Chapter 2 - The Empty Canvas
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The morning sunlight sliced through the heavy velvet drapes of my bedroom like a cinematic spotlight, illuminating the open suitcase on my bed. I folded my sweaters with mechanical precision, refusing to let my hands shake. Every item I packed felt like I was erasing my existence from this house. I had spent fourteen months turning this cold, sterile mansion into a place where a five-year-old boy could actually smile, and now I was leaving it behind.
The heavy oak door to my room pushed open without a knock.
Victor stood in the doorway. He hadn't slept. He was still wearing the same dark trousers from the night before, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the faint shadow of a dark tattoo on his chest. The bruised jaw looked worse in the daylight. His gray eyes, usually so calculating and cold, were fixed entirely on the suitcase.
"What are you doing, Harper?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.
"I am doing exactly what you pointed out last night," I replied evenly, not looking up from my folding. "I am almost thirty. I shouldn't be spending my life hiding in your house. I am removing myself from your payroll."
"I didn't tell you to leave."
"You told me I was nothing but hired help," I snapped, turning to face him. "You made it abundantly clear that my presence here is merely a transaction. Well, the transaction is over. I quit."
Victor stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. The click of the latch sounded like a prison cell locking. He crossed the space between us in three long, predatory strides.
"Finn hasn't spoken a word this morning," Victor said, his voice tightening with a frustration he couldn't hide. "He refused to eat breakfast. He is sitting in the center of the nursery staring at the door, waiting for you."
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"He will adjust," I lied, my chest aching at the thought of Finn sitting alone. "You can hire another nanny by noon. Someone with better credentials."
"I don't want another nanny," Victor stated, his jaw clenching. He reached out, his large, calloused hand gripping the edge of my open suitcase, his knuckles turning white. "He doesn't want another nanny. He wants you."
