CHAPTER TWO
Kiera Frost had never seen a place so quiet yet so alive.
The Nightwell penthouse overlooked Manhattan like a silent throne, glass walls revealing a city that never slept. Lights stretched endlessly below, glittering like a thousand promises she'd never been allowed to believe in. For a moment, she forgot to breathe.
"This way."
Kade Nightwell's voice pulled her back.
She followed him across polished marble floors, her worn shoes echoing too loudly in the vast space. Everything about the penthouse screamed control—neutral colors, sharp lines, order without warmth. It felt less like a home and more like a fortress.
"This will be your room," Kade said, opening a door at the end of the hall.
Kiera stepped inside and froze.
The room was beautiful. Soft gray walls, a neatly made bed, a private bathroom, and a wide window that flooded the space with light. It was bigger than the entire apartment she had shared with her family back home.
"I—" Her voice caught. "This is too much."
"You'll need rest," he replied simply. "Your work hours start early."
Always business. Always distant.
"Yes, sir."
He paused at the door. "You don't need to call me that."
She hesitated. "Mr. Nightwell?"
A faint twitch of amusement crossed his face. "Kade."
The name felt strange on her tongue. Intimate. Dangerous.
"Kade," she repeated quietly.
For a split second, his gaze darkened, as if the sound of her voice had reached somewhere he didn't allow anyone else. Then the mask was back in place.
"Dinner is at seven," he said. "You'll meet my son then."
Her eyes widened. "Your… son?"
"I'll explain later."
And just like that, he was gone.
---
Kiera spent the next hour unpacking slowly, her mind spinning. A son. No one had mentioned a child. The agency had only said nanny duties required. Her chest tightened with nerves. She'd worked with children before, but this felt different. Personal. Important.
At exactly seven, she made her way to the dining room.
The long table was set for three.
A small figure sat at one end, legs swinging nervously beneath the chair. He had dark hair like his father, but his eyes were softer, shadowed with sadness far too old for someone his age.
"This is Leo," Kade said as he took his seat. "My son."
Leo looked up at her, curious but guarded.
"Hi," Kiera said gently, kneeling to his level. "I'm Kiera."
He didn't answer.
Kade's jaw tightened. "Leo doesn't talk much."
"That's okay," she replied softly. "We can be quiet together."
Leo's fingers stilled.
For the first time, his eyes truly met hers.
Dinner passed in near silence. Kade ate mechanically, barely touching his food, his attention fixed on his tablet. Leo pushed peas around his plate.
Kiera watched them both, a strange ache forming in her chest. Two people sharing a table, yet oceans apart.
"Do you like drawing?" she asked Leo suddenly.
He nodded once.
"Maybe tomorrow we can draw together."
Another nod. This time, quicker.
Something warm flickered in Kade's chest at the exchange. He ignored it.
After dinner, Kade excused himself to take a call. Kiera helped Leo wash his hands and led him to the living room.
"You don't have to talk," she said as she handed him crayons and paper. "Just show me."
Leo drew quietly, his small hands moving with surprising intensity. When he finally slid the paper toward her, Kiera's breath caught.
It was a family.
Three stick figures.
One was crossed out.
Her heart clenched. "Is that your mom?"
Leo nodded, his eyes dropping.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He didn't cry. He didn't speak.
He simply leaned into her side, trusting her without words.
And Kiera held him.
From the doorway, Kade watched.
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
He hadn't seen his son touch anyone like that since the funeral.
Later that night, Kade stood alone on the balcony, city wind biting at his skin. He couldn't shake the image of Leo curled against Kiera, peaceful in a way he hadn't been in years.
She was dangerous.
Not because she wanted something from him—but because she gave without asking.
Kiera lay awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling.
For the first time since leaving home, she felt safe.
And that scared her more than anything.
Because safety made her want to stay.
And staying meant caring.
And caring had always come at a cost.