When Celeste woke up, her eyes were still wet with tears as she scanned the room. Her gaze finally landed on the clock-it was nearly ten.

She couldn't believe she'd slept that late.

Grabbing a simple set of loungewear from the closet, she pulled the collar up to hide the marks on her neck from yesterday. As she made her way downstairs, she silently prayed she wouldn't run into that disabled eldest son.

To her relief, Ethan was nowhere in sight. Liam wasn't there either.

The living room was buzzing with activity. Sophie was hovering over Grace Shaw, showing her how to make dumplings. Mr. Shaw sat on the couch, glasses perched on his nose, eyes fixed on the finance channel.

"Mom," Celeste greeted softly as she walked in.

Sophie's face immediately turned cold. She glanced at the wall clock, eyebrows raised.

"Do you even know what time it is? First day back and you're already slacking off. What, you think you're some pampered princess now?"

Grace, lazily shaping a dumpling, chimed in without looking up. "Must've been tough in prison. Poor sister-in-law's probably so wiped out, she forgot breakfast was even a thing."

Breakfast was her job?

So basically, Celeste's role in this house was daughter-in-law slash housekeeper?

"What's wrong, did jail fry your brain?" Grace smirked, arching her thin brows when Celeste stayed quiet.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Celeste offered a polite smile. "Not at all. If breakfast's what you want, I'll go make something right now. I promise it'll be just how you like it."

Ignoring the way Sophie's and Grace's expressions soured, she calmly turned and headed toward the kitchen.

"Is she for real? Totally nutty. Look at the time, who even wants her breakfast?" Grace grumbled under her breath. Before, Celeste would just silently take the hits with that pitiful, wronged look of hers.

Now she was smiling like nothing could get to her?

"Guess the prison guards knocked something loose in her head."

Sophie took one of the dumplings from Grace and frowned. "This one's a mess. You gotta fold it like this, see?"

In the kitchen, staring at the rows of oils, sauces, and veggies, Celeste's head started pounding. She seriously had no clue how to make breakfast. Back when she was living with the Goodwins, not setting the kitchen on fire already counted as a success.

Still, she bit the bullet, grabbed a steak from the fridge, tossed in some chopped scallions and an egg, and tried to fry it up. She vaguely remembered the maid used to cook it this way.

Trouble was, she totally messed up the heat. By the time she picked the steak up from the pan, it looked like a chunk of charcoal-pitch black and crispy.

Panicking, she tried to make it look better by dusting it with a little flour and covering it with some cumin and chili powder before bringing it out.

Grace took one bite, and her face instantly twisted. That delicate, doll-like expression collapsed in a second.

"Ugh!"

She spat it out like it was poison, slammed her fork on the table, and snapped, "Seriously, sis-in-law, you did this on purpose, didn't you? Trying to poison me like your whole 'accidental death' thing again, huh?"

"That bad?" Sophie looked skeptical. She had thought Celeste at least knew how to cook.

To check for herself, she picked up the knife and fork, took a bite-and her face turned from pale to purple in seconds.

Celeste looked sincerely apologetic. "Oh no... was it that bad? Sorry, I guess my hands shook a bit. Got my head bashed in pretty bad while I was locked up, needed stitches. Fingers got broken too, so maybe I went a little heavy on the seasoning."

Her tone was so genuine, like she had no idea she'd done anything wrong. No matter how furious Grace looked, Celeste kept that calm, sweet smile on her face, like a breeze on a spring day.

Sophie's eyes flickered with something unreadable.

"You totally did that on purpose! If you didn't want to make breakfast, just say so! Don't go pulling some stunt like this!" Grace practically exploded. She'd always hated how Celeste was all meek and quiet-how was someone like that even worthy of her brother Ethan?

So she didn't bother hiding the sharp edge in her words. She'd already made up her mind to kick Celeste out of the Shaw family someday.

"But Grace, that's not fair... I really tried. I just... I'm not good at this," Celeste said, eyes slightly red-rimmed as she looked like she was holding back tears.

"You-!"

Everything was about to blow up in the living room when-

"Done talking yet? If you're done, shut up already. My ears are ringing-I can't even watch the news in peace."

Mr. Shaw, sitting alone on the couch, suddenly spoke up and tapped his cane on the floor twice with a loud "thud thud."

Sophie shot Grace a sharp look. Grace instantly went silent. "Got it, Grandpa."

Mr. Shaw only had one son, Edward Shaw-Sophie's husband and Ethan's father-who'd flown to Farond a month ago for business. So right now, the family was basically under the old man's management.

He was a retired official, after all. Still carried that old-school discipline about him.

The finance channel was playing, talking about how the Goodwin Group had been officially taken over by Oliver. The tragic accident that killed the couple from the Goodwin family had been ruled a car crash.

And their daughter, Isabella, was also listed among the deceased.

Celeste stared at the TV, eyes fixed and glassy, her fists clenched as tears crept quietly down her cheeks.

