Perhaps it was the absence that made the heart grow fonder, but Amy found herself longing to see Oliver more than usual.

She checked the time, hesitated, then made up her mind—she would pick him up from school herself.

Ever since those awkward encounters with Alexander and Victoria at the school gates, Amy had delegated the task to the driver. Oliver had never once protested—his quiet acceptance only twisted her heart further.

Somewhere along the way, she had begun caring for him as if he were her own. It wasn’t the all-consuming love she’d once felt for Alexander, but it was real—no longer the self-serving affection that had once defined her.

She grabbed a bag of freshly baked cookies and was about to leave when her phone rang.

"Hello, is this Oliver Kingsley’s guardian? There’s been an incident at school. We need you to come immediately."

Amy’s grip tightened on the phone. "I’ll be right there."

She hung up and rushed to Westwood Academy.

Before she even reached the office, a shrill, tearful voice cut through the air.

"My poor baby! Who would dare hurt you like this? Bradley, sweetheart, don’t cry—Mommy won’t let this little monster get away with it!"

A pause, then the voice turned venomous.

"And where is this brat’s mother? Why isn’t she here yet? Listen, unless I get a proper apology today, this isn’t over!"

Amy stepped inside just in time to see a well-dressed woman jabbing a finger at Oliver’s forehead, her face contorted with rage.

Amy’s expression darkened. She strode forward and knocked the woman’s hand away.

"What do you think you’re doing?"

The woman—Mrs. Thornton—whirled around, eyes narrowing as she took Amy in.

Recognition flickered in her gaze. "You’re Alexander’s wife, aren’t you?" She shot a glance at Liam, who stood silently in the corner, staring at the floor.

"I’ve seen the footage. This has nothing to do with your son," Mrs. Thornton said dismissively.

Bradley was new to the school, so she didn’t realize Amy was Oliver’s guardian.

Amy met her gaze coldly. "I’m here for Oliver. Regardless of what happened, you have no right to lay hands on a child."

Mrs. Thornton blinked. "Wait—you’re not Liam’s mother?"

The teacher quickly intervened. "Mrs. Thornton, Ms. Sinclair is Oliver’s current guardian."

Relief washed over Mrs. Thornton’s face, and her lips curled into a sneer.

"Oh. So you’re just the nanny." She scoffed. "Figures. Some people never rise above their station."

Earlier, she’d held back, worried she might offend someone important. Now, seeing it was just Amy—a woman with no real power—her restraint vanished.

Letting a charity case like Amy play guardian? The family was probably just capitalizing on her recent publicity. Everyone knew she had no money, no connections, no real standing.

Emboldened, Mrs. Thornton squared her shoulders.

"Well? Make that brat kneel and apologize to my son right now. Or you’ll regret it."