The Royal Estate wasn't just wealthy.
It was obscene.
Tori's cab rolled through gates that belonged in a palace, past fountains worth more than her entire debt, and stopped in front of a mansion that made billionaires look poor.
Old money. The kind that bought governments.
She stepped out, smoothing down her blazer. Somewhere inside this architectural wet dream was Bell Royal's son—and her key to accessing the inner workings of his life.
The eye scanner at the entrance beeped green when she approached. Her face, captured in his office yesterday, now granted her access to his most private space.
'Don't think about how close he stood. Don't think about his breath on your ear.'
She pressed the doorbell.
An older woman answered—neat gray bun, kind eyes, the type who'd raised a thousand children and still had patience left over.
"Miss Tori! Right on time." The woman smiled warmly. "I'm Nanny Louis. Please, come in."
Tori stepped inside and barely suppressed a curse.
The foyer alone was bigger than her entire apartment. Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Art that probably cost millions. Everything pristine, cold, perfect.
Just like its owner.
"Maysha!" Nanny Louis called. "Please show Miss Tori to—"
CRASH.
Glass shattered somewhere upstairs. Then another crash. And another.
A young maid rushed down the stairs, brown hair disheveled, eyes wide with panic. "Nanny Louis! The young master is—he's throwing things again!"
"Did you lock the door like I told you?"
"Yes, but—" The girl—Maysha—glanced at Tori, and her expression soured. Instant judgment. Instant dislike.
Great. Another one.
Tori had dealt with enough workplace mean girls to recognize the look: *Who does this bitch think she is?*
"Where's his lunch?" Nanny Louis asked sharply.
"I—I was about to take it up, but he's—" Maysha clutched the tray tighter. "I can't. He'll throw it at me."
"He's five years old," Tori said flatly. "Give me the tray."
Both women stared at her.
Maysha's lips curved into a smirk. "Oh, please go ahead. Maybe he'll like you better."
Translation: 'I hope he destroys you.'
Nanny Louis looked worried. "Miss Tori, perhaps you should wait until—"
"I'll handle it." Tori took the tray and headed for the stairs.
Behind her, Maysha whispered to another maid, loud enough to be heard: "Give her five minutes. She'll come running back down."
---
The second floor hallway was as immaculate as the rest of the house. Except for one door at the end—locked, dark, and currently being destroyed from the inside.
Another crash. Something heavy hitting a wall.
Tori stopped in front of the door. Took a breath.
She'd handled assassins, crime bosses, men twice her size who wanted her dead.
A five-year-old throwing a tantrum? Easy.
She knocked. "Hey. Open up."
Silence.
"I have food. You hungry?"
Still nothing.
Tori set the tray down and leaned against the doorframe. "Look, I don't know what you're upset about. And honestly? I don't do the whole 'please talk to me' thing. But I'm going to tell you something anyway."
She kept her voice even. Matter-of-fact.
"Throwing things feels good, right? Like you're getting the anger out. But it doesn't actually help. It just makes a hole inside you—a dark one. And the more you feed it, the bigger it gets. Eventually, it swallows everything good."
Silence. But she could feel him listening.
"I know because I was like you once. Angry at the world. And I let that anger turn into something cold. Something that couldn't feel anymore." She paused. "Don't make my mistake. You're too young to go dark."
She straightened. "Anyway. Food's out here if you want it. If not, starve. I don't beg."
She turned to leave—
Click.
The door unlocked.
Tori paused, then pushed it open slowly.
The room was pitch black. Curtains drawn. Not a sliver of light.
A small figure sat in the center of the darkness, barely visible.
"You gonna let me in, or do I stand here like an idiot?" Tori asked.
"...Come in."
The voice was small. Hoarse. Like he'd been crying but would rather die than admit it.
Tori stepped inside and immediately flipped the light switch.
"NO!" The boy flinched, covering his face. "Turn it off!"
"Not happening." Tori moved to the windows and yanked the curtains open. Sunlight flooded in, revealing the destruction—shattered picture frames, books thrown everywhere, a lamp in pieces.
And in the center of it all—
Tori froze.
The boy lowered his hands slowly. Glaring at her with eyes that didn't belong on a child.
Mismatched eyes.
One silver. One gold.
Just like his father's.
But that wasn't what made her heart stop.
It was his face.
Pale. Delicate. Beautiful in that eerie, otherworldly way.
And his hair—dark, messy, falling over those impossible eyes.
He looked exactly like Bell Royal.
Except—
"You're staring," the boy said flatly. "Rude."
Tori blinked, recovering. "You cuss pretty well for a five-year-old."
"I'm not five. I'm six." He scowled. "And you're annoying."
"Great. We have something in common."
The boy's scowl deepened, but there was a flicker of curiosity in those strange eyes. "Father didn't tell me someone new was coming."
"Your father doesn't tell anyone anything."
"True." The boy stood, brushing glass off his pants with the casual indifference of someone used to breaking things. "You're the new assistant, right? The one living here now?"
"That's me."
"Why?"
"Because your dad pays me a million dollars."
The boy's eyebrows shot up. Then—impossibly—he smiled. Just a little. "I like you. You're honest."
"Thanks. I try." Tori nudged the food tray with her foot. "Eat. You'll feel better."
The boy eyed the food suspiciously. "It's probably poisoned."
"By who? The nannies?"
"Wouldn't be the first time someone tried."
Tori's blood went cold. "What?"
But the boy just shrugged and picked up a piece of bread, biting into it like he hadn't just casually mentioned an assassination attempt.
'What kind of life does this kid have?'
"What's your name?" Tori asked carefully.
The boy looked at her with those eerie, beautiful eyes—eyes that had seen too much, too young.
"Julian," he said quietly. "Julian Royal."
And then he smiled again, sharper this time.
"But Father calls me his little devil."
---
Meanwhile at the company;
Aidan knocked on Bell's office door. "Sir, the Thai executives are waiting for—"
"Cancel it."
Aidan blinked. "...I'm sorry?"
Bell stood, pulling on his coat with sharp, precise movements. "Reschedule for tomorrow. I'm leaving."
"Leaving? But it's not even five—"
"Problem?"
"No, sir." Aidan stepped aside, stunned.
Bell Royal never left early. Never canceled meetings. Never showed a crack in his perfect, cold armor.
But today, he was walking out the door at 4:47 PM like the building was on fire.
The second Bell was gone, Aidan pulled out his phone.
"Madam Royal? You're not going to believe this. Your son just left work early. And he looked... worried."
A delighted laugh echoed through the line. "About time! I'm coming over."
"Wait—Madam, he doesn't like surprises—"
Click.
Aidan stared at his phone.
"I'm getting my salary docked for this."
---
Tori sat on the floor of Julian's room, helping him clean up the glass while he talked—and God, did this kid talk.
About his tutors. His favorite books. How boring the other nannies were.
How his father never smiled.
"Does he scare you?" Tori asked carefully.
Julian thought about it. "No. He's just... cold. Like ice. But not mean. Just empty."
Empty.
That word settled heavy in Tori's chest.
"Do you love him?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Julian looked at her with those too-old eyes. "I don't know. Do you love someone who's never there?"
Before Tori could answer, the door downstairs slammed open.
Heavy footsteps. Fast. Angry.
Julian's eyes widened. "Father."
And then Bell Royal's voice echoed up the stairs, sharp and cold and deadly:
"Where is she?"