "I'm a waitress, Mr. Rossi. Not a certified nurse."

"I have four certified medical nurses on staff," Julian countered. "They can administer medication and check his vitals. But Arthur hates them. He locks himself in his room, throws things, and wanders off because they treat him like a patient. He trusts you."

"I have a life, Julian," I said, using his first name for the first time. "I have a job. I have art classes."

"Your manager at The Greasy Spoon fired you an hour ago for missing your morning prep shift," Julian said calmly, taking a sip of his espresso. "Your landlord was visited by my legal team; your lease has been terminated, and your belongings have already been safely moved into the guest cottage on this estate."

My jaw dropped in absolute shock. Anger flared hot in my chest. "You did what? You destroyed my life in four hours!"

"I upgraded your life," Julian corrected, his voice dropping into that commanding tone that brooked no rebellion. "You will be paid ten thousand dollars a month. You will have full access to the estate's studio space. Your art tuition will be paid in full by the Rossi Foundation. In exchange, you spend six hours a day with my father, keeping him safe and calm."

I stood up, slamming my hands on the table. "You think you can just buy people, manipulate their lives, and force them into your little world?"

Julian stood up too, towering over me across the mahogany table. The authority radiating off him was stifling.

"I don't buy people, Chloe," he said softly, leaning down toward my face. "I protect what is mine. My father is my world. You are the only person who has made him smile in two years. Name your price, or refuse me... but you aren't going back to that diner."

I stared into his intense gray eyes, realizing with a sudden shock that behind his ruthless control was a desperate man trying to save his father's dignity.

"One condition," I said, matching his stare.

"Name it."