That was the record. Most caretakers lasted exactly 72 hours inside the Graham estate before fleeing through its iron

Six months later.

The Graham estate no longer looked like a mausoleum.

The heavy, suffocating velvet curtains in the east wing had been replaced with light, airy linen drapes that let the bright afternoon sunlight pour across the polished hardwood floors. The smell of lemon polish was now mixed with the scent of fresh white roses arrangement placed on every hall table.

Declan sat in his study, but he was no longer sitting behind his desk staring at an empty chessboard.

He was working alongside a team of top physical therapists from Switzerland. Supported by high-tech carbon-fiber leg braces and holding two parallel training bars, Declan took a slow, agonizing step forward.

His muscles trembled with immense strain. Sweat poured down his temples, soaking his dark shirt.

"One more step, Mr. Graham," the Swiss specialist urged. "Focus on your hip rotation."

Declan gritted his teeth, his jaw set in a line of absolute determination. He forced his right leg forward, his foot planting firmly on the floor mat.

Two steps.

"That's enough for today, Declan," Narin’s voice came from the doorway.

Declan looked up, his breathing heavy, his face red from exertion. The moment he saw Narin, the intense, painful strain on his face melted into a soft, loving smile.

Narin walked into the room, dressed in an elegant cream-colored silk blouse and tailored trousers. She carried an iPad containing the syndicate's legal logistics reports. She stepped close to him, handing him a cold bottle of water and a towel.

"I had two more steps in me," Declan grunted, letting the therapists assist him back into his customized leather armchair.

"Your physical therapist said twenty minutes maximum," Narin reminded him, taking the towel and gently wiping the sweat from his forehead, just as she had done six months ago. "You've been at it for forty. You're stubborn."

"I have a good reason to be stubborn," Declan said, reaching up and wrapping his hand around her waist, pulling her down until she was sitting comfortably on the arm of his chair. He rested his chin against her shoulder, taking a deep breath of her scent—lavender and clean rain.

The physical therapists quietly gathered their equipment and slipped out of the room, leaving them alone in the sunlit study.

"How are the harbor operations?" Declan asked softly, his lips brushing against the side of her neck.

"Flawless," Narin said, trying to focus on the tablet in her lap, though her heart was fluttering at his proximity. "The new security protocols you implemented have reduced cargo theft by ninety-eight percent. The other city families have officially recognized Graham Logistics as the primary shipping authority."

"And the new staff hiring?"

"I interviewed three new caretakers for the estate today," Narin said, turning her head to look at him. "None of them threw soup."

Declan let out a deep, resonant laugh that filled the room. "They wouldn't dare. They know the Head of Security will throw them out the front gates if they step out of line."

He looked at her, his icy eyes filled with a profound, unshakeable devotion. Over the last six months, Narin had transformed not just his security, but his entire world. She had stood by him through agonizing physical therapy sessions, managed his vast corporate transition into legitimate business enterprises, and given him a reason to fight for his future every single day.

"Narin," Declan said, his voice turning serious.

"Yes?"

Declan reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small, dark velvet box.

Narin’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart began to pound against her ribs.

Declan opened the box. Inside sat a breathtaking, flawless three-carat blue diamond ring, shining intensely in the afternoon sunlight.

"Six months ago, you walked into this room with three dollars in your bank account and swept up my broken glass," Declan said, his voice thick with deep emotion. "You saw a broken man in a wheelchair, and instead of pitying me, you fought for me. You gave me back my life, Narin."

He took the ring from the box, holding it between his fingers, his eyes locked onto hers with absolute sincerity.

"I don't want you to just be my Head of Security or my partner in business," Declan whispered. "I want you to be my wife. I want to build a life with you—a real life, out of the shadows, in the light."

Tears glistened in Narin’s gray eyes—not tears of sadness, but tears of overwhelming, unadulterated joy. The poor maid who had faced eviction, cold nights, and terrifying mobsters had finally found her home.