The Midnight Checkup

Sylvie gritted her teeth, staring daggers at the man's broad back. What kind of twisted games was he playing? Every single time she tried to have a normal, civil conversation with him regarding the child's welfare, he threw this arrogant, freezing attitude right in her face. She was seething, her hands balling into tight fists at her sides.

Julian, however, paid zero attention to her glaring. He treated her like invisible air, walking past her with a cold, detached posture. He moved toward the dining table and took a seat right next to the dishes Sylvie had cleared away earlier. It was just Hayes's leftovers, nothing close to the extravagant meals prepared by five-star hotel chefs, but the faint, savory aroma lingering in the air was undeniably appetizing. After a long, grueling day of work and a skipped lunch, his stomach demanded attention.

He lifted his sharp gaze, locking onto Sylvie. "My food," he demanded. His tone was flat, authoritative, and expected instant compliance.

Sylvie’s brows knitted together in sheer disbelief. It took her a second to process his audacity, and when she did, a dry, amused laugh escaped her lips. "Sorry, Mr. Sterling," she fired back, not backing down an inch. "I'm here to take care of Hayes, not to be your personal chef. I’ve only prepared food for Hayes."

The implication hung heavy in the air: *There is nothing for you.* If he was going to look down his nose at her and treat her like a scheming gold-digger, she certainly wasn't going to roll up her sleeves and serve him dinner.

For a rare moment, Julian was struck speechless. His dark eyes narrowed as he studied her defiant posture. How dare this woman dismiss him in his own house? *Good,* he thought darkly. *She was quite courageous.* But courage against him always came with a steep price.

"In that case," Julian stated, his voice smooth and lethally calm, "you can go and clean up the entire villa now. Otherwise, you’re not allowed to eat or rest."

Sylvie's jaw dropped. The entire villa? The property spanned five hundred square meters and stretched across three massive floors. Scrubbing this sprawling estate top to bottom by herself would literally break her back. She opened her mouth to protest the absurd, tyrannical workload.

Julian didn't give her the chance. He raised a brow, smoothly turning her own logic into a weapon. "Didn’t you just say that you are here to take care of Hayes? Hayes lives in this house, which means the environmental hygiene must be up to standard. So shouldn’t you clean up the place? Do you have any opinions about this?"

His voice carried an invisible, oppressive weight that pinned her arguments to the floor. Sylvie opened her mouth, but the words died in her throat. She had effectively dug her own grave with her previous excuse. Trapped by her own stubborn declaration, she shot him a deep, resentful pout, spun on her heel, and stormed off to grab the heavy cleaning supplies.

Watching her angry, bustling silhouette disappear down the hall, Julian's thin lips twitched in dark satisfaction. She wanted to challenge his authority? She would have to suffer the exhausting consequences.

Leaving her to her monumental chore, Julian strode into the kitchen. He opened the massive stainless steel refrigerator, bypassed the fresh ingredients he had no idea how to cook, and grabbed a box of frozen croissants. Back in Ashbourne, he had a dedicated culinary staff. Here, he hadn't bothered hiring a live-in chef yet, and his own cooking skills were nonexistent. Since his son was fed and happy, he made do with heating up the icy pastries.

Later in the evening, after clearing out a pile of urgent documents in his study, Julian walked down the hall to tuck his son into bed. He naturally kept the details of Sylvie's brutal punishment to himself.

Hayes lay snug under the soft duvet, his small hands clutching the edge. He nestled closer to Julian's arm and murmured in a soft, sleepy voice, "I like her. You won’t ask her to leave, right?"

Julian’s movements paused. He rested a broad, warm hand on his son’s small back, his expression unreadable. "Why do you like her?" he asked casually, though his eyes narrowed in the dim light.

Hayes blinked his big eyes. "Because she has a maternal aura around her."

Julian remained silent. His jaw tightened slightly. A maternal aura? That manipulative woman? He was utterly convinced his son was projecting his desperate need for a mother onto the wrong person.

Outside the quiet bedroom, the night deepened. The midnight breeze blowing through the estate was sharp and chilly, but Sylvie didn't feel the cold. In fact, sweat drenched her back, gluing her shirt to her skin.

