The night was still, bathed in moonlight flowing like water.


    Liz and Remingtony on therge bed in the master bedroom, with baby Ron sleeping between them.


    The little boy smelled faintly of milk, aforting and sweet scent.


    No sooner had Lizin down than Ron kicked his little legs and rolled right into her arms, as if instinctively seeking his mother.


    Liz''s eyes snapped open, a flicker of panic and uncertainty crossing her gaze.


    She raised her hands, unsure of where to ce them.


    Terrified of squishing the soft, fragile little thing if she held him wrong—he was so incredibly tiny-her hands just hovered stiffly in mid-air.


    Suddenly, arge hand reached out and gently grasped her hovering one.


    Intertwining his fingers with hers, Remington guided her hand over the baby''s head, resting their sped hands on the pillow beside them.


    Guided by his movement, Liz shifted onto her sidepletely.


    Remington was also lying on his side. In the darkness, their eyes met across the sleeping baby.


    Through the dim light, Liz could trace the faint outline of his face and the soft gleam in his deep, profound eyes.


    They held each other''s gaze for a couple of seconds before Remington lightly tapped his fingers against the back of her hand.


    It was rhythmic—their own unique, unspoken way of saying goodnight.


    An indescribable wave of tender mncholy washed over her. Liz tapped the back


    of his hand in the same rhythmic pattern and gently closed her eyes.


    She had thought she wouldn''t be able to sleep, anticipating endless nightmares and the painful memories of that tragic night triggered by being here.


    But none of that happened. Soon, her breathing deepened into a peaceful, steady rhythm.


    Across the hall, however, Ste West was not having such a restful night.


    Her injured hand was throbbing with pain, and she was consumed by intense jealousy and resentment.


    Pulling out her phone, she walked toward the balcony and dialed a number.


    It was answered quickly. Lowering her voice, Ste issued her instructions.


    "I''m on the east balcony of the vi now. Come over here. Make sure you find a good angle and get a clear shot."


    Hanging up, she quickly adjusted her clothes, pulling her cor down slightly. She let her hair loose, messing it up to cover the bandage on her forehead.


    Leaningnguidly against the railing, she nced behind her. Then, she walked back in, moved a cab slightly and left the curtains half drawn to create a suggestive silhouette.


    From a distance, it would look exactly as if someone was standing in the shadows of the room.


    This way, if she performed a few


    fake gestures towards the dark room and the photographer found the fight they could create the


    illusion of a man flirting with her in the shadows.


    It was a pity Remington was so guarded against her; she couldn''t get real photos of them spending time togetherte at night.


    Still, as long as she was photographed at Oakridge Heights, making people believe


    she had officially moved in, it would serve its purpose.


    With everything set, Ste peered


    outside. But after waiting for ages with the cold


    and biting at her neck


    therewas still no sign of the


    paparazzo she had hired.


    They had agreed that once he arrived, he would sh his phone''s shlight from a distance as a signal.


    Growing impatient, Ste was about to call and rush him, only to realize her phone had no signal.


    Pacing back and forth, she tried several times, but the call just wouldn''t go through.


    Just as she was wondering what was going on, she casually nced downstairs and saw a small figure dart across the yard.


    But where would a childe from at Oakridge Heights?


    She squeezed her eyes shut and looked again. The yard waspletely empty, not


    a single soul in sight.