Chapter 7 Winning Daddy's Heart for Lila

Lucian's tiny brows snapped together. He turned, puzzled. "Not him?" Last night, the house had been so empty—no servants, not even him and Noah—Walter Briggs had taken them all away. If it wasn't his father, Adrian Quinn, then who could've hurt Mommy? Walter Briggs cleared his throat. "Master Lucian, come with me." Lucian shot a suspicious look at Adrian before hopping off the desk. With his little legs, he marched like a serious little man behind the butler into the surveillance room. Surveillance Room. Walter brought up the hallway footage from last night. On screen, Lila Cross—wrapped only in a towel—stumbled out of the bedroom. Drunk, she spun in circles, lost. Left—she crashed into a giant vase. Right—she slammed into a decorative cabinet. She winced, pain flashing across her face, but kept stubbornly charging at an ironwood tree in the hallway. In crystal-clear footage, Lucian saw the bruises bloom on Lila's arms and legs as she hit the pots. Nearby, Adrian Quinn stood in his pajamas, arms crossed, watching coldly. Only when she finally dropped did he step forward, sling her over his shoulder, and carry her back. Little Lucian stared, stunned. This morning, seeing the bruises on Lila's skin, he'd thought his father—who never touched women—had suddenly gone brutal. But this? …So disappointing. "Master Lucian," Walter sighed softly, "Mrs. Cross's injuries truly have nothing to do with Mr. Quinn. She was drunk." Lucian pressed his lips tight, his cheeks warming. Still, he gave a sharp look to the tall man in the doorway. "You're still wrong." "Why'd you just watch her bang into walls, trees, and vases? Why not help?" Adrian's voice was ice. "Did you notice the wine cabinet downstairs? Several bottles of top-tier limited editions are gone." Lucian went pale. His father hated parties, hated women. He lived strictly—besides work, his only passion was collecting rare wines at home. Every bottle downstairs was worth a fortune. The little boy bit his lip, realization dawning. He turned and bolted. "I've got things to do. Gotta go!" "You just said she's yours, didn't you?" Adrian crouched, blocking his son. "A real man takes responsibility for his own." Lucian: "…?" Dad, with all your money, are you really robbing your own kid? Reluctantly, the boy pulled out his phone and sent ten thousand dollars to Adrian. "Paying in installments." Then he shrugged off his father's hand and dashed off, his little legs pumping. Walter Briggs stared, stunned, at Lucian's light yellow back vanishing down the hall. "Sir, looks like you married the right woman." Adrian gave a faint nod, his dark eyes following the boy's path. * "Bro! Why'd you send my allowance to Dad?!" The playroom was tense. Noah stood, hands on hips. "That was Grandpa's secret money for my remote-control car!" Lucian crossed his legs neatly. "Dad said if I don't pay, he'll kick Lila out." He gave Noah a solemn look. "I don't care. But then you'll never taste her cooking again." Noah hesitated. "Fine." Cars weren't worth losing food. "But Dad's wines are crazy expensive." Lucian sighed. "Lila drank a few million worth last night. Our allowances? Nowhere near enough." Noah frowned, pacing. A few million—hundreds of cars! Then—lightbulb! "Bro, what if we start calling Lila ‘Mommy' tomorrow? Get Dad to fall for her?" A sly spark lit Lucian's eyes. He nodded, wise beyond his years. "Smart." "When a man's in love, his IQ drops to negative. He won't care about money." "Deal." Noah jumped up. "I'll start planning—how to make Dad fall for Lila… no, for Mommy!" Lucian watched, satisfied, as his brother sat at the desk. "You're the mastermind. You write the plan. I'll go downstairs." Down in the kitchen, water splashed as Lila Cross washed dishes. Five years ago, when Lila learned she wasn't the Cross family's real daughter, guilt made her take on every heavy, dirty chore in the house. At first, Eleanor and Jonathan Cross made polite gestures. But later, they stopped hiring servants—just dumped everything on Lila. So she slowly built the habit of doing housework every day. "Come here." Lucian yanked her out of the kitchen. "We have servants. You don't need to do this." He pulled her to the sofa and pushed her down. "No more drinking. Ever." Lucian stared at her, dead serious. "Bad for your health." And for his and his brother's wallets. Lila pressed her lips, embarrassed. "Aunt doesn't usually drink." It was just that yesterday, seeing Charles Jackson and Sylvia Evans go public, she'd felt awful. Just thinking of them ruined her mood. After a pause, she faked a bright smile. "It's over!" "I won't drink like that again." Lucian crossed his arms, his big, watery eyes studying her face. "You got dumped?" Lila: "…?" "It's all over your face." The boy's voice was soft. "Ms. Cross, you're married. Thinking about your ex? Not cool." Lila denied fast. "I'm not!" Lucian sighed. "So you *are* heartbroken." A heartbroken woman usually stops caring about men for a while. Mr. Quinn's road to winning her over? Not easy. The boy stood, sighing as he climbed the stairs. "Me, at my age, worrying about grown-ups' love lives?" "So exhausting." Lila: "…?" After Lucian left, she tried to clean, but the servants shooed her upstairs. Bored, she pulled out her book and started reading. Not until dusk did she stretch and go downstairs to cook for Lucian. Downstairs, she saw the little boy in sportswear, tying his shoes. He waved. "Five to six is my walk time." "Join me?" "I'll pass." Lila smiled, tying on her apron. "I'll make you something tasty at home." "Mm." The boy nodded, then pushed the door open with elegant flair. His air was so haughty—no five-year-old should act like that. Lila shook her head as she headed to the kitchen. Fresh shrimp sat in the kitchen—servants had just bought them. She'd make something special. Busy cooking, the rich scent floated upstairs, right into Noah's nose. He snapped shut his *Love Guide*, opened the door, and sniffed. Drool almost dripped. Can't wait! Bro wore sportswear when he went down, right? He dashed to the closet, grabbed the same outfit, threw it on, and raced downstairs. "What's for dinner?!" Noah charged in, diving straight for the table. "Whoa!" Lila, carrying a dish, froze. Wait—wasn't he just upstairs?