Gabriel hated failure. So, when his first attempt at changing a diaper ended with Nicolas wailing at the top of his tiny lungs, Gabriel refused to let it happen again. He wasn’t one to be defeated by something as simple as a cloth and some pins. So, he kept returning to the nursery. At first, it was purely for his revenge. The earlier he embedded himself into the twins’ lives, the easier it would be to turn them against their father when the time came. But there was also something else—a quiet, nagging voice in the back of his mind that refused to let him forget the humiliation of his first failure. Gabriel prided himself on mastering everything he set his mind to, and something as trivial as changing a diaper wouldn’t best him.

And so, day after day, he returned, observing, mimicking, learning.

The housemaids took notice.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Cécile whispered as she breastfed her child, shaking her head.

“See the day of what?” Mathilde asked.

Cécile cast a glance toward the nursery door before lowering her voice. “Gabriel, visiting the nursery.”

Mathilde scoffed. “I don’t know what surprises me more—that he comes here every day or that he actually seems to care about the babies.”

Ivonne, who had been listening quietly, let out a small chuckle. “Well, he always does things properly, but I agree. It is strange. I’ve known him the longest, and I would have never expected him to be the type to fuss over children.”

“You think he’s actually fussing?” Cécile asked.

Ivonne hummed. “What else can it be?”

Mathilde snorted. “Maybe he’s just a perfectionist, and he wants to be perfect at everything—even taking care of babies, though that’s hardly something a man should be doing.”

Ivonne tilted her head. “But still… I see something else, too.”

Cécile leaned against the changing table. “What do you mean?”

Ivonne glanced toward the window, her hands idly smoothing out a baby gown. “I remember the first time I saw him.”

Her voice softened with thought.

“The day he arrived with Pierre, right after the war ended. They had come straight from the Battle of Mont Saint-Jean. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how he looked that day. His eyes were like a dead man’s—hollow, like he had already decided nothing in this world was worth caring about.”

Cécile tapped her fingers against the wooden table. “If anything, maybe it will make Pierre realize he needs to step in. If Gabriel, a man who clearly has no interest in fatherhood, can look after them, Pierre has no excuse not to.”

Ivonne nodded. “Exactly. Maybe seeing another man take care of his children will trigger his protective instincts.”

Mathilde leaned against the crib, thoughtful. “We can only pray for the better.”

A few hours later, Mathilde was the only one left in the nursery. She hummed softly as she knitted a wool sweater for the babies to use for the winter, occasionally glancing toward the sleeping infants. The nursery was warm, filled with the scent of lavender and clean cotton, and the quiet atmosphere was only disturbed by the door opening.

Mathilde turned, unsurprised when she saw Gabriel stepping inside. He had been visiting the nursery at the same time every day, like a ritual. He had likely figured out that the twins were most alert before their next feeding.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur,” she said.

Gabriel didn’t acknowledge her greeting. Instead, he walked toward the crib and glanced down at the sleeping infants, his brows knitting together slightly.

Mathilde observed him for a moment before speaking. “Do you want to play with the babies?”

Gabriel exhaled. “They’re less boring when they’re awake.”

Mathilde smiled. “They’ll start playing and smiling soon. Just a few more weeks.”

Gabriel didn’t reply. He simply stared at the babies, his expression unreadable.

But then, just for a second, Mathilde saw it; a flicker of something unfamiliar. A smile.

It was small, barely perceptible, but to someone like Mathilde, who had never seen Gabriel’s face hold anything but cold detachment, it was unmistakable.

She almost doubted herself. Had she imagined it? Was the dim lighting playing tricks on her? But no. It was real.

Her chest tightened with an odd sense of wonder.

Gabriel leaned slightly over the crib, extending a single finger toward the blonde baby girl’s tiny hand. She stirred slightly in her sleep, her tiny fingers instinctively closing around his.

Gabriel’s entire expression softened. Mathilde’s breath caught because she had never seen him like this before. Not once in the entire year she had worked here.

Gabriel, the man with the ever-stoic face, the cold, distant demeanor—was looking at a child with something close to tenderness. Although it lasted only for a second, and then it was gone.

Gabriel straightened, his usual expression returning, his walls snapping back into place.

Mathilde quickly turned away, pretending she hadn’t seen anything. It was at that very moment she realized he was not as cold as he pretended to be.