Sophia had been living in the Steele mansion for exactly three days, and sleep was proving elusive. It wasn't the unfamiliar sounds of the enormous house settling, or even the luxury of having her own bathroom after years of sharing one with three other tenants. It was the silence.
Growing up in foster homes and then cramped apartments, she was used to constant noise, other children crying, neighbors arguing through thin walls, traffic humming outside windows. The Steele mansion was tomb-quiet after 9 PM, as if the very air was muffled by wealth and careful distance.
At 2:17 AM, she gave up on sleep entirely.
Padding barefoot down the marble hallway in her pajama pants and oversized Columbia University t-shirt, Sophia made her way to the kitchen. A cup of chamomile tea might help, and she could review her notes about the twins' routines. Emma was settling in well, but Ethan still had nightmares about his mother, and she wanted to research some techniques for helping grieving children.
The kitchen was dark except for the soft glow of under-cabinet lighting. Sophia moved quietly, not wanting to wake anyone, filling the electric kettle and searching through the pristine cabinets for tea bags. Everything in this kitchen was organized with military precision, from the crystal glasses arranged by height to the silver cutlery sorted by function.
She was reaching for a mug when she heard it, the soft click of fingers on a keyboard, coming from the breakfast nook around the corner.
Sophia froze. Was someone else awake? Mrs. Henderson, maybe, doing late-night inventory?
Curiosity won over caution. She peered around the corner and nearly dropped her mug.
Alexander Steele sat at the marble breakfast bar, his laptop open in front of him, fingers flying across the keys. He'd shed his suit jacket and tie, and his white dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows. A crystal tumbler sat beside his laptop, containing what looked like whiskey with two ice cubes.
He looked exhausted. His dark hair was disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it, and his usually perfect posture had given way to a tired slump. The blue glow from his screen highlighted the sharp angles of his face, making him look younger and somehow more vulnerable.
Sophia debated retreating to her room, but the kettle chose that moment to click off with a soft whistle. Alexander's head snapped up, his gray eyes finding hers immediately.
"Ms. Martinez." His voice was rougher than usual, probably from hours of conference calls. "Is everything alright? Are the children…"
"The children are fine," she said quickly, stepping into the light. "I couldn't sleep. I was just making tea."
Alexander's gaze traveled over her rumpled pajamas and bare feet, and she suddenly felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her casual clothing. When his eyes met hers again, something flickered in them, awareness, maybe, or surprise at seeing her like this, unguarded and real.
"Tea sounds civilized," he said after a moment. "I was about to pour another whiskey, which probably isn't."
It was the most human thing she'd heard him say. "Would you like some tea instead? I found some chamomile in the pantry."
"I don't think chamomile has enough caffeine to get me through the Tokyo market analysis I'm supposed to finish by morning."
"When did you last sleep?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it, too personal for their employer-employee relationship. But Alexander didn't seem offended. Instead, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
"What day is it?"
"Wednesday. Technically Thursday now."
"Then... Monday night, maybe? There was a crisis with our Singapore acquisition, and then the board demanded new projections for Q3, and…" He stopped, seeming to realize he was explaining himself to his children's nanny. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine." Sophia moved to the stove, turning on the gas under her kettle. "You're running on fumes and whiskey. When did you last eat?"
"I had breakfast. With the twins. You were there."
"That was yesterday morning, Mr. Steele."
Alexander blinked at her, as if trying to process this information. "Yesterday?"
"You missed dinner last night. Emma asked where you were. I told her you were working very hard to take care of the family."
Something in his expression shifted, became more guarded. "The children understand that my work provides for them."
"Do they? Because from where I sit, it looks like your work is keeping you away from them." Sophia pulled down a second mug, her movements careful and deliberate. "Emma asked me yesterday if daddies who love their children work all the time. Ethan wanted to know if you'll disappear like Mommy did."
Alexander went very still. "That's not…"
"I'm not judging you." Sophia's voice was gentler now, recognizing the pain behind his walls. "I'm just telling you what I see. Two children who are desperate for their father's attention, and a man who's drowning himself in work to avoid dealing with grief."
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft whistle of the kettle. Sophia poured hot water into both mugs, the chamomile releasing its sweet, calming scent into the air.
"You don't know anything about my grief," Alexander said finally, his voice carefully controlled.
"No," Sophia agreed, settling onto the bar stool beside him. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to catch his scent, something expensive and masculine that made her stomach flutter inappropriately. "But I know about loss. I know what it looks like when someone builds walls so high they can't see over them anymore."
