The car ride home was nothing short of a nightmare—for Stanley, at least.
While Vivi sat comfortably in the plush backseat, thoroughly enjoying herself, singing her heart out with unshakable enthusiasm, Stanley sat beside her silently questioning every life choice he had ever made.
Her voice rang out, high and proud, but the lyrics… Oh, the lyrics.
Natalie had once proudly declared that their daughter was good at singing. But now, as Stanley listened to this tiny off-key hurricane belt out a chaotic version of a nursery rhyme, he felt like Natalie might've genuinely lost her mind after childbirth.
Meanwhile, Vivi, blissfully unaware of the mental storm she was creating, sang:
"Bang, bang black ship
Can you move a wall
Yes sir! Yes sir!
Three bags of fool
One for my monster
And one for my game
And one for the little toy
Who live in the room—"
Stanley pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered under his breath, "Three bags of fool…?"
Definitely. Natalie had completely lost her brain. There was no other explanation.
By the time they pulled into the private parking garage of his upscale condominium, Stanley was hanging onto the last thread of his patience. The sleek building loomed above them, complete with a rooftop garden, private elevators, and even its own swimming pool.
Inside, the home was spacious and modern. Everything was sleek and gray—minimalistic but luxurious. Clean lines, polished marble floors, expensive paintings, and carefully chosen decor filled the space. It was a place designed for solitude, not the chaos of a six-year-old.
As they stepped in, a familiar figure emerged from the kitchen.
Mrs. Groover—his long-time housekeeper and the closest thing he had to a mother—walked toward them holding a tray. But the moment she heard the little girl call out:
"Daddy!"
Her entire body froze.
The tray slipped from her hands and crashed onto the floor, sending the sound echoing through the silent living room.
Stanley instantly reacted, grabbing Vivi by the shoulder and pulling her behind him. "Stay back," he said calmly, concerned she might get hurt by the broken pieces.
He stepped forward and addressed the stunned woman. "Mrs. Groover, are you not feeling well? I've told you many times—you don't need to handle all this. Let the other staff take care of it."
But Mrs. Groover wasn't listening. Her wide eyes were fixed on the little girl peeking from behind Stanley's legs.
Noticing her gaze, Vivi tilted her head and asked sweetly, "Mrs. Grovi, are you hurt? Don't worry. When the doctor gives you bitter medicine, I'll give you chocolates!"
That broke the silence. Mrs. Groover blinked, stunned, and then slowly shifted her gaze to Stanley.
He understood. Without saying a word, he gently guided both of them toward the sofa and gestured for another servant to clean up the mess.
Sitting beside Vivi, he looked at Mrs. Groover with a seriousness rarely seen in him. This woman had been there through everything—his childhood, his teenage years, his rise in business. While his own parents were off building their careers, it was Mrs. Groover who had raised him, fed him, scolded him, comforted him.
She was family.
Which meant—there was no reason to hide the truth from her.
Looking her in the eyes, he finally spoke, his voice softer than usual. "She's Vanessa. My daughter. Her mother left her near my office today. She'll be staying with us from now on. I hope… you'll take care of her, just like you did for me."
Mrs. Groover gasped, but this time with joy. Her eyes welled with emotion. "I've been waiting for this moment for years!" she cried. "Oh, my baby! Come to me!"
Vivi's eyes sparkled as she stood up and walked over. She hugged Mrs. Groover without hesitation, wrapping her small arms around the older woman's waist. "Mrs. Grovi, are you still hurt?" she asked with concern.
Mrs. Groover laughed warmly, stroking her hair. "No, no, sweetheart, I'm just fine. Tell me—how old are you? Did you eat? What's your favorite food?"
Stanley couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. Vivi answered every question enthusiastically, her words tumbling out with excitement and trust. She was already comfortable—already home.
After a while, she looked up with wide, hopeful eyes. "Mrs. Grovi… can I have something to eat? Vivi is very hungry," she said in the most pitiful voice imaginable.
Mrs. Groover gasped dramatically and turned to Stanley with a glare that could freeze a volcano. "You kept a child hungry? And didn't even tell me it was meal time? Is this how you treat a child?"
Before he could respond, she had already scooped Vivi up in her arms and marched toward the kitchen with purpose.
Stanley stood there, blinking, speechless.
What did I even do?! he thought, watching them go.
It was a strange feeling—being the most feared man in the business world, and still getting scolded in his own house… for doing nothing.
Grumbling under his breath, he turned and walked toward his bedroom. He freshened up, put on a new shirt, and stepped into his study to prepare for a video conference.
But of course, peace was not in his destiny today.
Because a certain little hurricane had no plans to leave him alone just yet.
Mrs. Groover settled Vivi carefully on one of the tall dining chairs, pushing a plate of snacks in front of her with a warm smile. The little girl clapped her hands in delight and immediately began munching away, humming between bites.
But she was still a child, after all. And children don't eat neatly.
Within minutes, a glob of ketchup splattered onto her onesie.
Vivi looked down in horror. "Oh no," she whispered dramatically, eyes wide.
Mrs. Groover chuckled gently and reached for a napkin. "Don't worry, sweetheart. No one will touch your snacks. You just need a quick change. We'll be right back."
However, when she went to find a change of clothes for the little girl, another problem arose—there were no clothes.
With a sigh but a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, Mrs. Groover turned to the nearest maid and said, "Bring me one of Mr. Stanley's shirts."
A few minutes later, a crisp, oversized dress shirt was delivered into her hands.
For Vivi, watching all this unfold was nothing short of witnessing a miracle.
When Mrs. Groover brought the shirt over and, with a pair of sharp scissors, began trimming and folding and stitching with practiced ease, the child's mouth fell open in awe. In just a few moments, the shirt, once meant for a grown man, fit her small frame perfectly.
Vivi looked down at herself, twirled in the shirt, and gasped.
"Mrs. Grovi," she said breathlessly, eyes sparkling like stars, "are you a fairy? Like the one in Dindewella?"
Mrs. Groover laughed—a warm, hearty sound—and ruffled the girl's hair. "No, no, darling. It's not magic. I just did a little stitching."
But Vivi was far too enchanted to believe such a simple answer.
Still wide-eyed and excited, she ran off before Mrs. Groover could stop her. Bursting into Stanley's study without knocking, she flung the door open with the force of a child who believed the world needed to see her transformation immediately.
"Daddy!" she called out. "Seee magic! Mrs. Grovi did magic!"
She spun on the spot, showing off her "magical" outfit.
Stanley blinked.
Then his eyes narrowed.
It took him a moment, but then he recognized it—his shirt.
His favorite shirt.
Gritting his teeth, he leaned forward and asked tightly, "What… did you do to my shirt?"
Vivi beamed. "Magic, Daddy!"
Stanley's eye twitched. This little brat raided my closet… and now she's showing off like it's a performance.
Turning his head toward Henry without missing a beat, he muttered, "Buy some clothes for her."
But just then, Mrs. Groover entered the study, completely unfazed.
"I was planning to inform you about it," she said calmly, as though the shirt hadn't just been sacrificed. "I let her wear your shirt because I couldn't let her run around half-naked in this weather. She might catch a cold. I hope you won't mind."
Stanley sighed, his voice dry. "What's the point of asking if the damage is already done?"