Chapter 5 - A Daughter’s WhispersOver the next two weeks, an uneasy rhythm established itself at the Callaway estate.
Margot worked fourteen-hour days at the office, battling boardroom pushback and steering the final stages of the Mercer acquisition. Flynn spent his days working on various renovation projects around the estate, maintaining a quiet, unobtrusive presence.
Yet, despite her intentions to keep him at arm's length, Margot found her attention drawn to the guest house more and more.
One sunny Saturday afternoon, Margot was reviewing financial models on the patio when she heard soft weeping coming from the garden hedge.
She walked over and found little Lily sitting on the grass beneath an oak tree, clutching a broken wooden toy horse.
Margot hesitated. She had never been around children. Her life was built around balance sheets, quarterly projections, and institutional investors. She didn't know how to comfort a four-year-old.
Slowly, Margot knelt down on the grass, unmindful of her silk trousers.
“Hey there,” Margot said softly. “What happened?”
Lily looked up, her blue eyes brimming with fat tears. “Leg broke,” she sniffled, holding up the wooden toy. “Daddy made it for me, but I dropped it on the stone.”
Margot took the toy gently. The break was clean along the wooden pin. “You know... my grandfather taught me a trick with wooden things. If you have the right glue and a little patience, it becomes even stronger than it was before.”
Lily wiped her nose with her sleeve. “Really?”
“Really,” Margot smiled—a genuine, warm smile that rarely appeared in her corporate life. “Come on. Let's go to the kitchen.”
Ten minutes later, the two of them were sitting at the grand granite island in the main house, carefully applying wood glue to the toy horse. Lily was chatting happily, her sadness completely forgotten.
“Daddy works very hard,” Lily offered casually, swinging her legs from the high barstool. “He stays up super late on his big computer with the green letters.”
Margot paused, her fingers holding the glued wooden leg in place. “Green letters?”
“Uh-huh. And he talks to the dark men on the radio.”
Margot’s pulse quickened. “Dark men?”
“The men who wear black clothes like Daddy used to,” Lily said innocently. “He tells them to watch the house so the bad men don't hurt you.”
Margot’s breath hitched. Before she could ask another question, the kitchen door swung open.
Flynn stood in the doorway. He wore a simple dark t-shirt, his hair slightly damp from sweat. His eyes swept over the scene—his daughter sitting beside Margot, the glued toy on the counter—and a subtle softness passed over his features.
“Lily,” Flynn said gently. “I told you not to bother Margot while she’s working.”
“She wasn't bothering me, Flynn,” Margot said, standing up and smoothing her pants. Her tone was defensive, but her eyes held a new intensity. “We were fixing her horse.”
Lily held up the repaired toy. “Look, Daddy! Margot fixed it!”
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Flynn looked at Margot, his dark eyes searching her face. “Thank you, Margot. I appreciate it.”
“Flynn,” Margot said, stepping around the island. “We need to talk. Alone.”
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