Alexander's fingers tightened around his whiskey glass. "Elena died because I wasn't paying attention. Because I was in a meeting instead of driving her to her doctor's appointment. Because I chose work over my wife, and she took a taxi in a thunderstorm, and some drunk college kid ran a red light and…"
He stopped abruptly, his jaw clenching. This was clearly more than he'd intended to say.
"It wasn't your fault," Sophia said quietly.
"Wasn't it?" Alexander's laugh was bitter. "She asked me to drive her. She said the baby was making her nervous about driving in bad weather, but I had a conference call with London that couldn't wait. Everything was always more important than…"
"Baby?" Sophia's heart clenched.
Alexander's face went white. "She was three months pregnant. We hadn't told the twins yet; we wanted to wait until the second trimester." His voice cracked slightly. "I lost my wife and my unborn child because I couldn't miss one goddamn meeting."
The pain in his voice was raw, devastating. Sophia reached out instinctively, her hand covering his on the marble countertop. His skin was warm, his fingers long and elegant beneath hers.
"Alexander," she said softly, using his first name for the first time. "That wasn't your choice. That was an accident. A terrible, unfair accident."
He stared down at their joined hands, but he didn't pull away. "The twins blame me. They don't say it, but I see it in their eyes. Every time they ask why Mommy had to go to heaven, they're really asking why Daddy didn't save her."
"No," Sophia said firmly. "They're asking why the world is unfair and scary and why the people they love can disappear. They're not blaming you, Alexander. They're trying to understand something that doesn't make sense."
"You've been here three days," he said, but there was no accusation in it now. "How can you possibly know what my children think?"
"Because I was a child who lost people too." Sophia's thumb moved across his knuckles without her conscious permission. "I know what it looks like when a child is angry at a parent versus when they're just afraid. Emma and Ethan aren't angry at you, Alexander. They're terrified you're going to disappear too."
Alexander was quiet for a long moment, staring at their hands. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to be their father without Elena. She was the heart of our family. I was just the provider."
"You're more than that. I saw you at breakfast yesterday morning. When you smiled at them, when you told Emma her pancakes were delicious, when you ruffled Ethan's hair, that wasn't providing, Alexander. That was loving."
"It's not enough."
"It's a start." Sophia squeezed his hand gently. "Healing isn't about replacing what you lost. It's about learning to live with the space that person left behind while still making room for new love, new joy."
Alexander finally looked up at her, his gray eyes searching her face in the dim light. "And you learned this how?"
"Foster care teaches you a lot about loss and resilience. About the difference between surviving and living." She smiled softly. "Your children don't need you to be perfect, Alexander. They just need you to be present."
"Like now? Sitting in my kitchen at 2 AM drinking tea with their nanny?"
There was something different in his voice now, a note of awareness that made Sophia suddenly conscious of how close they were sitting, how intimate this felt. Their hands were still touching on the marble countertop, and his eyes were fixed on her face with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"This is probably the most present you've been since I arrived," she said, attempting lightness but failing as her voice came out slightly breathless.
"Is that your professional assessment, Ms. Martinez?"
The way he said her name made something warm unfurl in her stomach. "Sophia," she corrected. "And yes, it is."
"Sophia." He repeated her name like he was testing how it felt on his tongue. "You realize you're supposed to be taking care of my children, not psychoanalyzing their father."
"Maybe your children need their father to be taken care of too."
The words hung in the air between them, loaded with implications neither of them was ready to acknowledge. Alexander's thumb brushed across her knuckles, whether intentional or not, she couldn't tell, and the simple touch sent heat shooting through her entire body.
"I should let you get some sleep," she said, reluctantly pulling her hand away from his. The loss of contact felt like a physical ache.
"Probably," Alexander agreed, but he didn't move.
Sophia slid off her bar stool, acutely aware of his eyes following her movement. "Tea will help you sleep better than whiskey."
"Will it?"
"Trust me."
Their eyes met and held, and for a moment the air between them crackled with something that had nothing to do with employer and employee, nothing to do with grief or children or complicated family dynamics.
Everything to do with a lonely man and a caring woman finding each other in the quiet darkness of a too-large house.
"Good night, Alexander."
"Good night, Sophia."
She made it halfway to the door before his voice stopped her.
"Sophia?"
She turned back to find him watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "Thank you. For... this. For listening."
"Anytime."
And as she walked back to her room, Sophia realized she meant it. Anytime he needed her, for his children or for himself, she would be there.
The thought should have scared her.
Instead, it felt like coming home.