Chapter 1

Raphael's POV

The living room instantly fell silent.

The housekeeper, Olivia Harper, went deathly pale the moment she realized that she'd said too much.

I forced a smile before gesturing for her to take a seat. "Just answer whatever I ask you," I said calmly.

Olivia tightened her grip on her apron and nodded.

"When did you start delivering the meals?" I asked.

"Two weeks ago," she replied.

Thinking back, I'd been so consumed by preparations for my studio's grand opening that I'd eventually worked myself into a fever and ended up bedridden.

I'd reached out to my fiancee, Irene Lambert, for help—only to learn that she was leaving on a business trip. In the end, all I got was a half-hearted reminder to take my medicine on time.

I took a deep breath as I tried to remain calm.

"How old is the child?" I asked.

"He's a young boy—around five or six years old. He looks a lot like Ms. Lambert," Olivia replied.

The child's age echoed in my mind. This year marked the seventh year Irene and I had been together.

I lowered my gaze to the lunchbox on the table. It was filled with chicken nuggets and spaghetti—comfort food children loved.

Food I'd never cared for.

When I remained silent for a long time, Olivia cautiously continued, "Mr. Sanford… I honestly didn't know about this. I wasn't deliberately hiding it from you."

She pleaded, "Please don't fire me. I really need this job."

I'd personally hired Olivia as my housekeeper because she was quiet, followed instructions, and cooked well. Even though she only needed to prepare one meal a day, I still paid her 20 thousand dollars a month.

But I never imagined that the housekeeper I'd hired on such a generous salary would end up cooking for my fiancee's illegitimate child.

"I'm the one who's paying your salary. From now on, ignore any instructions Irene gives you," I ordered.

Olivia nodded frantically. "Yes, sir."

Then, I got to my feet and picked up the lunchbox from the table. "You can take the rest of the day off. I'll deliver the lunch myself," I said.

I couldn't tell if the air conditioning was too cold, but a chill spread through my body as I sat behind the wheel.

How could this be? Irene and I had been together for seven years, and we were going to get married next month.

I found myself wondering whether it was all just a misunderstanding. Even so, my thoughts kept drifting back to five years ago when Irene had been posted overseas for a year.

We hadn't seen each other once for that entire year. Could the child have been born then?

I floored the accelerator. By the time I pulled up outside Lambert Group, my palms were slick with cold sweat.

Contrary to what I'd expected, her office was empty.

I pulled out my phone and called Irene. Before the call could connect, the door suddenly swung open.

The young boy who walked in looked just like a miniature version of Irene. He was dressed head to toe in designer children's clothing, and even the watch on his wrist matched mine.

"Are you the butler Mommy hired?" he asked.

With a slight tilt of his head and a smile, the boy casually took the lunchbox from my hand. "Okay, you can leave now. Mommy's busy right now," he continued.

There he sat in Irene's million-dollar antique chair, using the company's confidential documents as a placemat.

In the past, Irene would've lost her temper if I so much as laid a finger on any of those things.

The young boy's patience began to wear thin as I remained rooted to the spot, my expression cold.

"Did you hear what I just said? My mom's not here now. The conference room isn't a place for you to rest," he snapped.

The call finally connected, and Irene's familiar, indifferent voice came through the line. "I'm busy, Raphael. What is it?"

"I'm in your office, and your son's about to kick me out. Well, he's certainly got your temper." I couldn't keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

Five minutes later, Irene pushed open the office door.

"Mommy!" The boy threw himself into her arms before shooting a glance at me. "The new butler is acting weird. Can you fire him?" he asked.

Irene crouched down and patiently comforted him. "Why don't you go and find your dad first? I'll take care of this man."

A figure stood beyond the glass door. He had a lean frame, broad shoulders, and a pair of soulful eyes that always seemed to brim with affection.

Even though I'd never met him before, I recognized him at first glance. He was Blake Chandler—Irene's first love.

Blake raised an eyebrow and shot me a challenging look when he met my gaze. "Come on, Lucas. It's time to go. Remember to say goodbye to the butler," he said.

The young boy, Lucas Chandler, turned back and gave me a wave.

The two of them then walked away as though they'd come to the office countless times before.

In the end, I was the only one left frozen in shock.