Beep! Beep! Beep!
The shrill alarm of the baby monitor on Amara's nightstand shattered the silence. She jerked awake, her heavy eyelids snapping open. Her pulse spiked instantly as Kenzo's piercing cries crackled through the tiny speaker.
Exhausted as she was from the long journey upstate, her instincts — and the aching pressure building once again in her chest — propelled her out of bed. She grabbed her shawl and padded swiftly out of the room, climbing the marble stairs to the second floor on feet that barely whispered against the stone.
"Kenzo... I'm coming, sweetheart," she murmured, easing the nursery door open.
Relief washed over her when she found the room empty except for the baby. No sign of Mr. Aditama. He must have already retired to his bedroom in the far wing of the mansion.
Amara hurried to the crib. Kenzo was squirming, his face flushed deep red from crying. "Shh... shh. Don't cry, little one, or you'll wake your daddy," she cooed, lifting the small body into her arms.
Kenzo didn't quiet down. If anything, his wails grew louder, his head turning wildly against Amara's shoulder, hunting for that scent he already knew by heart. Her chest throbbed. The milk was straining to let down, but Lasmi's warning about the cameras rang in her ears.
She scanned the room, eyes sweeping across the high ceiling. In the far corner, near the decorative light fixture, she spotted it — a small black device with a faintly blinking red dot.
There it is, she thought.
Amara pivoted, searching for the blind spot. The oversized rocking chair with its tall back faced the floor-to-ceiling window, heavy drapes drawn shut. That angle put her back squarely to the camera. She hurried over and sat down, positioning her body so that her back became a shield against the lens.
"We'll stay right here, Kenzo. Where nobody can see," she whispered, trembling.
With slightly clumsy hands, she unfastened her blouse. The instant Kenzo's skin met hers, the screaming ceased as if a switch had been flipped. His cries dissolved into the steady, rhythmic sound of a baby nursing hungrily.
Amara exhaled a long, slow breath, her head falling back against the chair. A tide of pure relief coursed through her. She looked down at Kenzo's face, now perfectly tranquil in her arms. His tear-damp eyes cracked open, gazing up at her with a look that was at once deep and impossibly innocent.
"Why are you staring at me like that, sweetheart?" she whispered, brushing the baby's cheek with her fingertip. "You were really thirsty, huh? I'm sorry — I was too slow waking up."
Kenzo released his latch for a moment, made a tiny gurgling sound as if answering her, then settled back in to nurse peacefully.
"You're such a good boy, Kenzo. You have to grow up strong, okay? Don't be sad that Mama isn't here. You've got me now. I'll take care of you. I'll give you everything you need," Amara continued, blinking back tears at how cruelly fate had stripped this beautiful baby of a mother's love so young.
"And when you grow up, don't be cold like your daddy, all right? Be warm. Be someone who smiles. Then maybe your daddy will learn to smile too." A soft laugh escaped her between whispers, and she didn't realize just how intimate the moment had become.
She kept talking to the baby — about the green fields back home, about her mischievous but lovable siblings, about her dreams and hopes. In this vast, frigid house, Kenzo felt like the only soul she could truly confide in.
But what Amara didn't know was that in the darkness of the master bedroom, Arlan Aditama sat propped against his headboard, the glow of his phone screen the only light. He couldn't see what was happening at her chest — the chair's high back blocked the view — but he could see his son's head pressed firmly against her, nestled and still.
He could hear Amara's whispers through the camera's sensitive microphone. Her voice — soft, sincere, brimming with tenderness — poured into Arlan's ears and rattled something that had been frozen inside him for a very long time.
"You're too bold, Amara..." he murmured, his voice hoarse. His eyes never left the screen, tracking the gentle rhythm of her body. What had been curiosity had now ignited into an obsession that burned.
***
Dawn had barely crept over the skyline, but Amara was already wide awake. Following what had become a secret ritual between her and Kenzo, she nursed the baby in the rocking chair's camera-safe corner before the sun fully rose. Once Kenzo was content and full, she moved briskly into his morning routine.
She drew a bath of perfectly lukewarm water. With infinite care, she sponged every inch of his tiny body, making sure each fold of baby skin was spotless. The soft scent of baby wash and talcum powder filled the room as she dressed him in an adorable cotton onesie printed with little bears.
"There — handsome boy, all clean and fresh. Now we wait for Daddy, okay?" she whispered, planting a kiss on Kenzo's forehead. He looked bright-eyed and content.
Click.
The door opened. Amara startled and shot to her feet, her head dropping into an instinctive bow. Arlan Aditama strode in radiating authority. He was already immaculate in a charcoal suit that fit his athletic frame like a second skin, trailing a wave of masculine cologne that instantly dominated the room.
Kenzo, lying on the changing table, suddenly began pumping his tiny arms and legs in wild excitement. Happy little sounds bubbled out of him, as though greeting the man before him.
Arlan — whose face was typically carved from ice — couldn't suppress a faint smile at his son's reaction. A glint of adoration softened those severe eyes. "Well, well... you want Daddy to hold you, hm?" he said, his voice gentler than Amara had ever heard it.
He leaned down and gathered Kenzo into his arms with careful precision. "Mmm... my boy smells wonderful this morning," he murmured, inhaling deeply against Kenzo's skin. But as his face drifted near the baby's neck, he caught it again — that same sweet, warm fragrance from the night before. A scent that no soap could explain.
His gaze shifted from Kenzo to Amara. He studied her from head to toe. She stood rigid as a statue, her eyes fixed on the marble floor as though it held the secret to survival.
"Has Kenzo been fed?" Arlan asked, his tone flat but probing.
"Yes, sir," Amara answered, her voice scarcely above a whisper.
Arlan's eyes swept the room. They landed on a bottle sitting on the nightstand — half-empty with leftover formula. Amara had prepared it deliberately, pouring some out to make it look used. Arlan gave a satisfied nod at the physical evidence, though deep down, doubt still gnawed at him.
He stepped forward, closing the gap between them until it was almost nothing. Amara could feel his presence like a force field — even his breath grazed the top of her head.
"Lift your head, Amara," Arlan commanded, his voice cool as slate.
She didn't move. Her fingers knotted together, white-knuckled. The weight of his authority pinned her in place.
"Amara, I don't speak to people who won't look me in the eye. In this house, you will have both manners and courage." He stressed every word. "Raise your head when I'm talking to you. Is that really so difficult?"
Slowly, Amara lifted her face. Her clear, guileless eyes met Arlan's — dark, sharp, unyielding. A strange current jolted through her body when she caught her own reflection in those black irises.
"Forgive me, sir. I... I just didn't want to seem disrespectful," she murmured.
Arlan paused, examining every inch of her face — still fresh despite the faint shadows of fatigue beneath her eyes. His gaze dipped for just a heartbeat to her chest, outlined beneath the caretaker's uniform, then snapped back to her eyes.
"Make sure Kenzo stays this calm all day. I'm heading to the office, and I'll be checking the cameras periodically. Don't let me see anything suspicious." The words landed like a veiled warning.
He placed Kenzo back into Amara's arms. As their hands brushed in the transfer, a jolt — like static, but deeper — shot through them both. Amara pulled her hand away the instant Kenzo was secure, while Arlan lingered a beat, absorbing the residual warmth of her skin against his.
"I understand, sir," Amara replied softly.
Without another word, Arlan turned and walked out. Amara released the breath she'd been holding in a long, shuddering exhale. Kenzo simply watched his father leave, fingers stuffed contentedly in his mouth, already turning back toward Amara — seeking comfort from the one person in this cold mansion who could give him what he needed.
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