"Morgan, the twins still need a mother’s love." Katherine stepped closer, her perfume drifting through the room like a dangerous lullaby. Her lips curved into a soft, understanding smile. "Kristine and I are twins. While she’s still lying unconscious in that hospital bed, I can fill the void she left behind."
Morgan’s sharp gaze settled on her face.
It was unsettling how much Katherine resembled his wife. The same delicate features. The same almond-shaped eyes. The same voice that could sound warm and comforting. Yet the difference between the sisters was as clear as night and day. Kristine’s eyes had always been transparent—honest, gentle, incapable of deceit. Katherine’s eyes, on the other hand, glittered with calculation, always hiding another motive beneath their sweetness.
After a long silence, Morgan finally spoke.
"You have a point." His tone was calm, detached. "If you want to spend time with your nephew and niece, I won’t stop you." His cold gray eyes narrowed slightly. "It would actually help if you could get them used to bottle-feeding."
A flicker of triumph flashed across Katherine’s face before she carefully masked it behind a tender smile.
"Of course I can." Her voice turned syrupy soft. "I’m their aunt, after all." She lowered her gaze, pretending modesty before adding meaningfully, "Not just their aunt... but practically half their mother."
Morgan’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Is there anything else?" he asked, impatience creeping into his voice.
Katherine pretended not to notice.
"Hm..." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked up at him innocently. "Can I stay here for a while?"
"Don’t you have work?" Morgan asked bluntly.
"It’s because of work that I want to stay here," she replied smoothly. "If I’m here, I’ll have more time to bond with the twins after work."
Morgan considered it for a moment before nodding once.
"Fine. I’ll ask Albert to prepare a room for you."
Katherine’s smile widened.
"Can I stay in the room across the nursery?" she asked casually. "It’s the closest one to the babies."
Morgan paused.
For the first time since the conversation began, his expression shifted slightly.
"That room belongs to Isobel," he said. "You can stay in the room beside the nursery instead. Isobel’s breastfeeding the twins, so she needs to remain nearby."
The sweetness on Katherine’s face almost cracked.
Her nails dug painfully into her palms, fury surging through her chest at the mention of Isobel’s name. But after only a second, she forced herself to smile again—gentle, obedient, flawless.
"Of course," she said softly. "I’ll follow your arrangement."
She wanted to say more, but Morgan had already turned away.
Without another glance at her, he strode toward the grand spiral staircase, his tall figure disappearing upstairs with cold indifference.
The moment he vanished from sight, Katherine’s expression darkened.
Her lips twisted bitterly as hatred flashed openly across her face.
"That shameless woman..." she muttered venomously under her breath, her fists trembling at her sides. "Just wait, Isobel."
...
Morgan pushed the nursery door open quietly, careful not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere inside.
The soft glow of the chandelier bathed the room in golden light, illuminating the pastel-colored walls, the neatly arranged cribs, and the faint sway of hanging toys above them. The scent of baby powder and warm milk lingered in the air.
Ella was wiping down the toys with meticulous care while Anna gently cradled Baby Kit in her arms.
The moment they noticed him, both women straightened.
"Sir," they greeted in unison.
Morgan responded with a low hum, his expression unreadable.
His sharp gaze swept across the nursery—until it stopped on the woman seated on a rocking chair by the window.
Isobel sat quietly in the rocking chair, her head tilted slightly to the side as sleep claimed her. Her long lashes rested against her pale cheeks, and despite being asleep, her arms remained protectively wrapped around the infant lying against her chest. One hand supported the baby’s tiny back while the other rested gently over the child as though shielding her from the entire world.
The rocking chair moved slowly back and forth.
It was such a simple scene.
Yet painfully warm.
For a brief moment, something cracked inside Morgan’s chest.
Pain flickered across his usually cold eyes.
If only...
If only the woman sitting there was Kristine.
Then everything would have been perfect.
He already had what most men dreamed of—a beautiful family, twin babies, a powerful home filled with life. He was finally a father.
But his wife...
His jaw tightened.
A sudden cry shattered the silence.
Baby Kristoffer whimpered in Anna’s arms, tiny fists waving helplessly in the air.
Morgan immediately stepped forward and carefully took the baby from her.
The moment Kristoffer settled into his father’s strong embrace, the infant stopped crying. His watery blue gray slowly opened, blinking sleepily before locking onto Morgan’s face.
Morgan froze.
Something inside him softened instantly.
The baby’s tiny fingers curled weakly around his shirt as though instinctively recognizing him.
A rare warmth spread through Morgan’s chest.
"How are you, my son?" he murmured quietly, his deep voice gentler than usual.
He began swaying the baby instinctively, his large hand supporting the infant’s fragile body with surprising tenderness. Slowly, Kristoffer’s cries faded into soft coos before the baby drifted back to sleep in his father’s arms.
Morgan stared at the sleeping child for a few seconds longer before reluctantly handing him back to Anna.
"Put him in the crib carefully."
"Yes, sir."
As Anna moved toward the crib, Morgan’s gaze shifted toward Isobel again.
Even in sleep, exhaustion was written all over her face. Her complexion looked pale, and faint shadows darkened the skin beneath her eyes.
"How is Isobel doing?" he asked quietly.
Ella hesitated before answering honestly.
"She’s doing fine for now, sir," she said softly. "But feeding two babies is exhausting. She barely rests between feedings."
Morgan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he continued staring at Isobel’s sleeping figure.
Only then did he look back at Ella.
"What’s your name?"
The young maid blinked in surprise before lowering her head respectfully.
"Pamela, sir," she replied. "But everyone calls me Ella."
"Try to feed Kat with a powered milk. Should be HypoAllergenic." He said.
In a few more days, Isobel would be reporting to office. She could not fed the baby by then. He was left with no choice but to train his babies to feed using bottles.