Isabella tightened her grip on her suitcase. She had stopped at the hospital first, kissing her mother's frail hand, whispering promises she wasn't sure she could keep. If only her sister hadn't run off three months ago with her boyfriend , she wouldn't be doing this alone.
Now here she was. In his house.
She sat on the white leather couch, suitcase by her side. The room was quiet, filled with glass vases, bright chandeliers, and a staircase that seemed to lead into another world.
The silence shattered.
Tiny footsteps pattered against the floor. A small girl came flying in, dark curls bouncing, eyes bright with mischief. She stopped dead when she saw Isabella.
For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other.
"Hi," Isabella said softly, offering a smile. "You must be…."
"Are you going to be my new mommy?" the girl blurted.
Isabella's throat closed. Her heart stuttered. "I…um…I'm…"
Before she could gather a coherent answer, a deeper voice cut across the room.
"Sophie ."
Adrian Blackwood stepped into view. He didn't look at Isabella at first, only at his daughter.
The child turned toward him. "Daddy! Is the pretty lady my new mommy?"
Adrian froze. His jaw ticked once, but for once, the man who seemed to have an answer for everything… didn't.
Silence stretched, uncomfortable, heavy.
Isabella's instincts kicked in. She leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm. "No, sweetheart. I'm not your mommy. But I am your new best friend. Someone who gets to play with you, read stories, and keep you company."
Sophie tilted her head, suspicious. "Best friend?"
"That's right," Isabella smiled. "And I take best friendship very seriously."
The little girl's frown softened, just a little.
Adrian finally spoke. "Sophie, go to your room."
The child pouted. "But…"
"Now."
The authority in his tone left no room for argument. With a dramatic huff, Sophie stomped away, curls bouncing as she disappeared up the stairs.
Adrian finally turned his full attention to her.
"Follow me."
He led her down a hallway stopping at a door. He opened it, revealing a guest room. spacious, elegant, but nowhere near as intimidating as the rest of the house.
"This will be your room." His voice was clipped, businesslike.
Isabella set her suitcase by the bed. "It's… lovely. Thank you."
He didn't respond. Instead, he handed her a sleek black folder.
"This is my daughter's itinerary. Every meal, every lesson, every activity she attends is in there. I expect it followed precisely."
She opened it, eyes widening at the color-coded charts, tutors' names, piano lessons, ballet classes, even specific snack times. "This is… a lot for a 5 year old."
"It's necessary." His gaze bored into her. "Routine is everything with Sophie."
She nodded quickly. "Of course. I understand."
"And these are the house rules." He pulled another sheet from his jacket pocket, passing it to her.
She glanced down, blinking. No sweets after 6 p.m. No television unless educational. Absolutely no strangers allowed in the house. Never contradict me in front of Sophie.
The rules went on and on. No wonder he couldn't keep a nanny, he was far too strict.
Satisfied, he pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped a few times, then slid it away. "Check your account."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Half your first month's salary. The rest comes at the end of the month."
Her eyes widened. "You already paid me?"
"I don't waste time." He adjusted his cufflinks, already halfway toward the door. "Do your job well, and you'll find I'm generous. Fail, and you'll regret stepping foot into this house."
With that, Adrian Blackwood was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hall until the door shut behind him.
Isabella sat on the edge of her new bed, phone in hand, staring at the sudden notification on her banking app.
The amount staring back at her made her breath catch.
She had never seen that many zeroes transferred to her account at once.
Isabella slipped her phone back into her pocket, still stunned at the balance blinking on her banking app. Half a month's salary already sitting there, it was more than she'd ever seen in her life, more than she thought she'd earn in months.
She drew in a steadying breath. Money was the reason she was here. For her mom. For survival. But the reason suddenly felt secondary when she thought of the little girl who had looked at her with those bright, questioning eyes.
Pushing off the bed, she left the room and padded down the hall.
She found Sophie in her room, an airy pink-and-white space that looked like something out of a fairytale. Dolls lined one wall, shelves were stuffed with picture books, and a miniature ballet barre gleamed under the window. Sophie sat cross-legged on the rug, tugging half-heartedly at the ribbons of her ballet shoes.
