Rich CEO pretends to sleep to test the shy maid. Then he freezes when seeing what she does. The air inside the Hawthorne estate was always still, so still it made even the softest sound feel like a disruption. Dust never lingered on its marble surfaces, and silence filled the long echoing halls like a second coat of paint.
That morning, the quiet was broken only by the faint sweep of a cloth gliding across the grand staircase’s polished railing. Sophie Witmore moved with practiced care, her motions gentle and precise. Sunlight from the high windows caught in her blonde braid.
The hem of her gray cotton dress brushed just above her ankles as she crouched to polish the banister. Her shoes were simple, black and worn. She wore no jewelry, no perfume, nothing that called attention to herself. Even her presence felt like a whisper. She had been here almost a month. Hired on trial as a live-in maid, Sophie was as invisible as she was efficient.
She worked before the others woke, cleaned rooms no one entered anymore, and kept to herself during staff breaks. She didn’t speak unless spoken to, didn’t complain about heavy loads, and never once asked for help. But what struck everyone, especially those who’d worked at the estate for years, was that she never accepted tips. Not from Harold, the elderly chauffeur known to slip a $5 bill into new hands.
Not from Margaret, the head housekeeper who admired Sophie’s quiet diligence and once tucked cash into a stack of folded linens. Each time, Sophie’s answer was the same, a soft, grateful smile and a quiet, “Thank you, but I can’t take this.” It might have seemed admirable to most, but to Liam Hawthorne, it was a red flag.
Behind sleek black doors on the top floor, in a room lined with models and city blueprints, Liam stood in front of a large screen split into four live feeds. Security cameras covering the estate’s main rooms. His eyes were fixed on one. Sophie in the dining room, wiping the table as sunlight pulled across the floor like syrup.
She doesn’t take tips, Liam said flatly. Beside him, Daniel, his longtime assistant, looked up from his tablet. No, I saw that, too. She’s been solid, quiet. No complaints from anyone. Liam didn’t respond right away. He leaned closer to the screen, watching her adjust the silver centerpiece and paused to straighten a chair that was already perfectly aligned. Her movements weren’t rushed.
She cared about things no one else noticed. That’s what bothers me, Liam said. Daniel raised a brow. That she’s good at her job. That she’s too good, Liam replied. Too perfect, too careful. He turned toward the window overlooking the garden. When I was a kid, he said quietly. We had a maid who felt like family. She made me cocoa when I was sick. Read to me.
Then one day, she emptied the safe and disappeared. Daniel stayed silent. He’d heard fragments of this story before. Liam continued, “My father said it was a lesson. Don’t trust people who seem too humble. The ones who smile the easiest lie the best.” Daniel glanced back at the screen. Sophie was now collecting her cloths as precise as ever. “Maybe she’s just decent,” he offered.
Liam’s jaw tightened. Or maybe she’s patient, playing the long game. He turned back to the screen, expression unreadable. It’s not enough that she won’t take money. I want to see what she does when she thinks no one’s watching. Not when it’s easy to be good, but when it’s not. Daniel frowned. You’re going to test her? Liam nodded.
She’s lasted a month, he said. Let’s see what happens when kindness isn’t convenient. And for the first time since Sophie Witmore arrived, Liam Hawthorne felt something foreign. Uncertainty. The living room of the Hawthorne estate was dressed in quiet elegance, high ceilings, floorlength curtains swaying gently with the afternoon breeze, and warm sunlight casting gold across the parket floors. Everything had been arranged carefully that day, more carefully than usual.
On the large oak coffee table lay a leather wallet, a PC Philippe watch, and a neat stack of $100 bills, loosely held by a gold money clip. The setup looked casual, almost accidental, but it wasn’t. Liam Hawthorne lay motionless on the velvet sofa nearby. His shirt sleeves rolled just enough to show the expensive cuff links at his wrists.
His head rested against the cushion, eyes closed, breath steady. Every detail was deliberate. His posture, his breathing, the way his hand dangled over the edge, as though sleep had caught him mid-thought. But Liam was wide awake. Behind the framed artwork on the far wall, a discrete security camera recorded everything. He had checked the angles, ensured nothing was obstructed.
