She thought she was cleaning without witnesses. The millionaire was watching—and what he saw changed everything.

She embraced him as if nothing had happened, as if time had simply paused for her convenience.

—Hello, Fernanda.

Her voice softened instantly. “Paris was a mistake. You’re the only man who ever truly understood me.”

Julia appeared from the hallway carrying cleaning supplies.

—Good morning, Mr. Enrique.

Fernanda’s eyes flicked toward her, quick and appraising, like she was assessing an object.

—Who’s that?

—Julia. She helps around the house.

Fernanda didn’t bother hiding her dismissal.

—Julia, could you give us a moment? I need to speak privately.

Julia nodded politely and stepped away without comment. Enrique felt a knot tighten in his chest.

Over the following days, Fernanda settled in as though she had never left. She gave orders with sugar-coated sharpness.

—Julia, the bathroom needs more attention.

—Yes, ma’am.

—The towels should be folded more evenly.

—Of course, ma’am.

She never raised her voice. She didn’t need to. Her condescension did the work for her.

Enrique watched it all. And without meaning to, he began addressing Julia with more respect—thanking her, acknowledging her work.

—The library looks wonderful, Julia.

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