The coffee cup was trembling in my hand when Mia’s tiny voice floated through the open study door. “You look mad.”

The transition into my new role as household coordinator was intense, fast-paced, and demanding. Within two weeks, I was managing a staff of fifteen groundskeepers, chefs, cleaners, and security personnel.

My new salary was a godsend. For the first time in three years, I wasn't waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, calculating grocery bills against rent payments. Mia flourished under the care of Miss Clara, a gentle, retired preschool teacher Vincent had hired to look after her in the estate's nursery room.

However, working closely with Vincent Castalano meant entering his dangerous, high-stakes world.

Every morning at 7:30 a.m., I entered his study to go over his daily schedule, manage his private invitations, and handle the estate's confidential expenses. I quickly learned that Vincent was a man of absolute control and rigid discipline. He worked eighteen hours a day, barely slept, and held everyone around him to an impossibly high standard.

Yet, whenever Mia was around, the cold ice in his demeanor cracked slightly.

One rainy Tuesday afternoon, I was reviewing the inventory list in the main foyer when I heard soft footsteps splashing near the front entrance. I rushed over and found Mia sitting on the polished marble floor right beside Vincent’s heavy leather boots.

He had just returned from a stressful corporate meeting. Rainwater glistened on his dark trench coat, and his face looked pale and exhausted.

Mia was holding up a brightly colored drawing of a lopsided yellow cat.

"Look, Mr. Vincent," she announced proudly. "I made a picture of you."

I gasped, stepping forward to intervene. "Mia, sweetheart, Mr. Castalano just got home. He’s very busy—"

Vincent held up a hand to pause me. He lowered himself onto one knee, completely unbothered by the wet rainwater dripping from his coat onto his expensive suit. He took the paper gently from Mia’s tiny hands, studying the scribbled yellow monster carefully.

"Why am I yellow?" Vincent asked, his deep voice carrying a rare, subtle hint of amusement.

"Because yellow is happy," Mia explained, pointing her small finger at the drawing. "And you need to be happy."

Vincent stared at the drawing for a long moment, his dark eyes softening in a way I had never seen before. "I see," he murmured quietly.

"Come on, Mia," I said gently, offering my hand. "Let’s go let Mr. Castalano change out of his wet clothes."

Mia grabbed my hand, but before we turned around, she waved. "Bye-bye, Mr. Vincent!"

Vincent stood up, holding the wet drawing in his hand. "Goodbye, Mia."

As I led Mia away, I glanced back over my shoulder. Vincent was still standing in the center of the grand foyer, staring down at the yellow scribbles as if it were the most valuable document in his entire multi-million-dollar empire.

However, as I reached the top of the stairs, I noticed Renzo standing near the archway, his face unusually pale. He was holding a secure satellite phone against his ear, listening intently to whoever was speaking on the other end.