The text from Douglass had arrived late the night before. Tomorrow. 10 a.m. We'll discuss the conditions you mentioned. Short. Professional. A business meeting, nothing more. Adelina had read it a dozen times, her heart racing each time as if she were reading it for the first.

Now, at precisely ten o'clock, the doorbell rang.

Marlene was already on her feet. She had intercepted the text—had been monitoring Adelina's phone with the vigilance of a prison warden who senses her inmate is about to escape. She had spent the morning in a state of barely contained agitation, fluffing pillows that were already fluffed, rearranging flowers that were already arranged.

"He's here," Marlene announced, her voice pitched somewhere between excitement and desperation.

Beryl, who had been lounging on the sofa scrolling through her phone, looked up with narrowed eyes. She had seen Douglass at the first meeting. She knew he wasn't the awkward, bookish nerd she had pictured—he was tall, sharp-jawed, and maddeningly indifferent to her charms. She had not forgotten. But she had refused to accept that a man like that would choose Adelina over her. It was a mathematical error, not a preference, and she intended to correct it.

"Let's see if he's changed his mind," Beryl murmured, smoothing her blouse.

Adelina watched them from the landing of the stairs, a silent observer. She knew who today was really about. It wasn't about Beryl's last-ditch audition. It was about the conditions she had yet to lay out—the real ones, the ones she hadn't dared to put in a text message.

The doorbell rang again.

Marlene practically ran to the door, smoothing her dress as she went.

Douglass stood on the threshold. He was wearing a simple, well-tailored gray suit, no tie. He looked less like a man on a blind date and more like an agent on a mission. His gaze swept the room with the same polite but remote expression he had worn at the first meeting. When his eyes passed over Beryl, there was no flicker of interest—only the briefest pause of recognition. He had seen her before. He had already dismissed her.

"Douglass, come in, sit!" Marlene gushed, already positioning herself between him and Adelina. "Beryl, get our guest some coffee."

Beryl rose with practiced grace, her movements calculated. She had switched tactics since the first meeting. No more bright, girlish chatter. Now she was poised, sophisticated—a woman of substance. She handed Douglass the cup with a measured smile, not leaning forward, not showing off. She had studied him last time. She knew he didn't respond to obvious plays.

Douglass took the cup, his eyes already searching the room. For Adelina.

"My stepmother said I was meeting a candidate," he said, his voice cool. "The first meeting made it clear that this is a more... complicated arrangement. I'm here to discuss the specifics."

"Of course!" Marlene cut in, her voice bright and brittle. "And we're so glad you came back. Beryl has been hoping for another chance to talk with you—she felt you two didn't really get a proper conversation last time."

Beryl stepped forward, her voice smooth. "I don't think we got off on the right foot. I'd love the opportunity to—"

Douglass held up a hand. It was a small gesture, but it carried absolute finality. "That won't be necessary." His tone was polite, but it left no room for argument. "My decision was made at the first meeting. I'm here to speak with Adelina."

Beryl's practiced composure cracked. A flush of red crept up her neck. She opened her mouth to protest, but Marlene silenced her with a sharp look. The message was clear: Don't make a scene. Not yet.

Douglass's gaze found Adelina at the bottom of the stairs. This time, his look wasn't just polite. It was assessing—the look of a man who had already made a preliminary choice and was now evaluating whether that choice could withstand closer scrutiny. He was not seeing her for the first time. He was assessing her for the first time as a potential wife.

"It must be hard," Adelina said, her voice quiet but clear. "Raising three children on your own."

The question landed in the room like a stone, shattering the fragile surface of small talk. Marlene's mouth opened and closed. Beryl stared, her face a mask of disbelief.

But Douglass's expression changed. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. "It is," he said. "Which is why I need a reliable partner. Not..." He glanced in Beryl's direction. "...a distraction."

Beryl's face went white. She had been dismissed. Twice.

A small smile touched Adelina's lips. It was the opening she had been waiting for. "Then perhaps we could speak privately," she said. "About the 'partner' position."

Douglass was silent for a long moment. Then he stood up. "Alright."

"Mom!" Beryl gasped, shooting to her feet. "You can't just let her—"

"Adelina, what do you think you're doing?" Marlene hissed, stepping forward as if to block the way.

Adelina looked back at her adoptive mother, her gaze calm and unyielding. "This is my business."

She followed Douglass out of the living room and onto the front porch. The cool air was a relief.

He turned to face her, stuffing his hands in his pockets, his posture guarded. "What did you want to talk about?"

She took a deep breath, the words she had practiced a hundred times in her head rising to her lips.

"I have a proposal for you," she said, her voice steady despite the wild beating of her heart. "I propose we get married."

Douglass stared at her. He didn't look shocked. He looked like he was analyzing a piece of faulty data, trying to find the error in the code.

"You're proposing marriage?" he said, his voice flat. "I've known you for less than forty-eight hours."

"I know," Adelina said, her voice quiet. She had prepared for this. "This isn't about romance. It's a contract. A practical solution to both of our problems."

