"She entered the mansion at 5 A.M. demanding Natalie be woken up, unaware that the man she planned to betray was secretly listening to every word.""""""“You Came Back?” the Maid Whispered—The Mafia Boss Secretly Returned Before Dawn to Test His Fiancée, Then Heard Her Threaten His Widowed Sister and Steal From His Dead Mother’s Trust…

The morning air was crisp with the scent of autumn salt and damp earth. At precisely 8:00 A.M., Dominic stepped out onto the east lawn near the old stone cottage. The rose garden—long neglected during the chaotic months leading up to the aborted wedding—was overgrown with climbing ivy and wild thorns, yet it still retained its timeless elegance.

A woman stood near the center arbor, examining a cluster of late-blooming heritage roses. She wore a simple navy trench coat, her dark chestnut hair tied back in a practical ponytail, holding a leather sketchbook under her arm.

"If you prune them now, they won't survive the winter frost," a voice broke the quiet.

Claire Vance spun around, startled. She found herself face-to-face with Dominic Mercer, the man whose name had been dominating the headlines all week. Up close, his dark eyes were intense, yet devoid of the cold menace people whispered about in society circles.

"Mr. Mercer," Claire recovered quickly, adjusting her sketchbook. "I assumed your staff would meet me. I didn't expect the head of the estate to handle garden preservation personally."

"This garden belonged to my mother," Dominic said, walking closer and inspecting the roses alongside her. "She spent every morning here before she got sick. If anyone is going to restore it, I want to make sure it's done right."

Claire looked at him, her expression appraising rather than intimidated. "Most men in your position would bulldoze the garden and build a tennis court, Mr. Mercer."

"Most men aren't me," Dominic replied, a faint smirk touching his lips. "And please, call me Dominic. 'Mr. Mercer' makes me sound like my grandfather."

Claire smiled, a warm, genuine expression that immediately softened the austere beauty of the courtyard. "Claire. And for the record, Dominic, bulldozing Catherine’s roses would be a crime against horticulture. What this garden needs is aggressive root-clearing, proper soil aeration, and a lot of patience."

"Patience is my specialty," Dominic said quietly, holding her gaze for a beat longer than necessary.

For the next hour, they walked through the overgrown garden, discussing soil types, historical rose strains, and architectural preservation. For Dominic, it was the first time in years he had engaged in a conversation that didn't involve corporate acquisitions, threat assessments, or betrayal. There was an ease to Claire—an unpretentious intelligence and grounded strength that drew him in completely.

As she prepared to leave, Claire packed her sketching pencils into her bag. "I'll draw up a formal restoration proposal and send it to your office by Friday."

"Don't send it to the office," Dominic said smoothly. "Bring it here. Saturday morning. We can review it over breakfast in the conservatory."

Claire paused, looking up at him with a knowing glint in her eye. "Is that a business meeting or an invitation, Dominic?"