By the time I reached the foyer, my face was composed again.
Not because I was fine.
Because men like me learned very young how to bleed internally.
“Mr. Wyatt.”
Nancy looked up from the antique console table she had been polishing near the front entrance. The silver cloth in her hand stilled the second she saw my expression. Concern flickered briefly across her face before professionalism buried it again.
“Will Mrs. Wyatt be joining you for breakfast this morning?”
The question lodged somewhere beneath my ribs.
“No,” I answered evenly. “She will be resting. Make sure the staff leaves her alone unless she specifically asks for something.”
Nancy hesitated for half a heartbeat.
“Of course, sir.”
I walked past her and out through the front doors before the sympathy in her eyes could
