The Reed mansion stood like a silent monument on the edge of Manhattan—grand, imposing, and intimidating. Its high walls and iron gates guarded secrets the world wasn't meant to see. The kind of place where no one knocked unless they had a reason. Emma Carter had a reason.
She stood before the front door, adjusting the strap of her worn tote bag and staring up at the intricate design of the iron double doors. Her fingers trembled slightly as she rang the doorbell. She'd triple-checked the address. This was it.
She was about to be interviewed by Alexander Reed, CEO of Reed International—a man known for building billion-dollar deals and breaking hearts with the same brutal efficiency.
Emma (murmuring to herself): "You've got this. Just breathe."
She wore her best—an off-white blouse tucked into a navy-blue skirt, her long black hair tied into a low ponytail, and her flats freshly polished even though the tips were a little scuffed. Nothing about her screamed "professional nanny," but it was all she could manage.
The door opened with a quiet click, revealing a tall man in a dark suit. He looked like security detail—stoic face, earpiece, and posture straight as a rod.
Man (sternly): "Miss Carter?"
Emma (nodding quickly): "Yes, I'm Emma Carter. I'm here for the interview."
The man stepped aside without another word. Emma hesitated only for a second before stepping inside.
The air was cooler than expected. The floors were polished marble, the chandelier above glittered like icicles, and the silence was almost unnatural. Every inch of the mansion screamed money—but not warmth.
Man: "This way."
Emma followed him through a long hallway. They passed elegant furniture that looked untouched, artwork framed in gold, and a living room so pristine it might've belonged in a museum. It was beautiful—but soulless.
The man stopped at a large wooden door and knocked once before opening it.
Man: "Mr. Reed, Miss Carter has arrived."
Inside, behind a massive desk in a room bathed in natural light, sat Alexander Reed. He didn't look up immediately. He was signing something—his movements swift, practiced, and exact.
When he finally looked up, Emma forgot how to breathe.
He was handsome, in the kind of cold, dangerous way that made you forget every coherent thought. His chestnut-brown hair was styled immaculately, and his gray eyes locked onto hers with unsettling sharpness.
Alexander (without smiling): "Sit."
Emma obeyed, clutching her resume like a lifeline as she lowered herself into the chair across from him.
He glanced at the paper, his expression unreadable.
Alexander (flatly): "Twenty years old. No live-in nanny experience. One year part-time at a daycare, plus occasional babysitting for friends. No formal training."
Emma (quietly): "Yes, sir. But I'm great with children, and I learn fast. I—"
Alexander (interrupting): "This position isn't casual babysitting, Miss Carter. I'm not hiring someone to play games for a few hours and go home."
Emma straightened her back, forcing herself not to shrink under his tone.
Emma (gently but firmly): "I understand that, Mr. Reed. I may not have all the credentials on paper, but I genuinely care about children. I believe I can offer your daughter the stability and care she needs."
Alexander leaned back, his expression still unreadable. The silence stretched.
Alexander (calmly): "My daughter is one year old. Her name is Emily. Her mother passed away shortly after childbirth."
Emma's heart tightened at his tone—calm, factual, and utterly devoid of emotion.
Alexander (continuing): "Since then, I've hired three different nannies. None lasted more than two weeks. One quit. Two were dismissed."
Emma swallowed hard.
Emma (softly): "May I ask why?"
Alexander (bluntly): "Because they confused their role with emotional involvement. Or they failed to follow basic boundaries."
Emma (carefully): "You mean… they became too attached?"
Alexander (coldly): "They made the mistake of thinking this household needs affection. What it needs is order."
Emma bit the inside of her cheek, trying to mask the discomfort rising in her chest. He spoke like a man who had built walls so high, even his own daughter might never climb them.
Alexander (sharply): "You'll live in the east wing. Your responsibilities begin at six in the morning and end at eight in the evening. You will report directly to the head of household staff. You'll not take Emily outside the premises without written permission. No personal visitors. No phone use during active hours. Is that clear?"
Emma blinked. It sounded less like a nanny job and more like a contract at a military base.
Emma (quiet but steady): "Yes. I understand."
Alexander stood. The interview was clearly over.
Alexander (curtly): "You'll begin tomorrow at six. Report to Mrs. Hopkins at the side entrance. She'll show you your quarters."
Emma (surprised): "Wait—I'm hired?"
Alexander (coolly): "If you weren't, I wouldn't waste another minute talking to you."
He turned back to his paperwork.
Emma stood slowly, her knees wobbling slightly. She turned toward the door, heart pounding.
Alexander (without looking up): "Miss Carter."
She stopped, glancing back.
Alexander (without emotion): "This is a job. Nothing more. Don't mistake my daughter's affection for an invitation into her life."
Emma met his eyes, and for the first time, something flickered in them—something like grief, buried under layers of ice.
Emma (quietly): "With all due respect, Mr. Reed… children don't operate on contracts."
She walked out before he could respond.
---
Later that day…
Emma stood in the east wing, staring at the room that would be hers. It was beautiful, far beyond what she was used to—a queen-sized bed, built-in shelves, a private bathroom, even a window seat. But it didn't feel like home.
She placed her bag on the bed and exhaled. Her heart was still pounding. She'd just met the most intimidating man she'd ever known, and somehow... she'd gotten the job.
A soft knock came at the door.
She opened it to find a woman in her fifties, smiling gently.
Woman: "You must be Miss Carter. I'm Mrs. Hopkins, head of staff. I'll show you to Emily's room."
Emma (nodding): "Yes, thank you."
They walked down the hall in silence. The nursery was painted soft cream, with white furniture and plush toys neatly arranged. In the middle of the room sat a playpen—and inside it, a baby girl with dark brown curls and big, curious gray eyes.
Mrs. Hopkins (smiling): "Emily, darling, meet your new nanny."
Emily stared at Emma for a long second. Then she smiled—bright, unguarded, innocent. She held her arms up.
Emma's heart melted.
Emma (softly): "Hi there, sweet girl…"
She stepped forward and picked Emily up, holding her close.
The baby settled against her chest like she belonged there.
From the hallway, a pair of gray eyes watched silently, unreadable.
Alexander said nothing. But for the first time in a long time, the mansion didn't feel quite so cold.