Oscar had long since accepted that hiring Dior had been the best decision he’d made since everything in his life had fallen apart. His three children absolutely adored her, the house felt alive again, and somehow she managed to keep everything running despite looking as though she’d stepped straight out of a designer campaign every single morning. She was glamorous, unapologetically high-maintenance, and entirely unlike anyone he’d ever expected to trust with his family. Yet somehow, she’d fit into their lives so naturally that he couldn’t imagine the house without her bright Queens accent echoing through it.

Most evenings, she’d disappear after the children were tucked into bed, usually off to meet friends or attend one glamorous event or another. Oscar rarely paid much attention beyond reminding her not to let the kids convince the babysitter to order pizza for breakfast. Tonight was no different—at least, that’s what he thought. Buried beneath paperwork in his office, he barely glanced up when movement caught the corner of his eye… until his brain actually processed what he’d seen.

A flash of impossibly fitted crimson crossed the hallway outside his office. The dress was striking even by Dior’s standards, hugging every curve with a confidence that made Oscar do an honest-to-God double take before his eyes snapped back toward the doorway. For a second he genuinely questioned whether he’d imagined it. Then instinct took over before common sense had the chance.

“Miss Davenport!” He called, louder than he’d intended, pushing back from his desk as his chair scraped across the hardwood floor. “Miss Davenport, get back here right this moment !” There was an unmistakable note of disbelief in his voice as he folded his arms, trying very hard to look stern instead of completely caught off guard. The moment she reappeared in the doorway, Oscar lifted an eyebrow. “…You are going out looking like that?”