He gave a short, humorless laugh. "I have a problem that requires a stranger to marry me? I need a nanny. Washington is full of them."

This was the moment. The part that would either make him listen or send him walking away for good. She had to say the words she had spent her first life hating, the words that had been carved into her soul.

She took a breath that felt like it was tearing her lungs. "You should marry me," she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, "because I can't have children."

That got a reaction. The skepticism in his eyes was replaced by a flicker of something else. Surprise. Confusion.

"I have the medical diagnosis," she pushed on, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "I will never have a child of my own. Which means your children will always be my only children. I won't be a mother who resents them, or a stepmother who favors her own. I can give them the stability they need. A nanny's job is to care for your children. A wife's life is bound with them. I'm offering a lifetime commitment, not a contract that can be terminated with two weeks' notice."

She was using her deepest wound, the source of all her shame, as a bargaining chip. The irony was a bitter pill.

Douglass was silent for a long time. His gaze dropped from her face to her hands, which were clenched into white-knuckled fists at her sides. He was considering it. She could see the cold logic of her offer warring with his natural caution.

"Even if that's true," he said finally, his voice softer but still firm, "marriage is not the answer. It's too extreme."

Her heart sank. But he hadn't walked away.

"Then let me come to Washington," she said, her voice pleading now. "As a nanny. A trial period. Let me prove to you that I'm the right person to help with your family."

He looked at her, his eyes searching her face. She knew what he saw. A young woman who was too eager, too desperate. It didn't make sense. His suspicion was a wall between them.

"I can consider the nanny arrangement," he said, his voice cool and distant again. "The marriage proposal is off the table. Completely."

It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no. It was a start.

"Okay," she said, relief making her feel lightheaded. "A trial period." She held out her hand. "Deal."

He looked at her outstretched hand for a second before taking it. His grip was firm, his palm dry and warm. The jolt of his touch was so unexpected, so real, it sent a memory flashing through her mind-this same hand, holding hers, as a heart monitor screamed its final song.

She must have flinched, because he looked at her, his brow furrowed. "What is it?"

She pulled her hand back quickly. "Nothing," she said, forcing a smile. "Thank you. For the chance."

He gave her one last, long, unreadable look before turning to leave.

She watched him walk toward his car, her heart pounding. A nanny. It wasn't enough. It was too precarious. She needed to be essential to him. She needed a contract.

Just then, a familiar car turned onto her street. Garret.

And as he pulled up to the curb, a wild, reckless, terrible idea bloomed in her mind.

Garret slammed his car door and stalked toward the house, his face a thundercloud of anger. The things she'd said in the coffee shop had clearly eaten away at him.

Adelina saw him coming. Her heart kicked into a higher gear, not with fear, but with the adrenaline of a gambler making an all-in bet.

She turned back to Douglass, who was halfway to his car. "Wait," she said, her voice low and urgent. "Please. I need you to do me a favor."

He stopped, turning back with an impatient look. But he saw the genuine panic in her eyes.

"My ex-fiancé," she said, nodding toward Garret, who was now only a few yards away. "I need him to believe I've moved on. Completely."

Douglass's gaze flickered to Garret, then back to her. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Pretend you're with me," she blurted out. "Just for one minute. Please."

His first instinct was to refuse. She saw it in the tightening of his jaw. He didn't do drama. He didn't do games.

But there was no time.

Before he could say no, Adelina closed the distance between them. She reached up and gripped the front of his coat, pulling herself closer. Instead of a kiss, she let her head fall against his shoulder, pressing her body into his side with a desperate, possessive intimacy. Her fingers dug into the fabric, a silent plea. It wasn't a real embrace. It was a bare, calculated touch, but it felt like an electric shock.

Garret stopped dead, his mouth falling open. He had never, not once, seen Adelina initiate any kind of public affection.

She tilted her head back to look up at Douglass. His gray eyes were wide, startled. She mouthed a single word. Please.

His rational mind was screaming at him, but some other, deeper instinct took over. His hand came up and rested, stiffly, on her shoulder.

Her heart was going to explode. This was for the act, she told herself, but her body wasn't listening. The solid feel of him, the heat of his hand through her sweater-it was too real.

Holding the pose, she stared directly at Garret, her gaze defiant and cold.

The color drained from Garret's face. He looked from the two of them, locked in their fake embrace, and something in him seemed to break. He spun around without a word, got back in his car, and sped away, tires squealing.

The sound of the engine faded. Adelina realized she was still holding on to Douglass. She let go abruptly and took a step back, her cheeks burning.

His hand fell from her shoulder. He looked down at her, his expression a complex mixture of annoyance and something else she couldn't decipher.

"Do you always use people like that?" he asked, his voice quiet but sharp.

The question stung. "It was the only way to make him leave me alone," she said, lifting her chin. "I won't bother you again."

He didn't answer. He just turned and walked to his car. He pulled the door open, then paused.

Without looking back at her, he said, "Saturday. 8 a.m. Be ready."

The car door clicked shut. He drove away.

Adelina stood alone on the driveway, and as the reality of his words sank in, tears of pure, unadulterated relief began to stream down her face.