Killian wiped the smirk off his face, turning to coax the sobbing Felix.

"There, there, kiddo. Don't cry. Since your other grandfather isn't here, how about Grandpa Killian tells you a little story about science, yeah?"

Days bled into weeks.

The house fell into disarray. With no one to cook or clean, the place began to feel like a frat house. Luciana and Charlotte were buried in their work, leaving all the domestic chores to Killian.

Luciana felt a flicker of guilt.

"Killian, I’m so sorry. Your hands were meant for precision instruments, not for scrubbing floors..."

Killian smiled, gentle as a saint. "Luciana, it’s a pleasure to take this weight off your shoulders. I’d sweep the floors all day if it meant making your life easier."

That peace was shattered by an urgent phone call.

When Luciana and Charlotte rushed into the hospital room, Felix was hooked up to an IV. His skin was sallow, his body limp—he looked like a plant left without water for a month.

Charlotte snapped, "Doctor, what is wrong with him?!"

The doctor’s expression was grim. "Acute gastroenteritis, paired with chronic malnutrition. He’s just a child—how could you let him live on high-sodium, grease-laden junk food?"

"Junk food?" Charlotte froze, turning to the teacher who had followed them in.

The teacher looked sheepish. "For the past week, he’s been bringing burgers, fried chicken, or even instant noodles. He told us... he told us that's what his family gave him."

Luciana and Charlotte’s faces turned ash-white.

Luciana turned to her grandson, her voice trembling. "Felix, tell Grandma... what did Grandpa Killian give you to eat?"

Felix cracked his eyes open. "Grandpa Killian said... he doesn't go in the kitchen. He said that’s servant's work."

"He ordered delivery every day. Said it was the pinnacle of modern food science and way more hygienic than whatever the other grandfather used to make."

The boy sniffled, tears pooling in his eyes. "Grandma, my stomach hurts so bad. I miss the rice porridge the other grandfather used to make..."

"Absurd!" The room spun for Luciana.

She remembered Killian’s boast—that he would care for the boy more scientifically than Alan ever could. Was this his science? Leaving a six-year-old on a diet of takeout and instant ramen?

Luciana looked at her daughter, who was on the verge of a breakdown, her face hardening into a mask of fury. She bolted out of the ward.

She hailed a cab straight home. Before she even reached the threshold, she heard the raucous sound of video games and hysterical laughter.

She shoved the door open. The living room was a smog of vape smoke and stale air, a far cry from the refined home she once knew. Killian was huddled around the coffee table with a few stylishly dressed men, a pile of poker chips stacked in front of him, looking like he’d won the lottery.

"Nice hand, Killian!"

Jaxson Cook threw a card down with a smirk. "So what if that old man stuck around for thirty years? You sent him packing to a holding cell with a flick of your wrist, and now he’s too scared to even show his face."

Killian tossed his cards with a flourish, a smug, venomous grin spreading across his face.

"That old relic? What could he do besides cook? Nothing."

"Luciana is a national treasure. She needs someone who can stand by her side and look the part. If I hadn't played the long game, would he have moved out?"

"True enough! You’ve got the touch, man!"

Another guest leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But man, you’re bold. You played the 'injured hero' act perfectly, using your own medical infertility as the perfect excuse to pin the lack of heirs on that other guy."

"She actually fell for it. Thirty years of treating you like her savior!"

Killian chuckled, his eyes cold and calculating.

"If she didn't feel guilty, how else would I have kept my spot by her side once the clearance period expired?"

"Women, especially someone like Luciana—they’re so sentimental. Make them feel like they owe you, and they’ll hand you their entire life on a silver platter."

He shoved his chips forward, beaming. "Winner! Looks like the master of the Moore estate is finally changing."

That was the breaking point.

The front door slammed against the wall with a deafening crack.

Luciana stood in the frame, her eyes locked onto Killian’s pale, terrified face.

"Killian Daniels," she whispered, every word a serrated blade. "What, exactly, were you just saying?"