“The child’s origins are unclear. Who knows whose son he really is?”

“Quiet! Lower your voice! If someone hears, we’ll be finished!”

“What’s there to fear? That child is illegitimate. Did they truly expect us to treat him like the heir of this household?”

“Exactly. And who’s to say that woman didn’t scheme to trap Mr. Blackwood? Why else would he be so fixated on her?”

Isabella froze mid-step, her expression tightening.

It was clear the new staff knew nothing of her history with Ethan. She descended the remaining stairs. “What’s this discussion about?”

Her tone was even, but carried undeniable authority. The maids fell silent and turned. Seeing it was Isabella, their worry seemed minimal.

“Miss Scott, we were just—” one began, but another cut her off.

“What concern is it of yours? You’re just a pretender. Did you actually believe you’re the lady of this house?”

Isabella’s face hardened. She was about to reprimand the insolent maid when a deep voice echoed from behind.

“Explain this commotion.”

Ethan stood in the doorway, his expression icy. The head butler hovered anxiously behind him.

The maids went utterly silent, genuine fear now in their eyes.

The butler stepped forward swiftly. “I will address this immediately, Mr. Blackwood.”

Ethan’s cold gaze swept over the group. “I tolerate no gossips in my home. Dismiss every one of them.”

He then turned to Isabella, his dark eyes unreadable.

Isabella was speechless, struggling to process his defense.

Was Ethan actually taking her side?

Dinner was served shortly after. The long table was adorned with exquisite porcelain, each dish emitting a tantalizing aroma.

Liam sat in his high chair, a small bowl of mashed potatoes and a plate of finely diced chicken before him. He poked at the food with his spoon, his little face scrunched in displeasure.

“Mommy, this tastes yucky,” he complained, dropping his spoon with a pout.

He wrinkled his nose distastefully.

Isabella gently stroked his hair. “Sweetheart, please try a little? The chef made it specially for you.”

“Don’t want it…” Liam whined. “Want chicken nuggets and fries.”

Ethan, seated at the head of the table, observed the exchange in silence.

Liam’s complaint made his brow furrow. “The kitchen at Hawthorne Residence does not serve junk food.”

Liam flinched. He looked down at his small hands, his expression turning meek and fearful. He didn’t dare utter another word.