Chapter 1 - THE FOUR WORDS THAT SILENCED A BILLIONAIRE
The wooden train slammed into my shoulder before I’d taken three steps into billionaire Matteo Duca’s penthouse, and seconds later, his three-year-old daughter stood inches from my face with her tiny fist trembling in rage. Fourteen women had already fled from Leah, but when I knelt in front of her and refused to leave, she whispered four words that made even her powerful father go deathly still: “No blue room.”
I’d come up through the service elevator with eight thousand dollars in overdue hospital bills hanging over my head, another six hundred owed for my mother’s injections, and a landlord whose patience was disappearing fast.
When the doors opened on the sixty-second floor, I saw the nanny before me pressed against the hallway wall.
Four bloody scratches streaked her cheek. Her blouse was soaked with sweat.
“Don’t go up there,” she whispered.
I looked at her wounds, swallowed hard, and walked past her.
“I need the shift.”
The penthouse doors were already open. Manhattan glittered beyond enormous windows, while polished marble stretched beneath my feet like ice.
I barely had time to set down my bag.
Something smashed into my left shoulder.
“Ah!”
A heavy wooden train crashed onto the floor behind me.
Then I saw her.
Leah Duca.
Three years old. Tiny. Furious.
She charged at me and kicked my knee.
Pain shot through my leg.
Then she kicked me again.
Harder.
“Leah.” A man’s deep voice came from across the room.
She ignored him.
Her little fist rose toward my face.
But she didn’t hit me.
She simply held it there, inches from my nose, her knuckles white and her whole arm trembling.
I looked past her.
Matteo Duca stood beside the window, holding a crystal glass. The man supposedly owned half of Manhattan, yet he made no move to stop his daughter.
His face wasn’t angry.
It was defeated.
He’d seen this before. Fourteen times, apparently.
And he was waiting for me to become number fifteen.
I slowly lowered myself onto the cold marble.
Leah stared at me suspiciously.
I didn’t grab her wrist. I didn’t raise my voice.
“That is a very big feeling,” I whispered.
Her nostrils flared.
“For such a little body.”
Her fist remained raised.
“You’re allowed to be angry.”
She stared straight into my eyes.
“But I’m not leaving.”
Something shifted behind her expression.
Not surrender.
Something closer to fear.
Her fist slowly lowered.
Then her eyes darted toward the hallway.
Her entire body stiffened.
“No,” she whispered.
Matteo’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
I frowned. “No what, sweetheart?”
Leah backed against me as though something terrifying had suddenly entered the room.
Then she looked at her father.
“No blue room.”
The color drained from Matteo Duca’s face.
And for the first time since I’d entered that penthouse, I realized Leah might never have been the problem.
I turned toward the hallway.
A woman stood there.
She was tall and elegant, with a silver necklace resting against a cream blouse. Her dark hair was twisted into a perfect knot.
She had not made a sound.
Yet Leah had noticed her immediately.
“Mr. Duca,” the woman said, “I'm sorry. I didn't realize the new nanny had arrived.”
Matteo set down his glass.
“Cassandra.”
The woman smiled at me.
“Cassandra Vale. I'm the household director.”
She stepped forward.
Leah grabbed my sleeve.
Her fingernails dug into my wrist.
“No blue room,” she repeated.
Cassandra's smile did not move.
“Leah, darling, we discussed this.”
The child began shaking.
I looked at Matteo.
“What is the blue room?”
His eyes moved from Cassandra to his daughter.
“It's her old playroom.”
“Then why is she afraid of it?”
Nobody answered.
Cassandra finally spoke.
“Leah has developed some unfortunate behavioral associations since her mother's death.”
I looked down.
Leah's small hand was trembling.
Children sometimes fear ordinary things for reasons adults don't understand.
But this was different.
She wasn't afraid of a room she could see.
She was afraid of a woman who had just entered.
I placed my hand gently over hers.
“Leah,” I whispered, “nobody is taking you anywhere right now.”
Her breathing slowed.
Cassandra's eyes narrowed.
“Mr. Duca, perhaps we should discuss whether this candidate is suitable.”
Matteo looked at me.
Then at his daughter.
For the first time, I saw uncertainty break through his polished expression.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Emily Carter.”
He nodded.
“Miss Carter, would you be willing to stay until morning?”
Cassandra turned sharply.
“Matteo—”
He raised one hand.
“I'm speaking to Miss Carter.”
I looked at Leah.
She had stopped shaking.
But she still hadn't released my sleeve.
“Yes,” I said.
“I'll stay.”
May you like
Cassandra's expression hardened.
And I realized that someone in this penthouse was far more frightened of my staying than Leah was.
