"You have got to be kidding me," Nina said, staring blankly at the screen. She abandoned all attempts to hide behind the duvet, sitting cross-legged in her thin silk nightgown, the fabric pooling around her like water. The absurdity of the situation hit her fully now. "Lucas, he is five years old. Are you seriously competing with a child right now?"
Ethan, perched firmly on his father's hip, didn't throw a typical toddler tantrum. Instead, he folded his small arms across his chest, his dark brows knitting together in a remarkably stern, adult-like scowl that mirrored Lucas's boardroom expression with uncanny precision. The resemblance was almost comical.
He glared at his father with the gravity of a tiny judge, then looked back at the screen, pointing a single, precise finger at Nina's face.
"My," Ethan stated clearly, his little voice small but completely unyielding, each syllable deliberate. "Nina."
