Ethan disappeared for a moment and returned with thick towels. “Dry off. I’ll have food brought up.”

“We can’t stay here,” Lauren repeated, softer this time. “Just let me find a shelter.”

“You’re staying,” he said. “At least tonight.”

The tone left no room for argument.

Lauren swallowed her pride. The kids were too tired, too hungry, too cold to keep moving.

The children sat on the couch, small bodies sinking into butter-soft leather. Ethan’s gaze lingered on them—the curve of a smile, the tilt of a brow, details that looked uncomfortably familiar.

He turned away quickly.

Moments later, his housekeeper, Mrs. Lang, appeared, startled by the sight of guests. Ethan gave crisp instructions for warm soup, blankets, and extra clothes.

When Mrs. Lang left, silence filled the room again, broken only by the clinking of spoons as the kids began to eat.

Lauren watched them, tears sliding down her face. She hadn’t cried when she lost her job, or when the landlord changed the locks. But seeing her babies finally warm and fed inside her ex-husband’s mansion cracked something deep within her.

Ethan noticed and looked away. He wasn’t ready to face what her tears stirred in him—guilt, longing, shame.

A chime echoed.

The front door opened.

“Ethan?” a woman’s voice called.

Lauren’s spine stiffened. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Claire,” Ethan muttered, cursing under his breath. “It’s late.”

Claire’s heels clicked across the marble before she froze at the sight of Lauren and the kids.

“What is this?” she asked, her tone sharp.

“It’s none of your business,” Ethan said.

“Oh, it’s very much my business,” Claire snapped. “You drag a woman and three children into your home, and I’m supposed to just smile?”

Lauren stood, squaring her shoulders. “Don’t talk about my kids like that.”

“Your kids?” Claire scoffed. “What kind of woman brings her—”

“Enough.” Ethan’s voice thundered through the penthouse. “Go home, Claire.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Claire’s eyes glistened with hurt and fury. “You’ll regret this,” she hissed before storming out.

When the door slammed, Lauren whispered, “You didn’t have to defend me.”

“I wasn’t defending you,” he said, staring at the floor. “I was defending what’s right.”

Lauren didn’t argue. She just gathered the kids and led them to the guest room. Ethan stayed behind, staring out at the snowy skyline.