Upstairs at the villa's second-floor landing, a man in a wheelchair was quietly observing everything going on downstairs, his gaze intense.

There was no denying it-Celeste had changed. A lot.

The whole day passed and she still hadn't seen Ethan. The man was always coming and going like a ghost, who knew what he was up to.

Late that night, loud crashes and metallic clanks rang from the room next to hers. It even sounded like a wheelchair had tipped over.

Celeste, a light sleeper to begin with, shot up in bed and groaned, dragging her hands through her messy hair.

She tried to ignore it, pulled the covers over her head-but no luck. The noise just wouldn't stop.

With a sigh, she finally slipped on her slippers and padded over to the next room.

She knocked a few times, but no one answered.

'What if something bad happened?'

The thought jolted her fully awake.

Without another thought, she pushed the door open-and instantly froze.

Ethan was lying on the floor beside the bed.

Next to him, a young woman dressed way too sexy for this hour was kneeling nervously, stammering, "I'm really sorry, sir, I didn't mean to... if you're upset, I won't come again..."

"...Did I, uh... interrupt something?" Celeste asked cautiously, but didn't move an inch.

Ethan's face had gone completely dark, especially now that someone he clearly couldn't ignore was standing at the door.

"Get out!" he barked.

"Yes... sorry, I'm leaving now..." the girl mumbled, head down, and darted past Celeste, not even properly dressed. As she passed, she muttered a timid, "Good evening, Mrs. Shaw."

Celeste blinked, confused. What the heck just happened?

"This woman..."

The thought barely formed before she felt a cold, cutting glare slice her way.

"You done staring?" Ethan asked, voice sharp as ever.

"Yeah, all done," she blurted.

"Then get out," he snapped.

"Right..."

Seriously, did this guy only know how to say that one line?

Celeste reached for the door and started to close it, ready to leave.

"Wait." His voice rang out again from behind her-low and unreadable.

"Give me a hand."

She honestly thought he'd be able to manage getting up on his own by now.

Celeste hesitated a little before going over and helping him off the floor.

It was only then that she realized how tall Ethan actually was. Sitting in the wheelchair didn't show it, but now that his six-foot-one frame was leaning on her, he felt ridiculously heavy.

She struggled to get him back into the wheelchair, panting as she did so.

"If that's all, I'm going back to bed." She yawned like she could fall asleep standing-no joke, the nightmares had been relentless these past few days.

Her careless words made Ethan's brow tighten dangerously, like he could swat a fly to death with the tension.

"It's late. I need a shower," he said, in that low, no-discussion tone, voice sharp with chill.

Celeste stopped mid-step.

"...A shower?" Her brain was already turning into a confused mess.

Was he seriously asking her to help with his bath?

No way. That gorgeous woman earlier offered, and he turned her down. Now she walks in and gets stuck with this job?

"Yeah." Ethan clearly had zero patience left. He was already wheeling toward the bathroom. "Come here."

Again, he was ordering her around like she was his assistant.

Ughhhh. Could she say no? Who takes a shower at this hour?! But also, ditching a disabled guy alone in this state felt kinda heartless...

Fine. Whatever. She'd suck it up.

After standing there mentally prepping herself for a moment, Celeste finally dragged her feet forward.

Never in her life had she helped someone shower. Back when she was the pampered Goodwin heiress, she had maids doing all this for her.

She went through the motions she vaguely remembered-started the water and filled the tub.

Ethan sat nearby in his wheelchair, eyes fixed on her.

Under the dim LED bathroom light, Celeste's delicate features were softened. As she bent over the tub, the exposed curve of her collarbone caught the light. She dipped her hand to check the temperature again, adjusting it slightly.

"Alright, water's ready. Hop in." She turned around and said it offhandedly.

And instantly regretted it.

She'd forgotten-he couldn't "hop" anywhere by himself. She'd have to undress him first.

Sure enough, Ethan's whole expression dropped a few shades darker.

The air in the room instantly tightened, like all the oxygen had been sucked out.

Celeste looked at him, then awkwardly pointed to herself. "So... you want me to, uh, help with your clothes?"

He didn't reply, just kept staring at her like she'd grown another head. The kind of stare that made her skin crawl.

Alright, point taken.

She braced herself and helped him up again, wobbling under his weight like she might tip over any second.

With one arm holding him steady, she started unbuttoning his shirt, gritting through her teeth. "You're seriously heavy. Who usually helped you shower before?"

And then she muttered, "If I'm stuck doing this from now on, I might need to go buy a cane or something, otherwise-"

The rest of the sentence never made it out.

In a blur, Ethan pushed her hard, frustration snapping.

She stumbled, her foot catching on some spilled water, and she ended up landing straight on him as he'd just started getting into the tub.

Both of them crashed into the bath at once, water splashing everywhere.

Now fully soaked, her white shirt clung to her like second skin, showing off every curve. But worse than that-her hand had ended up somewhere it really shouldn't be...