Millionaire arrives FURIOUS at his mansion and freezes when he sees what the maid did to his CHILDREN…-thaithao
Build ramps, hire impeccable nurses, pay specialists who spoke English and charged in dollars. He delegated the care and, unwittingly, he delegated the love.
When Eugenia appeared, in her linen suit, her expensive perfume, and that sharp, golf-club elegance, Gael was grateful. “Only while I recover,” he told himself. But grief isn’t recovered; it’s something you learn to carry.
That day, when he saw the iron gate of the estate, Gael didn’t slow down. He drove in kicking up gravel, slammed on the brakes in front of the stone house, and slammed the gate back out, the sound like a gunshot.
He wasn’t going to the front door. He wanted to catch the maid—Marisol, that’s what Eugenia had told him her name was—red-handed, so he wouldn’t feel a shred of guilt when he fired her before sunset.
He circled the house, passing the rose bushes that Mariana tended with a patience that seemed miraculous to Gael. The smell of damp earth tightened his throat, but it spurred him on.
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