I blamed Elise for everything, but at 2:03 a.m., I discovered she was the only person who could make my daughters laugh again.

By 9:00 p.m. that evening, Marco had delivered his preliminary findings to my study.

The courier service was a shell company registered in the Cayman Islands, untraceable without federal intervention. But the digital forensics team had successfully identified the digital footprint of the person who commissioned the surveillance photograph.

It wasn't a rival syndicate boss. It wasn't an anonymous corporate competitor.

It was Arthur Vance—Vivienne’s husband.

Arthur was a mid-level corporate raider who had spent years trying to sink his claws into Caruso Global’s real estate portfolio, using my sister as a social bridge to infiltrate my inner circle. He had realized that Elise’s growing influence over me threatened his long-term plans to manipulate my estate after Clara’s death.

Armed with that knowledge, I walked out of my study and headed down the silent, marble-tiled corridor toward the conservatory.

The glass-domed room was dark, illuminated only by the silver moonlight streaming through the skylights and a single standing floor lamp.

Elise was sitting on the plush velvet window seat, staring out at the rain slicking the courtyard stones. She had a cup of untouched chamomile tea in her hands, her shoulders slightly hunched.

She looked tired. Not the exhausted, frantic tired of the early weeks, but the heavy, emotional fatigue of someone carrying a secret.

I pushed the glass door open. It clicked softly against the frame.

Elise turned her head quickly, startled. “Mr. Caruso... I thought you were working late in your study.”

“I finished,” I said, walking slowly across the tiled floor until I stood a few feet away from the window seat.

She looked up at me, her brown eyes searching my face with sudden unease. “Is something wrong? Did the girls wake up?”

“No. The girls are sleeping peacefully.” I pulled the photograph out of my breast pocket and laid it flat on the small mahogany table beside her tea cup.

Elise stared down at the image of herself pushing the stroller in Millennium Park. Her breath caught, and the color drained rapidly from her cheeks.

“Where... where did you get this?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“It was dropped at my gate this afternoon,” I said, my voice dangerously low, though directed entirely at Arthur Vance in my mind, not her. “Along with a note telling me to check your financial records.”

Elise closed her eyes tightly, her hands gripping the ceramic teacup so hard her knuckles turned white.

“I didn't ask for this,” she whispered, a tear finally spilling over her lashes. “I swear to you, Dante, I didn't invite this.”

“I know you didn't,” I said, stepping closer and kneeling down on one knee in front of the window seat so I was looking directly up into her face.

She opened her eyes, staring down at me in shock.

“My brother-in-law, Arthur Vance, had you followed,” I continued, my voice steady and resolute. “He thinks he can intimidate me by threatening my household. He thinks he can make me doubt the woman who saved my daughters.”

Elise’s lower lip quivered. “You... you don't think I’m a spy? Or a fraud?”

I reached out, my large hand gently covering her cold fingers where they clutched the teacup. Her skin was warm, and she didn't pull away.

“Elise,” I said softly, looking straight into her soul. “The only thing you are guilty of is bringing life back into a house that was dying. I don't care about Arthur’s games. And I certainly don't care about background checks.”

She looked down at my hand resting over hers, a soft, broken sigh escaping her lips.

“My real name isn't Navarro,” she whispered into the quiet space between us.

I didn't flinch. I didn't pull my hand away. “I know.”

She blinked in astonishment. “You... you knew?”

“Your college transcripts at Northwestern were sealed under a hyphenated family name,” I stated calmly. “Your older brother is Marcus Navarro, the whistleblower who testified against Arthur Vance’s embezzlement ring three years ago before he had to go into hiding.”

Elise stared at me, tears streaming freely down her cheeks now. “My family lost everything because of Arthur. When I took this job through the agency, I didn't know you were related to him by marriage. I just needed a place to hide, a paycheck to keep my parents afloat, and a fresh start.”

She looked away, ashamed. “I was going to tell you. I swear I was. I just... I was so afraid you’d throw me out like everyone else.”

I squeezed her hand gently, urging her to look back at me.

“You are not going anywhere, Elise,” I said, my voice carrying an absolute, unbreakable vow. “Arthur Vance is about to find out what happens when you threaten a Caruso's home. But first... I need to know one thing.”

She sniffled, wiping a tear away with her free hand. “What?”

“Now that all the cards are on the table,” I murmured, my gaze dropping to her lips before rising back to her eyes, “will you stay? Not just as my children’s caretaker... but as my partner?”

Elise’s breath hitched. For five long seconds, the world outside the conservatory—the rain, the enemies, the wealth, the ghosts of the past—dissolved into absolute nothingness.