Today, he wasn’t trusting his instincts. Today, he was gathering proof. He listened to the faint ticking of the wall clock. 2:47 p.m. Right on time, he heard the soft tread of shoes outside the room, a gentle knock on the open doorway. Silence, then footsteps. Sophie Whitmore. She entered with the same quiet presence that had begun to unsettle him.
Gentle, unobtrusive, yet unmistakably aware. She wore her usual muted gray dress and a simple white apron. Her hair was braided again, a few strands falling softly around her face. She moved with purpose, though today her steps seemed slower, more deliberate. Liam resisted the urge to peek. He kept his breathing even, eyes relaxed behind lowered lids. Her footsteps stopped.
She had seen the items on the table. He waited. No sound at first. Then the faintest intake of breath. Her steps resumed, but not toward the table. She moved behind the sofa, dusting the baseboard, then crossed to the sideboard and adjusted a vase of lilies. She worked methodically, carefully, ignoring the obvious temptation inches from the man who appeared asleep. Still, Liam could feel it, her gaze.
She had seen the money. She had looked. He counted 1 2 3 seconds. Then another pause. The room felt heavier with each breath he took. Would she reach for it? Would she pocket a bill and pretend nothing happened? Then came the sound of gentle brushing. The cloth in her hand skimmed the table’s edge.
She moved closer, but not to steal. She was cleaning. He felt the faint shift of air as she passed him, careful not to disturb his sleep. She collected the empty teacup he had left earlier, wiped the tabletop, repositioned the coaster. Still, she hadn’t touched the money. Liam’s heart beat louder than it should, louder than he wanted.
Then came the moment he hadn’t expected. Sophie paused. Her hand hovered near the bills. Not touching, not trembling, just still. Then she reached for a hardcover book from the shelf behind the couch, a novel he’d once left out and never finished. Without a word, she placed it gently on top of the money, as if shielding it from view.
Not out of fear, not shame, but as if no one should see something so tempting left unattended. Liam felt something flicker inside him. She turned and walked softly to the armchair nearby. From it, she picked up a folded throw blanket, light, soft, unused, and approached him.
He wanted to stop her, say something, open his eyes, but he didn’t. Not as she gently unfolded the blanket. Not as she leaned over and tucked it lightly across his chest and shoulders. Not as her fingers brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, an action so tender it belonged in another life. And then, she whispered so low it felt almost like a prayer. Thank you for giving me this job. I won’t let you down. Liam’s throat tightened.
For the first time in years, the walls he had built, stone by stone, reason by reason, cracked, just slightly, but enough for something real to slip through. He lay still long after she had gone, eyes still closed, the weight of the blanket heavier than before, not in fabric, but in meaning.
For a man who had trusted nothing but control, the honesty of a woman who didn’t know she was being watched was the most disarming thing of all. Liam sat alone in his office. The room dim except for the soft blue glow of the security screen in front of him. The footage looped in silence the same few minutes over and over. There she was, Sophie. He watched her enter the living room. Pause.
Her gaze fell on the items he’d left out. the wallet, the watch, the neat stack of bills, and then on him asleep on the sofa. Her eyes lingered, not with greed, not even curiosity, but something softer, thoughtful, cautious. Then the book, the blanket, the whisper. Liam leaned forward, studying every detail. The way she smoothed the corner of the blanket, the way she looked at him, not like a CEO, but simply a man.
That quiet tenderness unsettled him more than anything she could have said. And still, he couldn’t stop watching. Her voice echoed faintly in his mind. Thank you for giving me this job. I won’t let you down. For the first time in years, Liam Hawthorne wasn’t sure what to feel. He wanted to dismiss it. Maybe she saw the camera. Maybe it was all an act.
But deep down, he knew better. There had been no performance in her eyes. It was real, and it left him shaken. The next day, passing by the kitchen, he slowed when he saw her alone, wiping down the counters. She didn’t notice him. Her movements were steady, quiet.
She paused only to fold a dish towel with precise care, placing it perfectly over the oven handle. Liam stood in the shadows a moment longer than necessary, then moved on without a word. Later that week, the sky had fallen into a deep navy hue when Liam spotted the old Rolls-Royce parked under the far tree. Inside, Harold, their long-erving chauffeur, had dozed off, glasses slipping down his nose.
Then Sophie appeared. She moved quietly to the car, opened the door gently, and retrieved the knitted blanket from behind the seat. With practiced care, she tucked it over Harold’s shoulders and adjusted it so it wouldn’t fall. Then, silently, she closed the door and walked away.
