A maid hid her baby in a billionaire’s penthouse for three months, until the infant crawled into his office and grabbed his tie.

Around the corner of the marble hallway, the sharp clatter of plastic echoed against the walls.

Elena rushed into the corridor, her arms wrapped around a heavy, overflowing wicker laundry basket filled with crisp white linens.

At twenty-eight, Elena was strikingly beautiful despite her visible exhaustion. She had brown hair tied up into a loose, practical bun, fair skin, and dark circles under her eyes from sleepless nights. She wore a faded pale-yellow housekeeping uniform paired with a white collar and a clean white apron. She was a struggling single mother whose entire world depended on keeping her job in this penthouse.

"Mia!" Elena gasped, her voice cracking with terror.

The heavy laundry basket nearly slipped straight from her slick hands, tilting violently before she caught it against her knee. Her eyes widened into dinner plates as she saw her eight-month-old daughter sitting directly between the polished black shoes of the most feared man in Chicago.

Mia, completely oblivious to her mother's sheer panic, let out a delighted, high-pitched giggle. She gave Alessandro’s black silk tie another energetic tug, then let go and raised both of her tiny arms straight up into the air toward the giant man in the suit.

Elena took a frantic step forward, her knuckles white on the handles of the basket.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Duca! Please—" Elena pleaded, her chest heaving as she tried to reach down for her child.

Alessandro raised his left hand, his broad, tattooed fingers extending in a flat, non-negotiable command that halted her in her tracks. He didn't take his eyes off the toddler sitting on his floor.

"How long?" Alessandro demanded, his voice dropping an octave into a hard, razor-sharp register.