The whole mansion was noisy that morning. Workers were rushing up and down the long hallway. Some were cleaning the windows, some were carrying new flowers into the sitting room, and others were polishing the tables until they shined like mirrors.
All of this was because of one person.
Elena.
Damon Steele stood in the middle of the big living room, watching everything with sharp eyes. He was wearing his suit already, even though it was still early. His face was serious, and he kept pointing at places that did not look perfect.
"No, no, no," he shouted. "Move that flower to the left. The chair is not straight. Fix the carpet. Everything must be perfect. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir!" the workers answered quickly.
He walked around again. His hands were behind his back. His steps were slow but strong. Anyone who saw him knew he was a man that nobody wanted to annoy.
"She will be here soon," he muttered to himself. "My lost daughter… After all these years."
A small smile tried to appear on his lips, but he quickly hid it. Damon was not the type of man who liked to show emotions.
Just when the workers finally thought he was satisfied, he shouted again.
"Who put that painting there? Move it! Her room must look warm. Not like a hotel!"
One worker whispered to another, "But sir never cares about paintings…"
The other worker whispered back, "Today he cares. Today is different."
Damon heard them, but he didn't say anything. Maybe because they were right—today was different.
He walked upstairs to the second floor and stopped in front of the room he had chosen for Elena. The door was open, and two maids were inside arranging the bed.
"Did the new bedsheets arrive?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. The pink ones you requested."
Damon nodded. "Good. She is young. She will like soft things."
The maids exchanged a surprised look. Damon Steele was not a "soft things" man. He was stone—cold stone. But today he sounded almost… human.
As he turned to leave, someone cleared their throat behind him.
Damon stopped.
Then slowly turned.
Mrs. Cassandra Steele.
His new wife.
She was standing there with her arms folded. Her long red gown touched the floor. Her makeup was perfect as always, but her eyes were not smiling. They were cold… and jealous.
"So," she said slowly, "you are really doing all this… for her."
Damon gave her a short look. "Yes. She is my daughter."
Cassandra scoffed. "Your daughter you did not even know existed for twenty-five years."
"She exists now," he replied.
"And suddenly the whole house must shake?" Cassandra asked, one eyebrow raised. "Suddenly everyone must run? Suddenly you must smile even when you never smile at me?"
Damon frowned. "I am not smiling."
"You almost did," she said sharply. "When you said her name."
Damon did not want to argue. He was too focused on preparing for Elena.
"She is coming to live here," he said simply. "She must feel welcome."
Cassandra stepped closer. "Why? You are not a soft father. You are not even soft to Caleb—your own son with me. But now this girl appears from nowhere and you want to give her everything? A room like a princess? A life like royalty?"
Damon took a deep breath. "Cassandra, don't start."
She laughed bitterly. "Start? I have not even begun."
He tried to walk past her, but she blocked the doorway.
"Cassandra, move."
"No," she said firmly. "You need to listen to me. I am your wife. And I deserve to know what is happening inside your head."
Damon looked at her fully now, his eyes hard. "She is my blood. My own flesh. I did not know she existed. I did not know she was out there… suffering. If I knew, I would have brought her home long ago."
Cassandra's face tightened. "So what am I now? Decoration?"
"You are my wife," Damon answered. "But she is my daughter."
He stepped past her, this time pushing the door softly so she had to move.
Cassandra stood there watching him walk away. Her chest was rising and falling fast. Anger was burning inside her. She always knew Damon could be strict, but she never thought he could change this quickly for another girl—especially a girl from a one-night stand.
She whispered to herself, "This Elena… is already a problem."
Downstairs, Damon walked into his office where his assistant, Mr. Roland, was waiting with papers.
"Sir, these are documents for Elena," Roland said. "Her new ID card, her allowance plan, her school records, and—"
"Put them on the table," Damon said.
Roland placed everything down and then asked, "Sir… are you nervous?"
Damon looked up sharply. "Why would I be nervous?"
Roland cleared his throat. "Because you have rearranged the whole house twice."
Damon looked away and pretended to check a file. "I just want everything to be right."
Roland smiled a little. "Sir… she is not coming to judge your furniture."
Damon's jaw tightened. "She is coming to judge me."
Roland did not know what to say.
The strong, cold Damon Steele… scared?
"I abandoned her without knowing," Damon continued quietly. "What if she hates me?"
Roland spoke softly. "She accepted to move in. That means she wants to know you."
Damon breathed slowly. "I hope so."
A loud sound suddenly came from the hallway.
Cassandra had pushed a flower vase off a table.
The vase broke loudly on the ground.
Everyone froze.
Damon stepped out of his office and saw Cassandra standing there, her face full of anger but her smile fake.
"Oh dear," she said loudly. "My hand slipped."
Damon stared at her. He knew it was not a mistake.
She lifted her chin. "Tell your workers to clean the mess."
Then she walked away slowly, her heels clicking on the floor.
Roland whispered, "Sir… she is jealous."
Damon rubbed his forehead. "I know."
"Should I talk to her?" Roland asked.
"No," Damon said. "Leave her. I don't have time for her drama today."
He walked upstairs again, checking Elena's room one last time. The room was warm now. Soft colors. Gentle lights. A big mirror. A small reading table. And a big bed.
He touched the bedsheet with his finger.
"Elena," he whispered. "I hope you like it here…"
But even he was not sure.
Because he knew this was only the beginning.
And not everyone in the house was happy about Elena's return.
Especially Cassandra.
Her anger was not small.
And she was already planning something.
Something dangerous.
Something Elena did not know was coming.