The millionaire disguised himself as a gardener—until the maid saved his children from his own fiancée.
The afternoon sun poured over Charleston like a lie dressed in gold, beautiful and warm, yet hiding something bitter beneath its glow. From the second-floor balcony of the Montgomery house, Samuel Montgomery stood perfectly still, his hands resting on the cool stone railing. Below him, the garden he had once designed with such care spread out in perfect, orderly lines. The hedges were trimmed just right. The white roses bloomed bright and proud. Marble paths gleamed, untouched by dirt or fallen leaves. Everything looked perfect. And yet, everything was wrong.