Liam watched from the upstairs window, exhaling softly, the glass fogging under his breath. It wasn’t just one gesture. This was who she was. In the days that followed, Liam began to see more. A dusty photograph of his mother, long forgotten, was suddenly clean, its silver frame gleaming. A leaky faucet stopped dripping. A small note in delicate handwriting appeared by the back door.
Left extra fruit in the fridge for Mrs. Green. She’s been craving peaches. It was signed only with a tiny handdrawn flower. No recognition, no announcement, just quiet acts of care. Then came the night he would remember for a long time. Liam returned late from a business meeting. Jacket slung over one arm.
As he crossed the hallway toward the garden, he noticed someone sitting on the stone bench just beyond the glass door. Sophie. She was hunched slightly, arms wrapped around herself. Her phone rested in her lap. Even from a distance, he saw her shoulders trembling. He opened the door slightly, enough to hear a muffled sob. Then nothing. She wiped her face with her sleeve, inhaled slowly, and whispered something he couldn’t make out. He didn’t step outside, didn’t interrupt.
He just watched unseen as she steadied herself and quietly walked back inside. The next morning, Liam woke before sunrise. He entered the kitchen before the staff arrived, brewed tea, and reached into his desk drawer for a plain white envelope. He placed it beneath Sophie’s usual teacup on the tray. Inside, a modest sum, enough for what she needed.
On the envelope, a single line written in his careful slanted hand, “Do not refuse. It’s your salary in advance.” He didn’t sign it. When Sophie found it later, her fingers trembled. She looked around the quiet kitchen. The tea was still warm. She said nothing, and no one said anything to her.
But behind a closed office door, Liam sat with his untouched coffee, staring out at the garden, his thoughts louder than any words could have been. It wasn’t the money. It wasn’t guilt. It was something else. Something like the beginning of trust. or maybe the beginning of something he had forgotten how to feel. It happened on a Thursday.
The estate was unusually busy that day, filled with the clinking of silverware and low hum of conversation as Liam hosted a private lunchon for a few longtime investors. The air was crisp, the staff moved like clockwork, and everything down to the folds in the linen napkins was exactly as it should be until it wasn’t. Midway through the event, a guest, a well-dressed woman in her early 50s with too much perfume and a sharp tongue, stood from her chair and held up a small folded piece of white cloth. “Excuse me,” she called out loud enough for half the room to hear.
“Someone dropped this, or should I say tried to leave it behind?” Heads turned. Mrs. Eleanor Crestmore held the handkerchief up like it was a piece of evidence. Her expression was one of theatrical disdain. I found it under the chair in the guest lounge, right where Mr. Duval had been sitting. She sniffed.
It smells of lavender and something else. Very deliberate. Liam looked up from the end of the table, brows furrowed. Margaret, the head housekeeper, stepped forward. “I’ll take care of it, ma’am,” she said calmly, reaching for the cloth. But Mrs. Cresmore wasn’t finished. I’ve been to enough estates to know how these things go. A handkerchief left behind, please.
It’s an old trick, one meant to draw attention, catch someone’s eye. The implication hung in the air, sharp and unmistakable. Liam’s jaw tightened. Minutes later, Sophie was summoned to the back corridor near the study. She arrived quietly, hands folded in front of her apron, face pale but composed.
Margaret stood beside her, holding the handkerchief gently. “Is this yours, Sophie?” Margaret asked softly. Sophie blinked, her gaze dropping to the cloth. A small embroidered flower sat neatly in one corner, the stitching slightly crooked. “Yes,” she said. “It must have fallen from my pocket while I was cleaning.” “She didn’t do it on purpose,” Margaret added.
“She’s had that since she arrived. I’ve seen it.” But Liam said nothing. He stood by the window, arms folded, his back half turned. The accusation, absurd as it was, struck something raw, something old. Finally, he turned, his face unreadable. Sophie, I need to ask. Were you trying to get someone’s attention? No, she answered quickly. Then again, softer. No, sir.
Then why didn’t you say something when Mrs. Crestmore confronted you? She hesitated, hands clenching slightly. because it wouldn’t have mattered. Liam’s brows drew together. Excuse me. I’ve been accused before, she whispered. Then it came out slowly at first, then like a damn breaking. I used to work at a nursing home. There was a patient, Mr.
