With no room to protest, Hadley was led out, her limbs stiff and her thoughts scattered.

“Hadley.” Tamara glanced at her, watching her carefully. Having stayed by Hadley’s side the entire time, she’d caught every word that passed between her and Ayla. Noticing how distant she looked, Tamara asked gently, “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.” Hadley gave a small shake of her head, though the emptiness in her eyes said otherwise.

“Want to head home now?” Tamara tried again, her tone patient.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

During the drive, Hadley kept her eyes on the passing scenery, her mind spiraling into a fog of uncertainty.

Right now, she had no idea what her next step should be. Ayla had made her conditions clear, yet Hadley remained unsure if giving up Eric was truly the answer. Torn between her love for Eric and her loyalty to Elissa, she silently hoped for another solution—one that didn’t force a choice.

Up front, Tamara kept glancing at Hadley through the rearview mirror, letting out the occasional quiet sigh. Eventually, she reached for her phone and began typing out a detailed message to Phillips. Every part of each confrontation was included in the long text she sent off.

Not long after she pressed send, the message landed directly in Eric’s hands. “Mr. Scott, you’ll want to see this…” Phillips held out the phone, his voice tight with unease.

“What is it now?” Eric took the device, eyes scanning the screen. As he read, a shadow passed over his face, and his jaw clenched. His fingers curled tightly around the phone, knuckles pale, the slightest tremble betraying the storm building inside him.

Back on Jewel Avenue, Hadley quietly made her way upstairs to Joy’s room.

At this hour, the governess had already left, leaving the room peaceful and still. Joy sat at her little desk, her small hand gripping a pen, her attention fixed on what she was writing.

“Joy,” Hadley called softly as she approached. “Are you doing your homework?”

? : ν﹒

“Mom!” Joy looked up, her eyes sparkling as she smiled, pointing proudly at the notebook in front of her. “I’ve already finished my math and English. Now I’m practicing my handwriting!”

“Let me have a look.” Hadley affectionately patted Joy’s head, leaning down to inspect the notebook. It was her handwriting practice. Joy had learned to write a handful of simple words by now. She was still young, so her daily writing wasn’t much—just a few carefully copied words in neat rows.

This notebook wasn’t a generic one; Eric had prepared it himself for her. Instead of using a pre-printed practice book, he had handwritten the examples as guides for Joy. His penmanship was exceptional—bold, clean, carrying an understated elegance and quiet strength. But for Joy’s sake, he had written each word with precise, meticulous strokes—so neat they looked as if they had been printed by a machine.

Joy’s ability to mimic was remarkable. Her little hand had managed to copy his writing with about seventy to eighty percent accuracy.

.

.

.