3

Emily

Grace is showing me around. Her short ginger hair is perfectly styled. She’s the epitome of corporate chic, right down to her icy demeanor. She must be their assistant or something. Whatever... business they are running.

“This is the main living area,” she says, waving dismissively at the opulent space adorned with crystal chandeliers and rich fabrics. “You won’t spend much time here.”

Yeah, no kidding.

“Upstairs are the private rooms. You’ll never go there. I’ll think of a room to give you. The kitchen is that way,” she points indifferently, “but you won’t need to cook. We have staff for that.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So, what is it that I’ll actually be doing?”

“Taking care of Ayla. That’s your sole focus.”

“Got it,” I reply, even though I’m not sure I entirely do. “And what about the other people in the house? Nick, Alessandro, and Damon. Will I be interacting with them?”

Grace chuckles, a sound devoid of warmth. “Interacting with them? Trust me, you’re not equipped to handle those three. They don’t do ‘interaction’ unless it serves them.”

“Oh,” I say, the single syllable heavy with unspoken thoughts. “So, basically, stay out of their way?”

“Smart girl,” she says, her eyes narrowing as if challenging me to contradict her. “Stick to your duties, keep Ayla safe and entertained, and you’ll be fine. Try to involveyourself in matters that don’t concern you, and you’ll find out quickly that this isn’t the place for you.”

Then Grace adds, a sardonic smirk curving her lips, “Though, to be honest, I’m still not convinced you have the skill set for even that much.”

Her words are a sharp jab, a clear attempt to rattle my confidence. “I assure you, I’m fully capable of doing my job.”

“We’ll see,” she says dismissively, already turning on her heels to leave. “Remember, you’re easily replaceable.” She sizes me up and down, her glare cold as ice. “Ayla is in her room. Go find her and make yourself useful,” she finishes.

I clench my fists. God, I want to punch her in the face.

Then she leaves, her footsteps echoing down the opulent hallway, leaving me standing alone in this cavernous room. The tension in the air slowly dissipates, but her words linger, a stark reminder of the razor’s edge I’m walking here.

Replaceable, huh? I tighten my grip on the folder. We’ll see about that.

I take a moment to collect myself. Replaceable or not, I have a job to do. With a deep breath, I head down the corridor Grace had pointed to earlier, looking for Ayla’s room.

I knock gently on the wooden door. The door creaks open, and there she is. A petite little thing with big, curious eyes.

“Hi, Ayla. I’m Emily. I’m going to be taking care of you.”

She studies me cautiously, then finally nods and beckons for me to come in. I take that as my cue and step into her world. I immediately notice the depressing nature of the room. It’s spacious yet... empty. No toys, no drawings, just a bed and a dresser. Ayla is wrapped in a blanket like a cocoon, only her eyes peeping out.

“Where are your toys, sweetie?” I ask, hoping to break the ice.

She looks at me, puzzled. Right, she might not understand English.

I roll my eyes internally, irritated Grace gave me zero heads-up on how to communicate with Ayla. Great, just great.

I sit cross-legged on the floor of this grand room, still trying to wrap my head around the enormity of this mansion. It’s a different world, one that feels disconnected from the cramped apartment I grew up in.

I reach into my bag and pull out a small stuffed bear I had brought along, hoping it might serve as an ice-breaker. I hold it out toward Ayla. “This is Mr. Bear. He’s friendly, see?” I make the bear dance a little in the air.

Ayla’s eyes widen and she slowly emerges from her blanket cocoon to take the bear from my hand. She hugs it tightly, a small smile appearing on her face.

“See? Friends,” I say, miming the word by linking my own fingers together.

She looks at her fingers, then mimics the gesture back at me, linking her tiny fingers together.

Feeling encouraged, I try a little more. “What’s your favorite color, Ayla?” I point to my shirt, then to different items around the room, trying to illustrate my question.

She looks puzzled for a moment, but then points to a small, blue trinket on her dresser.

“Blue, huh? That’s a pretty color,” I nod and smile, delighted to be making some headway. Even if we don’t share a language, there are still ways to communicate.

And just like that, the invisible wall between us starts to crumble, bit by bit. I can tell we’re going to get along just fine.

I unzip my bag again, digging around until I find the small set of colorful blocks I’d brought with me. “Look, Ayla, more toys.” I pull them out and scatter them lightly on the floor between us.

Her eyes flicker to the blocks, then to me, a trace of uncertainty in her gaze.

“It’s okay, they’re for playing. Watch.” I stack a few blocks on top of each other, creating a tiny tower.

She hesitates, her gaze darting between the blocks and my face. I can tell she’s not used to this—playing, having toys, or perhaps, the simple act of someone trying to reach out to her.

“See? Like this.” I gently knock the tower over and laugh softly, aiming to show her there’s nothing to be afraid of.

Slowly, she reaches out and stacks a couple of blocks together, her small fingers wobbling a bit as she places one atop the other.

There we go. One small step closer to tearing down that wall between us.

“Okay, sweetie, do you know what this is?” I hold up a colorful block, praying for a sign of recognition.