Ellis. One night, he collapsed. The ambulance was late, so I gave him my blood. It saved him. She paused, swallowing hard. A few days later, someone reported a gold cross missing from his drawer. They found it in the laundry cart I used. I didn’t take it. I don’t even know how it got there. Her voice cracked, but they didn’t ask.
They just let me go. The room was silent. Sophie took a breath, her voice trembling. Since then, when people accuse me, I don’t explain. I just leave. It’s easier. People believe what they want. Liam stood frozen, her words pounding through the armor he’d built. He looked again at the handkerchief. Not a ploy, not a trap, just a memory.
Something stitched by a mother long gone, carried by a daughter who had already lost too much. Margaret stepped back, leaving them alone. Sophie turned as if to leave. “I’ll collect my things,” she whispered. “No,” Liam said sharply. She paused. He stepped forward, voice low but steady. You’re not going anywhere.
She turned slightly, eyes wide. I was wrong, he said. The words unfamiliar. And I’m sorry. He picked up the handkerchief and pressed it gently into her hand. You don’t have to explain anything else. Not to me. For the first time since arriving at the estate, Sophie let herself cry quietly without shame.
not from fear, but from the strange, overwhelming relief of finally being seen. The morning after the misunderstanding, the estate was quiet. The tension from the day before had faded, but something lingered, an unfinished thought, a word left unsaid. Liam felt it in his chest like a quiet ache, subtle, but persistent. He found Sophie alone in the back hallway, organizing supplies with her usual quiet precision.
For a moment, he simply watched how her hands moved, how she tilted her head slightly to read a handwritten label. “Sophie,” he said gently. She turned, startled, wiping her hands on her apron. “Would you walk with me for a moment?” She hesitated, then nodded. He led her past the courtyard and around the greenhouse to a wooden gate at the far end of the garden. The hinges creaked as he pushed it open.
Beyond lay a smaller private garden, untouched, halfforgotten, with wild roses curling around trelluses and ivy climbing the walls. It was quiet there, undisturbed. “This was my mother’s space,” he said, voice softer than she’d ever heard. “She loved it here,” said the wind sounded softer between these hedges.
Sophie glanced around, unsure why he’d brought her. The air smelled of old jasmine and warm soil. I haven’t let anyone in since she passed, he added, hands behind his back. He turned to face her. I owe you an apology for doubting you for almost pushing you out. She looked down.
I’ve always believed good people defend themselves, speak up, prove something. He paused. But you taught me something else. That sometimes the kindest people say the least. Not because they’re hiding, but because they’ve been hurt enough to know silence is safer. Sophie’s eyes met his, surprised by the softness in his expression. “This place used to feel like hers,” he said. “But today, it feels like yours, too.
” For the first time, Liam looked at her not as a maid, not as staff, but as someone real, someone he could trust. From that day forward, quiet changes took place. Liam began joining the staff briefly for morning tea in the side kitchen, something he’d never done. When he poured himself a cup, he poured one for Sophie, too.
At first, she refused politely, unsure how to respond. But the next morning, when he waited silently, placing the cup beside hers, she finally sat down. He didn’t talk much during those breaks, but his presence softened the room. Sophie noticed how the quiet line between upstairs and downstairs began to blur. One afternoon, Liam called her into the library.
The room was vast, floor toseeiling shelves, ladders, and rows of leatherbound books. Sophie stood near the doorway, unsure why she’d been called. “I’m having the collection reataloged,” Liam said, gesturing to the shelves. “Too many of these sit here untouched. Some should be repaired, others donated. I’d like you to decide. She blinked.
Me? I trust your judgment. Just a few words. But for someone who had always waited for permission, it felt like something far more. A week later, Liam walked the garden paths behind the estate. The afternoon light filtered through the trees and soft golden ribbons. Near the rose bushes, he heard laughter. Light. Breathless. He paused.
Sophie was standing beside George, the elderly gardener, handing him a cloth to wipe his brow. She had a smudge of soil on her cheek and held a watering can. George said something and she laughed again, warm and full. Then she said something that stopped Liam in his tracks. If I can bring a little peace to someone’s day, even just by wiping a window or watering flowers, then I think that’s a life worth living.
