I drive home with the radio turned low, the soft hum of music filling the silence. My mind, however, is anything but quiet. Matteo's quiet grip on my sleeve and the way his fingers had clung to mine were all that was on my mind.
He's opening up gradually.
But Leo?
He's a different story.
I think about the way he watched me as I left, his posture stiff like he was bracing himself for something.
Fine.
I'm not here to break down his walls. I'm here for Matteo.
As I pull up to my apartment complex, exhaustion washes over me. The dim streetlights cast long shadows across the cracked pavement, a stark contrast to the pristine world of the Hayes estate.
I climb the stairs, unlock my door, and step inside the small but cozy space I call home. Tossing my bag onto the couch, I pull off my shoes and collapse onto the cushions, letting out a deep breath.
I should eat. I should shower. I should do a hundred things.
Instead, I closed my eyes, replaying the soft notes of the piano in my head, the way Matteo lit up, the way he had held on to me like he didn't want me to leave.
I don't know what happened to him.
I don't know what broke him or made him retreat into silence.
But I do know one thing.
I'm not going anywhere.
I sit in my office long after Ella leaves, staring at the files on my desk but not seeing them.
I should be working. There's always something to do—another report to go over, another problem to solve.
But all I can think about is Matteo.
And Ella.
Her voice plays in my head, soft. He's getting comfortable with me.
Yeah. I noticed.
And I don't know how to feel about it.
I rub a hand over my face, exhaling slowly. It was supposed to be simple: hire a tutor, let her do her job, and keep things professional. But nothing about it feels simple anymore.
Matteo likes her.
And that means she has the power to hurt him.
I tighten my jaw, forcing the thought away. Ella doesn't seem like the type to walk away, but I can't take that chance.
I push back from my desk, standing abruptly. Matteo is already asleep, curled up in his bed with that stuffed wolf still clutched tightly in his arms.
I step into his room quietly, observing his chest rise and fall slowly and steadily.
I would do anything to protect him.
Anything.
Even if it means keeping a closer eye on Ella Richson.
The next day, I wake up with the faint notes of last night's memories still in my head. The soft pull of Matteo's grip, the way he clung to his stuffed wolf while watching me play—it all replays in my mind like a song stuck.
I push myself out of bed and stretch, wincing at the soreness in my shoulders.
Leo Hayes is a fortress of a man, his walls thick and unyielding. And Matteo?
I sigh and check my phone.
Leo Hayes: Be here at 3.
I am already used to him not greeting first before sending a message.
I type out a quick Okay before tossing my phone onto the bed. He could at least pretend to be civil.
I had made a quick breakfast and spent the next few hours reviewing lesson plans. I don't just want to teach Matteo—I want to reach him.
By the time 2:30 rolls around, I'm already out the door, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary as I drive toward the estate.
I check my watch for the third time, forcing myself not to pace.
She'll be on time. I know she will.
And I hate that I already know her habits.
Matteo sits on the couch, the stuffed wolf still tucked under his arm. He's staring at the front door, even though he refuses to admit that he's waiting for her.
"She'll be here," I say, more to myself than to him.
Matteo doesn't respond, but shifts slightly, like my words reassure him.
Damn it.
I don't like this. I don't like how easily she's fitting into his world, how he watches her with caution, and how she makes him look a little less lost.
Because if he starts relying on her—if he starts trusting her—what happens when she leaves?
People always leave.
Leo answers the door before I can knock.
"You're early," he observes, arms crossed, like it bothers him.
I raise an eyebrow. "Would you rather I be late?"
His jaw tightens. "Just come in."
He steps aside, and I walk past him, pretending not to notice his presence filling the space.
Matteo is where I expect him to be—curled up on the couch, watching me with those big, quiet eyes.
"Hey, kiddo," I say softly.
He doesn't answer, but his grip on the stuffed wolf tightens.
Leo watches us, his gaze sharp and unreadable.
"Matteo," I say, kneeling to his level. "I brought something for you."
His fingers twitch, but he doesn't move.
I reach into my bag and pull out a small notebook and a pack of colored pencils. "No pressure, okay? But if you ever feel like drawing or writing something, use this."
Matteo stares at it for a long moment before hesitantly reaching out. He doesn't take it—only touches the edge like he's testing to see if it's real.
Leo shifts behind me, and I feel his scrutiny like a weight pressing against my back.
"Can he write?" I ask, glancing up at him.
"He can," Leo says carefully. "He just doesn't."
I nod and look back at Matteo. "That's okay," I say softly. "You don't have to write anything. Just hold onto it for now."
After a long pause, Matteo pulls the notebook toward him, hugging it close to his chest like something precious.
I didn't miss how Leo exhaled, not realizing he was holding his breath.
I am gradually getting through to him.