Then, the sound of a child's laughter drifted through the window.

Instinctively, he moved, opening the French doors to the balcony. His gaze fell on Evelyn, playing on the lawn with Ollie...

Dressed in a floral dress, Evelyn was a picture of tenderness, her hair soft and fluffy, reminiscent of a delicate doll.

The sight instantly softened Leonel's heart.

Suddenly, Evelyn stumbled and fell on the grass. She rubbed her eyes, tears welling up.

Without hesitation, Leonel rushed downstairs to her.

The maid had already scooped Evelyn up and was brushing the grass off her, but the little girl's tears persisted, her cries filling the air while Ollie, her companion, hovered anxiously.

"Evelyn,"

Leonel called out as he pushed the fence open, crouching to lift her into his arms.

The maid hesitated, aware of the rumors about Leonel being Evelyn's father, and stepped aside.

Evelyn's crying intensified.

Leonel gently rolled down her pantyhose to reveal a bruised knee, his heart aching with sympathy.

“Shall I put some medicine on it?" he suggested softly.

Evelyn sobbed in response, her features reminding Leonel strikingly of a young Alexis. "You're just as sensitive to pain as your mother," he whispered.

With Evelyn clinging to his neck and Ollie in his other hand, Leonel returned home.

His villa was unusually quiet, void of any servants.

He settled Evelyn on the sofa before retrieving a first aid kit, squatting down to tend to her wound.

“Does it hurt?" he asked gently.

Evelyn, looking up at him, shook her head. "It doesn't hurt anymore, Mr. Douglas. Your eyes are red," she said, reaching out to touch his face.

Leonel, touched by her concern, carried her upstairs. Recently, he had instructed his secretary to purchase a variety of children's clothes and pajamas.