The billionaire invited models to help his daughter choose a new mother — but the girl pointed to the housekeeper and said, “I want her to be my mother.”

It was so quiet in the Lanski family’s grand villa that you could hear a fly buzzing. Six-year-old Amalia, in a light blue dress, stood in the middle of the living room, raised her pinky, and said calmly:

— Dad, I choose her.

She pointed at Clara. The housekeeper.

Klara gasped and instinctively pressed her hands to her chest.

“Me? Amalia, honey… no, this must be some mistake…”

The little one looked at her with that serious look of hers that could disarm anyone.

“You’re good to me,” she whispered, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “When Daddy’s busy, you read me stories. I want you to be my mom.”

A murmur rippled through the salon. The models Roman Lanski had brought in from halfway across Europe exchanged knowing glances. All of them perfect: heels, red lips, hair like something out of a shampoo ad. And Amalia—as if she hadn’t even seen them.

Roman froze. The millionaire, who never lost a negotiation, suddenly felt the ground slipping beneath his feet. He’d buried his wife three years ago, and since he’d been single, he’d tried everything to make sure Amalia had everything she needed. He thought it was time to find a new partner—not just for himself, but for his daughter as well.

And she… pointed to a woman in a simple apron and black dress.

Roman clenched his jaw. This wasn’t planned. He tried to salvage the situation.