23 years old Elara Quinn drew in a slow breath before pressing the doorbell. The sound of it echoed faintly in her chest, stirring nerves she could not name. She still was not sure why she had agreed to take this job. For years her life had revolved around studying, working part time, and caring for her mother through cancer. It had been a blur of hospital corridors, textbooks, and sleepless nights. When her mother passed, she had promised herself to find a steady job and led a quiet life.
But life rarely stayed faithful to plans.
A week earlier, while she was back at the hospital to settle unpaid bills, she had run into Mrs. Vale. Two years ago, Elara had met her there for the first time and learned that Mrs. Vale's son had lost his sight in an accident. They had spoken briefly then, in the waiting room, exchanging polite words that hid shared exhaustion. Over time they had crossed paths a few more times, and Elara had grown to respect the woman's quiet strength.
That day, Mrs. Vale's face had carried the same grace, only marked by worry.
"Elara, could you help me?" Mrs. Vale had asked, her voice trembling in the way people speak when they have already run out of options.
"If it is within my power, I will" Elara had answered, not even thinking before she spoke.
"I want to hire you as my son's live in caregiver. He used to live alone. After the accident he refused to move back home. I have tried others, but he dismissed every one of them. He says he needs no one. But I cannot sleep knowing he is there by himself. Will you help me"
Elara remembered hesitating. "Twenty four hours sounds like a lot of responsibility."
"I will take Sundays so you can rest. You only need to prepare his meals and help with daily tasks" Mrs. Vale had said.
"I can try, but I cannot promise forever." Even as she spoke, Elara knew she had already agreed in her heart. She had never been able to turn away from someone in need.
"Thank you, Elara." Mrs. Vale's smile that day had been full of gratitude and love, the kind only a mother could hold for her child. It stirred something in Elara. It was envy, admiration, perhaps a trace of longing for a kind of affection she no longer had.
"Give me the address. I will start next week."
Now, one week later, Elara stood before the Vale residence. The house was graceful, its beauty quiet but undeniable. Her eyes moved from the polished steps to the tall doorway. She could almost feel the air of discipline around it, the kind that belonged to people who had known both success and solitude.
She wondered what kind of man Mrs. Vale's son was. Was he an older man, worn by life before the accident took his sight. Yet Mrs. Vale herself did not seem that old. Perhaps he was younger. Perhaps her imagination was already wrong about him.
A flicker of curiosity and unease stirred inside her. What if he turned out impossible to deal with?What if he hated her presence?
Elara exhaled softly and steadied her hand. Whatever awaited her inside, she would face it. She had faced far worse.
She pressed the bell.
*****
Inside, Rowen Ward, Adrian Vale's assistant and closest friend, slipped on his jacket and glanced toward the sofa.
"Adrian, your mother hired a new caregiver. She's arriving today," Rowen said casually, as though announcing a routine delivery.
Adrian lifted his head, disbelief sharpening his expression. "Again. You have to be kidding."
"What was she thinking? Does she not remember what happened with the last one?" His voice turned cold, carrying the familiar edge that came whenever someone mentioned his mother's attempts to "fix" his life.
"You mean the one who tried to watch you change," Rowen said, counting with his fingers, "or the one who secretly took photos. Or maybe the one who crept into your room at night."
"Stop. That isn't funny." Adrian's tone cut like glass.
Rowen shrugged, fighting a grin. "Relax. I only mean this one might be different. Your mother said she took the job for her sake. Apparently, she's a friend of Mrs. Vale."
Adrian leaned back, arms crossed. "So my mother assumes I'll be too polite to fire her friend."
Before Rowen could reply, the doorbell rang.
He went to answer it, opening the door to a young woman with a calm but nervous expression.
"Hello. I'm the new caregiver," Elara said politely.
"You?" The word slipped from Rowen before he could stop it. He had expected someone older, maybe a woman in her forties, not this composed young woman with steady eyes. Mrs. Vale had called her a friend, and this was certainly not what he had pictured.
Elara gave a small nod, and Rowen stepped aside to let her in.
"She's here," he called toward the living area.
Elara walked in and saw a man sitting on the sofa, his back to her. Even without looking at his face, she could feel the weight of his silence.
"I don't need a caregiver. Leave my house," Adrian said. His voice was low, smooth, but carried enough steel to draw a line between them.
The blunt dismissal hit Elara like a slap. Her chest tightened. For a second she wanted to turn around and leave, but then she remembered Mrs. Vale's eyes filled with worry, and that alone kept her standing.
"I don't know what happened with your previous caregivers," she said steadily. "But please, set your pride aside and let someone help you."
Adrian turned sharply, anger flaring. "Who are you to tell me what to do." He rose to his feet, the air around him shifting. No one ever spoke to him like that.
Elara realized she had pushed too hard. "I'm sorry if I sounded harsh," she said quietly. "But please don't make your mother worry more than she already does. You don't know what it feels like for her to picture you here, alone, every night."
The words hung between them. Something in his expression flickered, softening for a moment. He didn't like hearing the truth, but it reached him all the same.
"If my being here can ease her mind, then let me stay," Elara said. "I'll do my work, and I'll make sure I give you the space you need."
Adrian turned toward her then, and Elara saw his face clearly for the first time. He was younger than she had imagined. His features were sharp and composed, his eyes unfocused yet hauntingly beautiful. Her heart skipped once before she caught herself.
"Fine, you can stay," he said finally. "But don't go upstairs without my permission."
"No problem. My job is to cook and help with daily routines. Nothing more."
"I hope you mean that. Your room is downstairs, first door on the left. I'll be home at six. Dinner should be ready." He moved past her, his steps steady and sure.
Elara blinked, realizing he hadn't used a cane, nor reached for walls or furniture. For someone who claimed not to need help, he certainly proved it.
Rowen handed her a set of keys and gave a lopsided grin. "Good luck," he said.
Then he was gone, leaving Elara standing in the quiet space between pride and pity, wondering what she had just stepped into.