Matthew Hail stood at the threshold of the grand dining room, his silk tie loosened slightly at the collar, a crystal glass of untouched scotch resting heavily in his hand.

The week following Christmas passed like a blissful dream.

Jenna and Daisy remained at the Beacon Hill estate while the townhouse on Chestnut Street was prepared for their move. For the first time in five years, Jenna did not have to wake up at 4:00 AM to sweep commercial offices or stretch five dollars to buy dinner.

She spent her days walking through the snowy public gardens with Daisy, accompanied by Matthew whenever he could escape his office. Matthew, who had previously worked eighty hours a week, suddenly found endless excuses to return home by 4:00 PM every afternoon.

He brought them to ice skate at Frog Pond, bought Daisy her first mug of hot peppermint chocolate, and held Jenna’s hand as they walked under the glowing gas lamps of Boston.

A quiet, profound affection was blooming between them—a delicate bridge built across two entirely different worlds.

But peace, once broken, rarely stays quiet for long.

On a freezing Thursday afternoon, while Matthew was at Hail Global headquarters finalizing the termination papers for Richard Vance, a sharp knock sounded at the front door of the Beacon Hill estate.

Arthur answered the door, expecting a delivery.

Instead, a sleek silver Audi pulled into the driveway, and a tall, elegant woman stepped out onto the snow-slicked stone steps. She was in her early thirties, wearing a six-thousand-dollar cashmere wrap, designer sunglasses, and carrying an air of supreme, untouchable privilege.

It was Eleanor Vance-Hail—Matthew's ex-wife, and the younger sister of Richard Vance.

"Good afternoon, Arthur," Eleanor said smoothly, stepping into the grand foyer without waiting for an invitation, sliding her sunglasses off her face. "Is my ex-husband upstairs?"

Arthur’s posture stiffened immediately. "Mrs. Vance, Mr. Hail is currently at his office. He is not expecting you."

"I know he’s not expecting me," Eleanor said, glancing around the immaculate hallway with a contemptuous smile. "He’s currently trying to ruin my brother's career over some trivial housing dispute in the West End. I came to return his sanity."

Suddenly, Daisy’s laughter echoed down from the top of the stairs, followed by the sound of small feet running along the hallway.

Eleanor froze, her sharp eyes snapping toward the staircase.

Jenna stepped out onto the landing above, holding Daisy’s hand. She was wearing a simple woolen sweater and trousers Matthew had bought her, her hair pulled back into a neat braid.

Eleanor stared up at them, her eyebrows arching into a look of absolute disgust and disbelief.

"Arthur," Eleanor said, her voice dripping with poison. "Who are these people? Why is there a child running around Matthew’s house?"

Jenna walked slowly down the stairs, her instincts immediately warning her that this woman was a threat. "I'm Jenna Carter. Can I help you?"

Eleanor looked Jenna up and down—cataloging her lack of designer labels, her modest posture, and the subtle, hard-earned toughness in her posture—and let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Jenna Carter," Eleanor repeated smoothly, walking toward the base of the stairs. "Ah... the cleaning girl from the West End. My brother told me about you. The little charity case Matthew picked up off the street to make himself feel like a saint."

Jenna stood on the third step, keeping Daisy behind her. "I don't know who you are, but this is Matthew's private home. If he's not here, you should leave."

"I am Eleanor Vance," she declared, stepping closer, her blue eyes flashing with cold arrogance. "I spent five years as the mistress of this house. And I know Matthew better than anyone. He doesn't care about you, Miss Carter. He doesn't care about your little brat either."

"Don't call my daughter a brat," Jenna said, her voice dead steady.

"Matthew is using you," Eleanor hissed, stepping right up to the banister. "Richard was about to push Matthew out of the regional board. Matthew needed a public relations victory to destroy my brother's credibility, and he found it in a poor, pathetic mother freezing on 4th Street. He’s using you as a pawn in a corporate war! Once Richard is gone, Matthew will throw you right back into the gutter where he found you!"

Jenna felt a sudden, icy knot twist in her chest.

A pawn in a corporate war.

The words echoed in her head, feeding the quiet, dark fear that had been lingering in the back of her mind ever since Christmas Eve—the fear that a man like Matthew Hail could never truly love a woman like her.

"Get out," Jenna whispered, her knuckles white as she gripped the wooden railing.

"I'm leaving," Eleanor smiled cruelly, pulling a sleek leather envelope from her purse and tossing it onto the hall table. "Give those to Matthew. They're the court filings for a preliminary injunction against his board vote. Tell him the Vance family doesn't surrender to hedge-fund kings playing savior."

Eleanor turned on her high heels, her cashmere coat sweeping behind her, and walked out the front door, slamming it shut behind her.

The foyer fell into a dead, suffocating silence.

Jenna stood on the stairs, her heart hammering against her ribs, looking down at the legal envelope on the table.