And there was a small bandage wrapped around her right thumb.
“What happened to your hand?” he asked.
Grace glanced down.
“Nothing serious.”
Victor snorted.
“She broke one of the crystal glasses yesterday. Lucky she wasn't fired.”
Grace immediately lowered her eyes.
Adrian remembered the glasses.
A rare Italian set that had cost nearly eight thousand dollars.
He had once threatened to dismiss a housekeeper for leaving fingerprints on one.
He looked at Grace's bandaged hand.
“Did you cut yourself?”
She nodded.
“A little.”
“Did someone help you?”
Before she could answer, Victor interrupted.
“Enough. Grace, get back to work. And you—”
He pointed at Adrian.
“Take your food and disappear.”
Grace hesitated.
Then she looked back at the old man.
“There's a small bench beside the gardener's entrance,” she whispered. “It's sheltered from the wind. You can sit there for a while.”
Victor's eyes widened.
“You're not inviting him onto the property!”
“No,” she said calmly. “The bench is outside the wall.”
She turned toward Adrian again.
“I'll bring you some water.”
“You'll do no such thing,” Victor snapped.
Grace looked at him.
“Then I'll bring it during my break.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Victor's face darkened.
“You're going to regret this.”
Grace did not answer.
She simply gave Adrian a small, reassuring smile and walked back toward the mansion.
Adrian watched her disappear behind the hedges.
He had come looking for the truth about other people.
Already, he was beginning to suspect that he might discover something about himself instead.
But the morning had only begun.
And what he was about to witness inside Whitmore House would shake the foundations of everything he believed.
The gardener's entrance stood along the eastern wall, where tall maple trees leaned over a narrow service road.
Adrian made his way there slowly.
His stomach tightened with an unfamiliar sensation.
He was not truly starving.
Before leaving his temporary apartment that morning, he had eaten a bowl of oatmeal and drunk black coffee.
But the bread Grace had given him tasted different from anything prepared by his private chef.
It tasted like kindness.
He sat on the weathered wooden bench and watched the morning light spread over the estate.
Beyond the wall, he could hear gardeners trimming hedges, delivery trucks arriving, and the distant hum of the mansion's ventilation system.
He knew every building.
Every entrance.
Every security camera.
He had approved the architectural plans himself.
And yet, sitting outside the wall in torn clothing, he felt like a stranger.
A few minutes later, footsteps approached.
Grace appeared carrying a paper bag and a bottle of water.
She looked over her shoulder before speaking.
“I brought a little more.”
Adrian stared at the bag.
“You shouldn't get in trouble because of me.”
She sat on the far end of the bench, leaving a respectful distance between them.
“It's just food.”
“Your guard didn't seem to think so.”
Grace gave a tired smile.
“Victor thinks everything is a threat.”
She opened the bag.
Inside was a warm sandwich, a banana, and a small container of soup.
Adrian frowned.
“Where did you get all this?”
“From my lunch.”
He looked at her.
“Your lunch?”
She nodded.
“I packed it this morning.”
“Then what will you eat?”
“I'll manage.”
Adrian felt an unexpected discomfort.
He had negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions without hesitation.
He had watched competitors collapse and employees lose their jobs.