He didn’t move. He stayed hidden behind the curtain of Ivy and let the words settle. It wasn’t pity anymore or admiration. Something had shifted. Liam Hawthorne, who had spent years hiding behind polished walls and glass towers, felt something unfamiliar bloom quietly in his chest. Not guilt, not confusion, but respect, and maybe something dangerously close to love.
The rain came suddenly that night. hard and relentless, drumming against the roof of the Hawthorne estate like a thousand fingers tapping in urgency. Thunder rolled in from the hills low and rumbling as wind swept through the garden, bending the trees like paper. Inside the grand house, the lights flickered once, twice, then went out. Liam stood in the hallway, staring at the darkened chandelier.
A few seconds later, the backup generator kicked in, but only partially. Security systems and hallway lights returned. Yet most of the kitchen wing remained dark. He grabbed a flashlight from the foyer and started walking. As he turned the corner near the kitchen, he caught a flash of movement. Someone by the window. Then he saw her. Sophie. She was pressing a dish towel against a cracked window pane.
As rain blew in, soaking the counter and her. Her dress clung to her shoulders, braid loosened from the wind. She was shivering. Liam didn’t think. He didn’t speak. He walked straight to her, shrugged off his jacket, and gently draped it over her shoulders. “Come on,” he said quietly.
He took her hand, not forcefully, just enough to guide her, down the hallway into the small emergency kitchen near the staff entrance, one of the few places where a soft amber light still glowed. It was warm there, cluttered, narrow, but dry, safe. Sophie stood near the counter, arms crossed under his jacket, head low. Liam poured water into two mismatched mugs, more for something to do than thirst.
The rain slammed against the glass like it wanted in. He sat on the edge of the bench, watching her from the corner of his eye. They said nothing for a while, and for once the silence felt right. Then he asked barely above a whisper. Why did you stay? Sophie looked up surprised. He didn’t explain, just looked at her, his gaze steady. After everything, you could have left.
She looked down at her hands. The sleeves of his jacket hung too long. Because, she whispered, no one has needed me like this place does. And she added softer still. I didn’t want to leave while someone who’s still hurting is pretending he isn’t. Liam’s breath caught. She wasn’t even looking at him. But her words saw straight through.
He blinked slowly, turned away toward the rain outside, blurred, distorted. I don’t know how to be soft with people, he said. I don’t know how to be open. Sophie stepped closer. You don’t have to know, she said. You just have to feel it. Liam looked at her, then really looked, her face damp, cheeks flushed, but her eyes patient, understanding, and in that small kitchen, under the hum of the emergency light, Liam did something he’d never done without overthinking, he reached out. Not with fear, not with control, but with awe. His hand hovered a moment
before gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, settling lightly against her cheek. It wasn’t a kiss, not a promise. Just the first time Liam Hawthorne touched something he didn’t want to lose. And for Sophie Witmore, it was the first time someone touched her like she was real and safe. The rain continued to fall.
But inside that small kitchen, something far more fragile had just begun to grow. The night of the charity gala arrived with a quiet elegance. The estate glowed beneath strings of warm lights, the hedges trimmed to perfection, and the garden blooming with late spring roses. Black cars pulled one after another into the driveway, their headlights slicing through the dusk.
Guests stepped out in gowns and tailored suits, laughter mingling with the sound of champagne being poured, and the soft notes of a string quartet playing by the fountain. But amid all the grandeur, Sophie stood calmly near the entrance. a small clipboard in hand, greeting each guest with practiced warmth and a graceful nod.
Liam had asked her no trusted her with one of the most delicate roles of the evening to oversee the flow of the event, the guest check-in, the seating arrangements, and the fine details that usually took a professional team to manage. Sophie had hesitated when he first asked. “Are you sure?” she had whispered. He’d only smiled.
There’s no one else I’d rather have in charge. Now, as the estate filled with laughter and flashing camera lights, she moved through the crowd like she belonged, not as a guest, but as someone essential to the very soul of the event. From the far end of the ballroom, Liam watched her. Her pale blue dress was simple, modest, but it brought out the brightness in her eyes.
She was not the same woman who had arrived at his doorstep weeks ago, afraid to speak, unsure of her place in the world. She had not changed, but something inside her had finally been allowed to shine. Later that evening, the music softened, and a member of the board tapped a glass with a fork. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. Mr.