"Hey there," Isabella said gently, crouching down. "Need a hand?"
Sophie looked up, suspicion still lingering in her eyes, but after a beat she nodded. Isabella sat with her, carefully tying the soft pink ribbons around her tiny ankles.
"You've got ballet today," Isabella said, glancing at the itinerary she'd tucked under her arm. "Are you excited?"
Sophie scrunched her nose. "Not really."
"No?" Isabella tilted her head. "I thought little girls loved ballet."
"Daddy does." Sophie's voice was small. She twisted one ribbon around her finger. "So I do it."
Something in Isabella's chest squeezed. She forced a smile. "That's very sweet of you. But you know what? It's okay to like what you like. You don't have to do something just because Daddy likes it."
Sophie bit her lip. "But what if he's disappointed?"
Isabella's heart cracked a little. She reached out, brushing a curl away from Sophie's cheek. "Sweetheart, if your dad loves you, and he does, then he'll love you no matter what. Even if you decide ballet isn't your thing."
Sophie stared at her like she was hearing this for the first time. Then she whispered, "Do you pinky swear?"
Isabella smiled and hooked her pinky around Sophie's small one. "Pinky swear."
The little girl grinned, and for the first time that day, Isabella felt the wall between them soften.
The chauffeur drove them to the studio in a sleek black car.
At the studio, Isabella sat in the waiting area while Sophie twirled with a dozen other girls in pastel leotards.
When the class ended, Sophie bounded out, cheeks flushed. But before Isabella could greet her, a voice sliced through the air.
"Well, well, well. Look who we have here."
Isabella's stomach dropped. Vanessa.
She stood in the middle of the lobby like she owned the place, Sophie's eyes lit up the moment she saw her.
"Mommy!" Sophie squealed, running toward her.
But Vanessa didn't crouch down to catch her. Instead, she stepped back, raising her hands as if Sophie were a stranger on the street. The little girl's arms dropped, confusion flashing across her face.
Vanessa's gaze shifted sharply to Isabella. "And who the hell are you?"
Isabella's mouth went dry. "I'm Isabella. I'm…"
"The nanny?" Vanessa's laugh was sharp, cruel. "Of course. Figures Adrian would replace me with a charity case."
Sophie tugged at her mother's sleeve. "Mommy, don't you want to…"
Vanessa shrugged her off without looking down. "Stop clinging to me, Sophie. You'll wrinkle my dress."
The little girl's shoulders slumped, her small face crumpling. Isabella's hands curled into fists, but she forced her voice to stay calm. "That's enough. She's your daughter."
Vanessa's eyes narrowed, dripping venom. "Don't you dare lecture me, you little whore. You think sleeping under Adrian's roof makes you special? You're nothing. Just another desperate girl he'll chew up and spit out."
Before Isabella could respond, Vanessa tossed her hair, turned on her heel, and stormed out of the studio. Not a single word for the daughter who was still standing there.
Sophie's lower lip trembled. Isabella knelt quickly, gathering the child into her arms. "Hey. Hey, sweetheart. It's okay."
But Sophie didn't cry. She just buried her face in Isabella's shoulder.
That night, Isabella tucked Sophie into bed. They had brushed teeth, changed into pajamas, and read through two stories, though Sophie was quieter than usual.
Then, in a whisper so small Isabella almost didn't hear it, she asked:
"Why does my mom hate me?"
The question hit Isabella like a knife.
"Oh, sweetheart…" Isabella's voice wavered. "She doesn't hate you. She just… she doesn't know how to love the way you deserve. But that's not your fault. None of this is your fault."
Sophie turned her head, eyes glistening. "Then why doesn't she want me?"
Isabella blinked back her own tears and leaned down, pressing a kiss to her curls. "You are the easiest little girl in the whole world to love. Anyone would be lucky to have you. And I promise, I'll always be here for you. Always."
Sophie sniffled, finally relaxing into Isabella's arms. "Promise?"
"Pinky swear," Isabella whispered, wrapping her pinky around Sophie's once more.