“How long have you been hiding a baby in my home?” My blood turned to ice. Nine-month-old Lily sat on the polished marble floor outside Sebastian Romano's private office, one tiny fist wrapped tightly around his dark blue silk tie.

“How long have you been hiding a baby in my home?”

My blood turned to ice.

Nine-month-old Lily sat on the polished marble floor outside Sebastian Romano's private office, one tiny fist wrapped tightly around his dark blue silk tie. Behind them, a multimillion-dollar conference call with investors in London was still glowing on the enormous screen. And my daughter was using the most intimidating man I'd ever met as a piece of furniture.

“Lily!”

I nearly dropped the basket of freshly folded towels.

She looked up at me, giggled brightly, then tugged Sebastian's tie again for good measure. After that, she lifted both arms toward him in the universal toddler demand: Pick me up.

Sebastian Romano looked completely lost.

I wasn't. I knew exactly what was about to happen. I was going to lose my job, my security, and the roof over our heads.

“Mr. Romano, I'm so sorry,” I hurried toward them, my voice trembling. “I went downstairs for two minutes to check the dryer. She was on her blanket in the service nook. She's never crawled this far before.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “She crawled here from the service room?”

“Yes.”

His expression hardened into a mask of pure intimidation. “How long has she been here?”

“Maybe four minutes.”

“No.” His voice dropped into a quieter, deadlier register. That was worse. “How long has your daughter actually been coming into my penthouse?”

My stomach plummeted. I could have lied. I could have blamed a babysitter or claimed it was a one-time accident. Instead, I looked down at the polished floor.

“Almost three months.”

Rain struck the massive floor-to-ceiling windows forty floors above Manhattan, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet. Sebastian stared at me as if I had spoken in a foreign language.

“Three months?”

“Yes.”

“You've been secretly bringing an infant into my penthouse for three months?”

I swallowed hard, fighting the lump in my throat. “Yes.”

“Who knows?”

“The night doorman.”

“Frank?”

I nodded, feeling a spike of guilt for dragging others into this.

“Who else?”

“Mrs. Alvarez in the apartment downstairs. Sometimes the grocery delivery driver.”

His dark eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “And who else?”

“The woman at the café across the street lets me warm Lily's bottles in the morning.”

Sebastian said nothing for a long, agonizing moment.

I'd built an entire secret network just to survive the harsh reality of single motherhood in New York. People held elevators when Lily was asleep in her stroller. Mrs. Alvarez stored extra formula in her pantry. Frank watched her for five minutes when I needed to carry heavy laundry upstairs. Nobody had asked for money or reported me. They simply knew I couldn't afford childcare on a housekeeper's salary. And if Sebastian fired me, I'd lose the small service apartment Lily and I called home.

“Why?” he finally asked, his voice stripped of its initial fury, leaving only a cold, sharp curiosity.

“Because I had nowhere else to leave her,” I answered, forcing myself to meet his piercing gaze. “If you're going to fire me, I understand.”

Before he could answer, Lily grabbed his expensive trouser leg and pulled herself upright. She wobbled on chubby legs. Her knees buckled.

Sebastian moved before I could even take a step.

He caught her.

Those hands—hands I'd seen make corporate executives nervous with a single gesture—closed gently around my daughter's tiny body. Lily blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. Then, without warning, she rested her heavy head right against his chest.

I stopped breathing. So did Sebastian.

For several seconds, he didn't move an inch, paralyzed by the fragile weight in his arms.

Then something caught his attention.

A thin silver chain had slipped from beneath Lily's pink knitted sweater. Sebastian carefully drew out the tiny pendant hanging from the end of it.

His entire body went rigid.

The pendant was old, oval-shaped, with a small, intricate family crest engraved into the tarnished metal. I'd seen it hundreds of times during the lonely nights when I wept over my past. But I'd never seen anyone react to it like this.

Every trace of color disappeared from Sebastian's face, leaving him chalk-white.

“Claire,” he breathed, his voice cracking.

I'd worked in his penthouse for almost two years. I'd seen him furious. I'd seen him cold. I'd seen him receive terrible financial news without blinking an eye. I had never, not once, heard fear in his voice.

“Where did Lily get this?” he demanded, his fingers trembling against the silver metal.

My throat tightened so much I could barely force the words out.

“It belonged to her father.”

Sebastian's fingers closed tightly around the pendant. For a moment, he seemed to forget I was standing right there. He stared at Lily's face—at her shape, her dark curls, her deep eyes. Then he looked back down at the silver crest.

Something in his expression completely shattered. He looked as though a man he had buried years ago had suddenly walked into the room.