Her eyes flicker, but she shakes her head, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. It’s painfully clear she doesn’t understand much English.

“Just say ‘block,’ easy-peasy.” I smile, trying to make it a game.

She scrunches her face, then finally mutters something that almost resembles “block,” and I can’t help but laugh.

I hear the distinct sound of footsteps approaching. The heavy, measured gait is different from the almost inaudible tread of Grace.

Just then, Damon walks in, and my heart does a weird little flip. Unlike his rougher, more intimidating friends, Damon exudes a quiet kindness. I don’t know him well, but there’s something in his blue eyes that makes me feel... safer. His short hair and tattoos give him a tough look, but it’s balanced by a strong jawline that softens when he smiles. Which he isn’t doing right now.

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching my gaze for just a moment. “I was just checking if you needed anything,” he says.

“No, thank you.” I smile.

“Alright,” Damon nods, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer before sweeping over to Ayla. “If you need anything, just ask.”

Then, almost as silently as he appeared, he leaves the room. The door clicks softly behind him, and it’s like he was never there.

I look back at the child, Ayla, and then my mind drifts to the vastness of this mansion. The towering ceilings, the sprawling rooms filled with furnishings that probably cost more than my college tuition. These men—this family—they’re a mystery wrapped in an enigma, and I’m right in the middle of it.

I ponder my decision to accept this job. Is it safe here? Probably safer than struggling to pay rent in a sketchy neighborhood, I rationalize. Besides, there are other staff members, not just these three.

And Damon—well, he seems like the closest thing to an ally in this convoluted situation. Maybe he could help me bridgethe language gap with Ayla or give me some context about her background. Because the way everyone tiptoes around her, there’s clearly more to the story.

Damon seems more... human. Maybe even approachable.

I make up my mind to talk to him later. To find out what exactly I’ve gotten myself into. But for now, I refocus on the little girl in front of me.

“Okay, Ayla, let’s try another word. How about ‘cup’?” I point to a sippy cup on the low table between us.

My phone buzzes from where it’s placed on the coffee table, drawing my attention away from Ayla. I lean over to pick it up and see it’s a message from my sister, Kelly.

How’s the new job, sis?

I hesitate for a moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard. How to put it into words?It’s... complicated but interestingI finally type.

Ooh, crypticKelly fires back.Did you meet the guys yet? What’d you think?

They’re, um, intense. How did you even find these people?I ask, feeling like I’m tiptoeing around land mines.

Are they hot or what?Kelly doesn’t miss a beat.

Stop it, Kelly

Admit it, Emily

I let out a tiny sigh. She’s not going to let this go.Fine, they’re kind of... hot. But that doesn’t change the fact they scare me a little

A little fear can be exciting, sisshe responds, her text dripping with unspoken mischief.

I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see me.Only you would say that. Anyway, one of them is a little easier to talk to. His name’s Damon

Ah, a favorite already?

I wouldn’t go that far. It’s just... he seems kinder than the others. More approachable, I guess

Don’t let those good looks fool you. Stay focused, Em. You’re there for a job

I know, I knowI text back, setting the phone down and taking a deep breath. It’s easier said than done, though. I can’t forget why I’m here—to take care of Ayla. Whatever strange tension or sparks I’m feeling around her uncles are secondary. Maybe even irrelevant.

But as I glance back at Ayla, I can’t help but feel that understanding the men in her life might be key to understanding her. And maybe, understanding myself in this new, puzzling role I’ve taken on.

“So, Ayla,” I redirect my focus back to the small girl, pushing away thoughts of Damon and his intense gaze. “Let’s try saying ‘cup’ one more time, shall we?”

Then another text. I roll my eyes. Can you let me do my job, Kelly?

How’s the kiddo?Kelly’s text lights up the screen.

She’s adjusting. I’m trying to teach her some basic English wordsI reply.

Sounds like a plan. Talk later, sis

Setting the phone down again, I can’t help but ponder the circumstances which brought me here. I had been skeptical when Kelly first mentioned this nanny job just yesterday.

Kelly had insisted, saying it would be a great opportunity. A way to make some good money and to help a child in need. She hadn’t been wrong about the latter.

Ayla glances at the cup on the table, then back at me, her eyes full of youthful uncertainty but also a spark of willingness to learn.

It’s that tiny spark which ignites my resolve. I’m here for her, first and foremost. And no amount of complicated men or confusing emotions will steer me off course.

Nick walks into the room, and it’s as if the air thickens. He’s undeniably good-looking, but in an intimidating way. Tall and muscular with a strong jawline, his eyes are so piercingly blue they seem almost unreal.

The scar running down his cheek adds an element of danger to his already intense demeanor. Unlike Damon, there’s no softness in those eyes, but they’re not as icy as Alessandro’s either.

He takes a seat next to me, casually leaning back in the chair, making it look like the most natural thing in the world to invade my personal space. “Hey, Emily. How’s the kiddo doing?”

“She’s learning. We’ve been going over some basic English words.” I feel slightly off-kilter being this close to him but push the feeling aside.

“Good,” he says, then looks at Ayla. “She’s a quick learner?”

