Ellen’s POV

After Max's message, I knew Father was the best person to inform about the children. But if the children belong to Zeke, could the woman in the photo be their mother? And why are they at his penthouse instead of the mansion?

Tired of being indoors, I decided to go to the salon. At least there, I could distract myself with gossip.

I got up, went to the restroom to freshen up, and then got dressed. I chose a casual yet stylish outfit: snug black jeans, a breezy white linen blouse, and crisp white sneakers. I added a delicate gold pendant necklace and wore my hair loose.

After a final check in the mirror, I grabbed my keys and left.

I arrived at the salon a few minutes later, parked, and went inside. I was immediately met with such coldness it was almost nauseating. The usual urgency was absent; the staff were indifferent, chatting idly and ignoring me.

What was wrong with these people?

"Excuse me," I said firmly, approaching the reception desk. "I'd like to get my nails done now."

The receptionist glanced up, her expression unchanged. "I'll let someone know you're here," she replied, her voice flat.

Frustration simmered. This wasn't the service I expected, and I wouldn't tolerate it.

After several minutes of waiting, my patience wore thin. "Is there a problem?" I asked, my voice edged with irritation.

The receptionist shrugged. "We're a bit busy," she replied casually.

"I don't care how busy you are," I snapped. "I expect prompt service. And if you value this salon's existence, you'll get someone to me immediately."

The receptionist, realizing I wouldn't be dismissed, sighed and told a colleague, who reluctantly came to assist me.

Feeling a sense of satisfaction, I settled into the chair. I wouldn't let anyone walk all over me.

My phone's insistent ringing disrupted the salon's quiet. Irritated, I gestured to a nearby worker.

"Hey, get my phone," I said sharply, pointing to the counter.

A worker hesitantly retrieved it and handed it to me with a forced smile. I barely acknowledged them as I answered the call.

"What's the update?" I demanded.

Max reported, "There's a car outside the hospital; they're taking the kids back to the penthouse. They'll leave in a couple of minutes."

I needed to see those children. I had to act fast. I relayed my plan to Max and hung up.

Turning to the salon staff, I said urgently, "Hurry with my hair. I haven't got all day!"

They scrambled to finish. Time was of the essence.

With my nails freshly painted, I paid and rushed out, ignoring curious stares. I sped to Zeke's penthouse.

I parked a safe distance away and watched. A black Cadillac pulled up. Three children—two boys and a girl, as Max described—emerged. But the photo showed four children. The fourth must be in the hospital.

I quickly took a picture of the three children as evidence. Then, I drove away. I wouldn't let them thwart my plans.

I arrived home at dusk. Father was in the living room; Mother wasn't.

"Father," I said, showing him the photo, "We've found the kids!"

A shadow crossed his face. His brows furrowed, and his jaw clenched. He nodded solemnly.

"Let's get started," he said.