She had a reputation for causing chaos, but this time, she hadn’t even opened her mouth.

Yet, the accusation landed squarely on her shoulders, and she wasn’t about to take it lying down.

The tension in the room thickened like a storm rolling in.

Victoria Langley, who usually played the role of Alexander Blackwood’s peacekeeper, suddenly shifted her stance, making the air crackle with unease.

It was Oliver Kingsley’s innocent voice that finally shattered the silence.

"Mr. Blackwood, you’ve misjudged Amy. Don’t you think she deserves an apology?"

Amy Sinclair glanced down at Oliver, who gave her a sly wink.

This clever little boy.

Some words carried more weight depending on who spoke them.

If Theodore Whitmore had said it, it might have sounded like favoritism.

But Oliver was just a child. Even if he was defending her, no one would doubt his sincerity.

It was a stinging rebuke to Alexander.

Alexander’s dark eyes flickered, his throat working as he swallowed hard.

After a beat, his voice came out rough.

"I’m sorry. I was wrong."

Amy arched a brow. "Since Ms. Langley is so fragile, you should probably take her home before she misses her precious treatment."

Victoria, eager to escape, held out her delicate hands with a pout. "Alex, my fingers are covered in cuts from those herbs. If this continues, I might never play the violin again."

True enough, her palms were dotted with faint red marks—not deep, but noticeable for someone who treated her hands like priceless treasures.

Theodore’s voice cut through the room like ice.

"Relax, you’ll survive. Amy worked here for months, and she still plays just fine."

He smirked. "I asked you to sort herbs, not perform open-heart surgery."

Alexander’s gaze sharpened as it landed on Theodore.

"You knew Amy played the violin?"

Theodore scoffed. "What, you were married to her for five years and didn’t even know that?"

Alexander’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing.

Theodore crossed his arms. "You can take Victoria with you, but you know my rules. She was supposed to stay a week. If she leaves early today, she’ll owe me another day."

Victoria paled. "Another day?"

Theodore gave her a dry look. "Did you think this was some high-end spa where you could drop in for a manicure?"

His tone turned sharp. "If you don’t want to be here, don’t come. I don’t tolerate half-hearted efforts."

He glanced pointedly at Alexander.

"Amy stayed for months to get medicine for your mother. Some people can’t even last half a day. Pathetic."

Victoria’s expression faltered. "Mr. Whitmore, you misunderstand—I’m just worried I’ll be a burden..."

Theodore wasn’t having it. "Oliver is five, and he hasn’t complained once. Are you saying you’re less capable than a child?"

He leaned in, his voice dripping with disdain.

"If you’re truly that delicate, then I can’t help you. Go home. My medicine isn’t for the weak."