The sunlight poured gently through the curtains of Emma Carter's new bedroom, painting golden stripes across the soft white sheets. Her alarm buzzed at exactly 5:30 a.m., and she opened her eyes with a deep breath.
This was it—her first day as Emily Reed's full-time nanny.
She sat up slowly, still trying to process the fact that she was living in the mansion of Alexander Reed. The man himself remained an icy enigma, but his daughter? Emma couldn't stop thinking about those big gray eyes and the way Emily had reached for her without hesitation.
She showered quickly, dressed in a soft blue blouse and dark jeans—practical and professional—and tied her long black hair into a neat braid. At exactly 5:58, she opened her door and stepped into the hallway.
Mrs. Hopkins was already waiting outside, holding a clipboard.
Mrs. Hopkins (smiling warmly): "Good morning, Miss Carter. I trust you slept well?"
Emma (nodding): "Yes, thank you. The room is beautiful."
Mrs. Hopkins: "Come. I'll walk you through the morning routine."
They walked together down the hallway toward the nursery. Mrs. Hopkins briefed her along the way.
Mrs. Hopkins: "Emily wakes around six-thirty. You'll handle her morning bottle, change her, and bring her down to the breakfast room by seven-thirty. Mr. Reed eats with her before heading to the office. He expects punctuality."
Emma (softly): "Understood."
They stepped into the nursery just as Emily stirred in her crib.
Her tiny fingers gripped the edge of the soft blanket, and she blinked at the light, making a small, sleepy noise.
Emma (gently): "Good morning, sweetheart."
Emily's eyes lit up the moment she saw Emma. She let out a soft squeal and kicked her legs with excitement.
Mrs. Hopkins (smiling): "She remembers you already."
Emma walked over and carefully lifted Emily from the crib, holding her close. The baby snuggled against her chest, little fingers gripping her blouse.
Something warm bloomed in Emma's chest.
---
By 7:20, Emily was changed, fed, and dressed in a pastel yellow onesie with tiny ducks on it. Emma carried her down the marble staircase to the breakfast room, heart thudding with nerves.
She stepped into the room—and froze.
Alexander Reed was already seated at the head of the table, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, sipping black coffee while flipping through a digital tablet.
Without looking up, he spoke.
Alexander (flatly): "You're five minutes early."
Emma (gently): "I thought it better to be early than late."
He finally looked up, eyes landing first on Emma, then on the baby in her arms.
Emily immediately squirmed, reaching her arms toward him with a happy chirp.
Emma (softly to Emily): "Do you want Daddy?"
Alexander's brow twitched almost imperceptibly at the word Daddy, but he extended his arms.
Emma passed Emily to him carefully.
For a moment, the room was still.
Alexander held his daughter expertly, adjusting her in his arms as she cooed and tugged at his tie.
Alexander (quietly, to Emily): "You're a mess this morning."
Emma (smiling): "She didn't want to wear socks."
He looked up at her.
Alexander (dryly): "You lost an argument with a one-year-old?"
Emma (teasing): "You try saying no to that face."
For a brief second—just one—his lips almost curved.
Almost.
Alexander (gruffly): "I have a meeting at eight. You may take her after breakfast."
Emma nodded and stepped back respectfully. She wasn't sure whether to stay or leave, so she lingered by the doorway, observing.
Alexander set Emily in a highchair beside him and placed a small bowl of cut fruit in front of her. She banged the table, squealing with joy.
Alexander (low voice): "Settle down."
Emma watched as he spoon-fed Emily with a mechanical kind of tenderness. Not warm exactly, but… practiced. Like a man trying to do the right thing, even if he didn't know how to feel about it.
Emma (softly): "You're good with her."
Alexander (without looking at her): "I do what's necessary."
He didn't say it with pride. More like… obligation.
Emma bit her tongue. She had a thousand questions—about Emily, about him, about the rules he'd made so rigidly clear yesterday. But she stayed silent. This wasn't the time.
---
By 8:05, Alexander had left in a sleek black car with tinted windows, and Emma was alone with Emily again. The house, once more, became silent.
She took Emily to the playroom on the second floor, a spacious sunlit space filled with toys, books, and plush animals. Emma sat with the baby on the soft carpet, stacking blocks and humming softly as Emily clapped and babbled.
Hours passed in gentle rhythms—playtime, nap, feeding. Emma fell into it naturally, as if she'd done this all her life.
During Emily's nap, Mrs. Hopkins returned with a schedule and a few house rules.
Mrs. Hopkins: "Mr. Reed is particular. He doesn't like disruptions in his routine. And he does not tolerate personal interference."
Emma (carefully): "I understand. I'm only here for Emily."
Mrs. Hopkins gave her a kind but pitying look.
Mrs. Hopkins (softly): "Just remember—this house hasn't known joy in a long time."
Emma watched the woman walk away, her words echoing in the stillness.
---
At precisely 6:00 p.m., Emma carried Emily back downstairs. The baby was dressed in pink pajamas, fresh from her bath and smelling like lavender. Her hair curled slightly from the moisture, cheeks rosy from laughter.
She reached the study door and hesitated. Should she knock?
Before she could decide, the door opened.
Alexander stood there, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. He looked tired. Not the sharp, ice-cold executive from the morning—but human. Barely.
His eyes immediately fell on Emily.
Alexander (quietly): "You bathed her?"
Emma (nodding): "Yes. I hope that's okay."
Alexander (after a pause): "I usually do it."
Emma blinked, surprised.
Emma (softly): "Would you like to still do it? I didn't mean to step on—"
Alexander (shaking his head): "No. It's fine. If she didn't scream, you're ahead of the curve."
Emma chuckled softly.
Emma: "She loves bath time. She played with bubbles for ten minutes straight."
He reached out, and Emma passed Emily into his arms. The baby snuggled into his shoulder instantly, letting out a content sigh.
For a moment, Alexander just stood there, his hand gently stroking his daughter's back. Emma watched the tension in his shoulders soften ever so slightly.
Emma (quietly): "She really loves you."
Alexander (still looking down at Emily): "She doesn't know any better."
Emma: "Or maybe… she just sees the part of you the rest of the world doesn't."
His eyes flicked up to meet hers.
Something unreadable passed between them—a spark, a silence that said more than words.
Alexander (coolly): "Don't get comfortable, Miss Carter."
Emma (smiling): "I never do."
She turned and walked away, pulse racing.
---
That night, Emma lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
The day had been exhausting, yes. But not because of Emily.
Because of him.
Alexander Reed was an emotional riddle wrapped in a fortress of control. But when he held his daughter, Emma could see the cracks in the armor. The way he looked at Emily—like she was the only light left in his world.
And Emma… somehow, just maybe, was beginning to matter in that light.
She closed her eyes and whispered to the darkness.
Emma (softly): "Don't fall for him, Emma. You're here for the baby. Just the baby."
But her heart didn't listen.