“You’re hurting his arm!” she shouted—her voice suddenly strong, authoritative, completely mismatched with her uniform.
That was when Valeria snapped.
She slapped Marina hard.
The sound cracked through the room. Marina’s head turned; blood bloomed on her lip. Noah screamed again and, in pure panic, bit Valeria’s hand. She dropped him as if he were wild.
Noah fell—but didn’t cry from the fall.
He crawled to Marina, and Marina wrapped herself around him, turning her back to the room, shielding him like a wounded lioness surrounded by elegant strangers who didn’t understand that kind of love.
The whispers started softly, then swelled.
“Is she the new nanny?”
“No, she cleans the bathrooms…”
“How disgusting…”
Lucas stared.
Marina shook, silent tears falling, but her hand moved over Noah’s back with a tenderness that felt terrifyingly familiar.
And the impossible happened.
Noah calmed.
His breathing slowed. His body relaxed. Within seconds, he fell asleep—cheek pressed to Marina’s neck.
Valeria’s voice cut through the moment, cold as glass.
“Security. Get this trash out of my house. Now.”
Two men in black suits stepped forward.
Lucas raised his hand. Hesitated.
That hesitation would haunt him later.