She was getting a harsh, firsthand taste of what people called the 'joys of the rich.' The sheer scale of the property was a living nightmare to clean for a single person. There was the massive open-air swimming pool and the glass-walled fitness room on the third floor. The sprawling study and the acoustic-paneled home cinema on the second floor. The grand living room with its endless floor-to-ceiling windows, the elegant reception area, the massive modern kitchen, the expansive laundry room, and the intricate outdoor garden pathways on the first floor.

It took Sylvie nine grueling, back-breaking hours to scrub, mop, and polish the sprawling estate. Her arms felt like heavy lead weights, her knees ached from scrubbing the hardwood, and her fingers were pruned and raw from the harsh cleaning solutions. By the time she finally wiped down the last marble counter, the clock on the wall read four in the morning.

"Detestable capitalist," Sylvie cursed under her breath, wiping a streak of sweat from her forehead. Exhausted beyond measure, she dragged her heavy legs upstairs.

As she passed by Hayes's room, her steps slowed. Despite the exhaustion threatening to pull her into unconsciousness, she couldn't stop herself from checking on the little boy. She tiptoed to the wooden door and gently pushed it open.

The hinges let out a very slight creak.

In the pitch-black room, Julian, a notoriously light sleeper with hyper-vigilant instincts, woke the instant the sound hit his ears. He lay perfectly still, listening. Through the darkness, he discerned the soft, distinct sound of a woman’s footsteps creeping closer.

His thin lips curled into a cold, mocking sneer. She had claimed all day that she had no ulterior motives, using Hayes as a convenient shield to stay in his villa. Yet here she was, creeping around in the dead of night, so impatient and eager to climb right into his bed.

If Sylvie had any inkling of the arrogant thoughts spinning in Julian’s head, she would have grabbed the nearest heavy object and smacked him on the spot. Climb into his bed? She was practically sleepwalking from the manual labor he forced on her.

Stepping softly into the room, Sylvie's gaze drifted to the large bed. She froze, mildly surprised. Julian was lying there right next to Hayes. His handsome face was relaxed in sleep, his long, slender eyes closed, yet he still radiated an inherent, untouchable dignity. She hadn't expected the aloof billionaire to actually take direct, paternal responsibility and sleep beside his son. It was a rare point in his favor, but beyond that brief acknowledgement, she simply ignored his presence.

Terrified of waking the boy from his peaceful slumber, Sylvie approached the mattress with extreme caution, her footsteps light as feathers on the thick carpet. She leaned over the edge, her focus solely on the small figure. She carefully pulled the kicked-off quilt back up, tucking the soft fabric snugly around Hayes's small shoulders. She then reached over to the bedside nightstand, checking the mosquito repellent plug to ensure it was working properly.

A strong urge washed over her to lean down and press a soft goodnight kiss to her son's forehead. Her heart ached with the desire to show him affection, but she stopped herself. The imposing man lying just inches away, breathing steadily in the quiet room, was a stark reminder of her precarious situation. Restraining her maternal instincts, she took one last loving look at Hayes, turned around, and quietly slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her without making a sound.

The moment the latch clicked into place, Julian opened his eyes in the dark.

A flicker of sheer, unadulterated astonishment broke through his carefully maintained facade of indifference. He had deliberately feigned sleep, keeping his breathing steady, waiting to catch her red-handed in her seduction act. He expected lingering touches, a clumsy fall onto the mattress, or whispered propositions.

Instead, he had watched from beneath his eyelashes as she tended exclusively to his son. She had carefully checked the blankets. She had meticulously checked the room's environment. And not once—not for a single, fleeting second—did she toss a glance in his direction. It was as if he were just another piece of furniture in the room.

Julian lay rigid in the dark, the quiet click of the door echoing in his mind. The ironclad prejudice he held against her began to show tiny, hairline fractures. Why did it feel like this woman was fundamentally different from the scheming gold-digger he had imagined her to be?

His dark eyes stared at the closed door, a silent, paradigm-shifting realization taking root in his chest. Just what kind of woman was she, exactly?