Chapter 5 - The East Cottage
The east cottage of the Carver estate sat nestled among a grove of ancient pine trees, two hundred yards from the main mansion.
It was a beautiful two-story stone building with a slate roof, warm yellow light spilling from its windows, and a wide wooden porch. Inside, a fire crackled merrily in a brick hearth, filling the living room with cozy warmth and the rich scent of cedar.
Dr. Evans—a kindly, white-haired man who had been the Carver family’s private physician for thirty years—set his stethoscope down on the coffee table.
"Her blood sugar is elevated, but stable," Dr. Evans announced, smiling down at Lily, who was sitting on the plush sofa wrapped in a soft cashmere blanket, happily eating a bowl of warm apple cobbler provided by Chef Danny. "We've adjusted her insulin dosage. I've brought three months' worth of supplies, along with a continuous glucose monitor that syncs directly to a smartphone."
Emma stood by the fireplace, holding a mug of hot tea that Marcus had brought her. She looked like a woman who had woken up in a fairy tale and was terrified that opening her eyes would break the spell.
"How much will the continuous monitor cost?" Emma asked softly, her maternal worry still lingering.
"It costs nothing, Mrs. Reed," Dr. Evans said gently, packing his medical bag. "Mr. Carver has added you and your daughter to the estate’s private health policy. All medical expenses are covered primary."
Emma looked across the room at Vincent, who was standing near the door, speaking quietly with Marcus.
When Dr. Evans departed, Marcus bowed his head respectfully to Emma and closed the heavy oak door behind him, leaving the small family alone with the Don.
Vincent walked over to the hearth, looking down at the crackling fire.
"The cottage has three bedrooms upstairs," Vincent said smoothly. "The pantry is fully stocked. The heat is set to seventy-two degrees. If you need anything else, there is an intercom beside the front door that connects directly to my study."
Emma set her mug down on the mantelpiece. She walked over to him, stopping right in front of his tall frame.
"Why are you doing this, Vincent?" she asked softly.
It was the first time she had called him by his first name without adding 'Mr. Carver.'
Vincent looked down at her. In the warm firelight, her soft features were no longer obscured by exhaustion and fear. She was a beautiful woman—possessing a quiet, fierce dignity that no amount of poverty had been able to break.
"I spent two weeks suspecting you of being a threat," Vincent confessed, his voice dropping into a low baritone. "I searched your bag expecting to find stolen documents or security codes. Instead, I found a mother starving herself to keep her child alive."
He reached out, his long fingers gently picking up the thin gold chain visible at her collarbone, revealing a small, simple silver cross.
"I built my entire life on the belief that everyone has a price," Vincent continued, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart race. "I thought loyalty was something you bought with high wages and expensive dinners. But you... you showed me that real loyalty, real strength, doesn't come from money. It comes from love."
Emma felt a warm flush spreading across her cheeks. "I was just doing what any mother would do."
"No," Vincent disagreed gently. "Not anyone. You survived in the dark without losing your light."
Lily let out a long, sleepy yawn from the couch, her head drooping against the armrest, her small fingers still clutching her stuffed rabbit.
Vincent looked over at the sleeping child, a soft, unfamiliar warmth opening in his chest—a feeling he hadn't experienced in thirty years.
"Put her to bed, Emma," Vincent said softly, stepping back toward the door. "You both need sleep."
"Vincent?" Emma called out as his hand touched the brass doorknob.
He turned his head.
May you like
"Thank you," she whispered, her brown eyes shining with raw sincerity. "For everything."
Vincent gave her a slow, genuine nod—the first true smile she had ever seen on his dark, sculpted face. "Goodnight, Emma."
