Not much.
Just a tiny breath of laughter.
But it was enough to hold Vincent in place.
Grace gently released his wrist.
“She needs to believe her body can still do ordinary things,” Grace said. “Eat. Laugh. Sleep. Ask for another story. Those things matter.”
Vincent stared at the door.
For months, his mansion had become a hospital disguised as a palace. Specialists came and went. Machines hummed. Medicine schedules ruled every hour. Every adult in the house spoke as though a funeral were already waiting at the end of the hallway.
Grace had been there three days, and somehow she had made the room feel like a room again.
Not a deathwatch.
Not a shrine.
A children’s bedroom.
Vincent hated her for that.
He needed her for that.
That made him hate her even more.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Grace blinked.
“Work.”
“No one walks into my house and changes the air without wanting something.”
“I want wages paid on time,” Grace said. “One day off a week. And I want no one yelling in front of the children.”
Mason’s eyebrows lifted.
Vincent almost smiled, but the expression died before it reached his mouth.
“You’re giving me rules?”
“I’m giving you conditions.”
“You understand whose house you’re standing in?”
“Yes,” Grace said. “A father’s.”
Vincent said nothing.
That single answer took the weapon out of every threat he had prepared.
At the far end of the hallway, Dr. Evelyn Harper appeared, medical bag in hand. Her expression was professional, tired, and grave. She paused when she saw Vincent outside the twins’ room with Grace.
“I heard them laughing,” the doctor said.
Vincent turned sharply.
“Is that bad?”
Dr. Harper looked toward the door.