Chapter 12 - The Room on the East Wing
The interior of the Belandi manor was a masterclass in gilded intimidation and quiet tragedy. High vaulted ceilings carved from dark English walnut loomed over marble hallways polished to a mirror shine, reflecting crystal chandeliers that cast cold, aristocratic brilliance upon centuries-old oil paintings. Yet despite the palatial scale, the house bore the unmistakable chill of a tomb—a monument built by a billionaire who had surrendered hope of ever hearing laughter inside its walls.
A team of six women dressed in pristine housekeeper uniforms stood lined up in the grand foyer, their heads bowed low. At their head was Mrs. Gable, a severe, silver-haired matron who had served the Belandi family for four decades.
"Mr. Belandi," Mrs. Gable began, her voice tight with professional poise. "The master nursery is prepared, and the pediatric night staff is standing by in the medical wing—"
"Dismiss the medical staff," Adrien cut her off smoothly, not pausing as he carried Mia across the marble floor. "Dismiss all of them. From this moment forward, no doctors, no specialists, and no psychiatric observers will enter the family wing without my explicit signature."
Mrs. Gable blinked in stunned disbelief. "Sir? The children's hourly monitoring—"
"The children spoke tonight, Mrs. Gable," Greco interjected from behind them, carrying Evelyn's modest duffel bag as though it held priceless treasure. "Their sister brought them back."
A collective gasp rippled through the staff, several of the older maids crossing themselves in disbelief. Mrs. Gable looked at Evelyn, her stern eyes widening as she took in the worn denim jacket, the tired eyes, and the unmistakable, heartbreaking resemblance to Clara Belandi.
"Lord in heaven..." the housekeeper breathed, tears immediately welling in her eyes. "Miss Clara’s girl."
"Prepare the East Wing suite immediately adjacent to the nursery," Adrien commanded, heading up the grand spiral staircase. "The master suite that belonged to my sister. Unseal the doors."
Upstairs, the nursery was vast, lined with custom oak toy chests, handmade rocking horses, and imported Italian wool rugs, yet it had the sterile emptiness of an untouched museum. When Adrien moved toward the three adjoining canopy beds to lay Mia down, the little girl instantly whimpered, her hands darting out to grab Evelyn’s frayed jacket.
"Shh... I'm right here, sweet girl," Evelyn whispered, instinctively climbing onto the wide mattress. Without hesitation, Julian and Lucas scrambled up beside her, kicking off their polished shoes and burrowing into Evelyn’s sides like lost cubs finding their mother’s den.
Adrien stood at the edge of the bed, towering over them in his bespoke suit, his face softened by an exhaustion he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. He looked down at his daughter, who was gently falling asleep with her head resting against Evelyn’s collarbone.
"You should rest," Evelyn said softly, meeting his pale, piercing eyes. "You look like you've been carrying the weight of the sky for two years."
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"I have been," Adrien confessed, his voice thick with uncharacteristic vulnerability. He reached out, his calloused thumb gently brushing away an errant strand of brown hair from Evelyn's forehead. "For two years, every night in this house felt like being buried alive in concrete. But tonight... I hear them breathing."
He turned off the overhead chandelier, leaving only the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp. As he retreated into the shadows of the doorway, he stood guard for a long while, watching the silhouette of the broken family that had finally found its spine.