I nod, eager to keep the focus off me. “Yes, she seems eager to learn, despite the language barrier.”

Nicolas turns his intense gaze back on me. “And how are you adjusting? Everything up to standard?”

“Um, yes, everything’s fine. Your home is beautiful, and the staff have been helpful.” I can’t help but feel like I’m being evaluated. I wanted to bring up the lack of toys. But I’m a little too intimidated by him right now.

“Good to hear,” he says, but his eyes don’t warm.

“Look, Emily. Don’t mind Alessandro’s behavior today. He’s...wary of new people,” he adds, almost like an afterthought, but it feels like he’s making an excuse for his friend.

I nod, grateful for the bit of insight. Just then, his gaze shifts, landing on my luggage in the corner of the room. A look of realization crosses his face. “Did they not tell you where you’d be staying?”

“No,” I reply, a blush creeping into my cheeks. “They didn’t.”

His holds my gaze as if he’s trying to read my very thoughts. The intensity of his stare heats my cheeks. “Come on,” he says, his voice dropping an octave lower, “I’ll show you to your room then.”

That sentence, simple as it is, reverberates through me like a live wire. My heartbeat quickens as I hurriedly gather the colorful blocks and stash them in their box.

“I’ll be right back sweetie,” I smile to Ayla. Then I rise to my feet, suddenly self-conscious, and follow him out of the room.

He leads me down a long hallway adorned with paintings and luxurious decor. “Your room is, um, right next to Alessandro’s. We have other rooms, but they’re currently being renovated and out of use for a couple of days. Until then...you’ll be staying here.”

I nod, taking in the information. So, I’m neighbors with the most intimidating of the three. Great.

“You might hear, um...noises at night. Try to ignore them,” he adds, pausing at a carved door before opening it for me.

“W-what kind of noises?” I can’t help but ask.

His eyes narrow, the smirk evolving into a full-on, devilish grin. He leans in, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. “Oh, you’ll definitely know,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, almost predatory, timbre. He holds my gaze for a moment which feels like an eternity, but also not nearly long enough.

Then he winks, steps back and pivots on his heel to walk away, leaving me standing there with a pounding heart and a face I’m sure is flushed.

Oh boy, isn’t he sexy. And equally mysterious.

I step into the room, still pondering what those “noises” might be. But for now, I have a room—a gorgeous one at that. It’s time to settle in.

I take a moment to absorb the space I’ve just stepped into, and it’s nothing short of luxurious. The aesthetic screams old money but with a modern twist. Lavish Turkish rugs spread across the dark wooden floors, contrasting elegantly with the minimalist furniture.

There’s a sense of understated opulence here that leaves me wondering—just what exactly do these guys do for a living?

If Kelly referred me to them, they must be reliable, at least to some extent. Yet, the mystery of it all keeps gnawing at me.

I sit down at the sleek desk, taking out a notepad to jot down a list of activities and care guidelines for Ayla. Usually,affluent families hand me an exhaustive manual for their child—pages and pages of what to do and what not to do, down to the minutiae. But these three? Not a single guideline. It’s as if they expect me to handle everything on my own, or maybe they just don’t care enough to be detailed.

That poor little kid. I ponder over the list, determined to fill the gaps they’ve left wide open. It’s clear she’s going to need more than just a caregiver. She needs someone genuinely concerned for her well-being. And whether they like it or not, that person is going to be me.

Spending the day with Ayla feels surprisingly rewarding. My degree in child psychology does come in handy as we navigate the language barrier and start to build rapport. Still, a child psychology degree is one thing—actual hands-on experience as a nanny is another, and I draw on both to make this work. As we’ve played and talked, I’ve made a few lists and once she’s asleep I decide it is time to deliver the first.

Venturing into the kitchen, I find the chefs absorbed in their own world, idly smoking. I suppress a frown. Smoking in a kitchen? Really? I hand them a list of meal plans specifically designed for Ayla. Their faces barely conceal their irritation, but when I mention that any complaints can be directed to Alessandro, they go eerily silent.

I sense I’ve played the right card. Good to know I’m not the only one who finds the man intimidating.

As evening draws in, I make my way back to my extravagant room. The house is unsettlingly quiet. The guys haven’t returned yet—or at least, I haven’t seen them. And for some reason, that makes me more anxious than if they were here. What are they up to?

Slipping out of my clothes, I decide to embrace the comfort this luxurious bed promises. I’ve always slept naked—it feels liberating, natural.

Damon, with his gentle words and kind smile, and Nick, whose piercing eyes make my heart race—my mind toggles between their distinct personas. They both exude a sense of raw power, veiled behind different facades. I can’t help but think about their strong arms, the veins that mark them as warriors of some sort.

My thoughts drift to Alessandro—brooding, intimidating Alessandro. He’s a tower of a man, easily over six-foot-three. He’s hot, in a way that’s as unsettling as it is magnetic. A gravitational pull I know I should resist but find myself questioning if I even want to.

But then, the unthinkable happens.

The door bursts open and Alessandro strides in, no knock, no warning. Before I can react or gather my clothes, he is already in the room. To my horror, I remember I am completely exposed.