Liam Hawthorne would like to say a few words. Liam stepped onto the small stage in the center of the room, adjusting the microphone. His suit was sharp, but his expression was softer than anyone had ever seen. I’ve hosted many events like this, he began, his voice steady. And I’ve spoken about numbers, investments, buildings, and blueprints, but tonight I’d like to speak about something else. The room grew quiet.
I want to tell you a story about someone most of you have probably walked past tonight without even noticing. A person who not long ago arrived here with very little, no wealth, no title, no resume worth bragging about, just quiet hands and eyes that had seen more than they deserved. He paused. This person reminded me through simple, quiet actions that goodness doesn’t announce itself, that the truest kind of strength is found in those who serve without needing recognition. He glanced towards Sophie, who stood frozen near the back
of the room, eyes wide. I won’t name her, Liam added, because she doesn’t need her name spoken to matter. There was silence. Then a ripple of soft applause. After stepping off the stage, Liam crossed the room and approached Sophie without a word. In his hand was a small square velvet box. He handed it to her.
Sophie opened it slowly and her breath caught. Inside was a delicate silver pendant in the shape of a star. The design was intricate, timeless. She had seen it before on the neck of the woman in the photo that stood in the estate’s main hallway. Liam’s mother. My mother used to say, he said softly. Those who keep light in their hearts will always find their way. He met her eyes. And you’ve done that, Sophie.
Even when no one was looking, even when it would have been easier to stop, Sophie blinked back tears. She couldn’t speak. Not yet. But the look in her eyes said everything. In that moment, she saw Liam not as the CEO, not as the man who had once doubted her, but as someone who had learned, truly learned, what it meant to trust again and maybe even love.
The letter came folded in plain white, tucked under the morning paper on the kitchen counter. Sophie opened it slowly, her hands trembling slightly. The first line stopped her breath. Congratulations, you have been awarded a full nursing scholarship through the Hawthorne Health Foundation. She blinked once, twice. She had never applied. Her heart raced as she scanned the details.
Full tuition, housing, stipend, a program she dreamed of but never dared to reach for. At the bottom in elegant, familiar handwriting was one final line. Someone believed in you. Now go become who you were always meant to be. She knew instantly. It was Liam. He never mentioned it. Never brought it up. Not in passing. Not even when she quietly told him over tea the next morning.
I think I’ll be leaving soon. He’d simply nodded, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. And then he said gently but clearly, “If one day you ever want to come back, the house will still be here. So will I.” Sophie left the estate 2 weeks later. Her suitcase was small. She didn’t own much, but her heart.
It was heavier than she expected, and somehow lighter, too. She stood at the gate that final morning, eyes misted, turning back for one last look at the place where her life had quietly begun to change. She didn’t cry until the car pulled away. 6 months passed. Autumn returned, brushing golden light through the hedges and lining the stone paths with fallen leaves.
The garden at the back of the Hawthorne estate was blooming again, this time with lavender, not planted by staff, but by Liam. He knelt on the soft soil, sleeves rolled, dirt on his hands, trimming each bush with unexpected tenderness. The air smelled like memory. Calm, clean, familiar. He didn’t hear the gate open behind him.
Didn’t see the figure walking slowly down the path until he heard her voice. Still can’t keep those lines straight. He looked up. There she was, Sophie. Hair a little longer, eyes the same. A canvas bag slung over one shoulder and in her hands a small wrapped parcel. Liam stood brushing dirt from his hands, too stunned to speak. “I thought I’d visit the lavender,” she said, then smiled.
“And the man who planted it, he swallowed hard, eyes never leaving hers.” She handed him the parcel. He opened it carefully, lifting the soft white fabric from the box, a handkerchief, brand new, immaculate. Along the corner, stitched in gold thread. Liam and Sophie. He stared at it for a long moment, then looked up, smiling. So, this time you did mean to leave it behind.
She laughed, eyes misty. No, she whispered. This time I want you to keep it. He stepped closer. not needing to ask anything else. She was here and that was enough. Later that evening, the kitchen glowed in the soft amber of twilight. Liam stood at the sink, sleeves rolled, washing dishes slowly, deliberately.
Sophie sat on the counter, swinging her feet gently, watching him with quiet amusement. I never thought I’d see the great Liam Hawthorne doing dishes, she teased. He glanced over his shoulder, grinning. Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation. They laughed unforced, natural, like two people who had stopped trying to impress the world and finally learned to just be.
