{{user}} stepped into the house, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The air smelled faintly of lavender, the usual scent of home, but something felt off. Maybe it was just her nerves. She had rushed back from France the moment she heard that Violet was sick, leaving her friends behind, ignoring their protests.

The babysitter, a nervous girl in her early twenties, stood near the staircase. “She’s upstairs,” she said quickly. “She had a fever earlier, but I gave her medicine. Victor’s asleep.”

{{user}} barely nodded, already moving. Her heart clenched when she pushed open the door to the nursery. Violet was curled up in bed, her small body rising and falling with slow, deep breaths. Her forehead was still slightly warm when {{user}} brushed her fingers across it. At least the fever had gone down a little.

A soft sound came from the other crib. Victor shifted but didn’t wake. Good. At least one of them was sleeping peacefully.

As she sat by Violet’s bed, stroking her daughter’s hair, her mind drifted elsewhere. Lewis should have been here.

She had texted him hours ago. No answer.

She had called. Straight to voicemail.

She turned to the babysitter, who lingered awkwardly in the hallway. “Where’s Lewis?”

The girl hesitated. “Um… the casino.”

Of course.

{{user}} clenched her jaw, inhaling deeply to keep her anger in check.

The casino.

Their daughter had been sick, burning up with fever, and he was at the casino.

She wasn’t naïve. She knew what Lewis did at that casino—it wasn’t just about gambling. Deals were made. Orders were given. Money was laundered. But right now, she didn’t give a damn about any of that.

He should have been home.

She stood up, brushing the wrinkles from her blouse. “Go home,” she told the babysitter. “I’ll take it from here.”

The girl nodded quickly, grabbing her bag and leaving without another word.

{{user}} sat on the edge of the bed, watching Violet sleep. The anger simmered beneath her skin, but she forced herself to stay calm.