CHAPTER THREE
Morning arrived in the Nightwell penthouse without noise.
No shouting. No bottles shattering against walls. No footsteps stomping in anger.
Kiera woke with a start, her body tense, heart racing—only to realize the silence was real. Sunlight streamed through the wide window, warming her face. For a moment, she lay still, confused by the absence of fear.
Then it hit her.
She was safe.
The realization felt foreign. Heavy. Almost painful.
She sat up slowly, brushing her fingers over the soft sheets beneath her hands. Everything still felt unreal—this room, this job, this life she had stepped into overnight. As she got dressed in simple black slacks and a cream blouse, she caught her reflection in the mirror.
Her cheek was faintly bruised. Yellowed at the edges.
She stared at it for a long moment before turning away.
Down the hall, the penthouse was already awake.
Kade Nightwell stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, tie discarded on the counter. He was making coffee with the same precision he applied to billion-dollar deals, movements sharp and controlled. His phone buzzed incessantly beside him, unread emails lighting up the screen.
He hadn't slept.
He rarely did.
Leo sat at the island, quietly eating cereal, his feet swinging slightly. When he saw Kiera enter, his shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.
"Good morning," she said gently.
Leo nodded.
Kade glanced up—and paused.
In the daylight, she looked different. Softer. The shadows beneath her eyes told a story he hadn't asked for but couldn't ignore. And then he saw it.
The bruise.
His jaw tightened.
"What happened to your face?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with something dangerous.
Kiera stiffened instantly. "It's nothing."
"That doesn't look like nothing."
She lowered her gaze. "I walked into a door. Before I came here."
A lie.
A bad one.
Kade knew bruises. He'd seen them on himself growing up—on boys who learned early that the world didn't play fair. He didn't push. Not yet.
"Leo," he said, breaking the tension. "Finish up. Kiera will take you to school."
Leo's eyes widened slightly, then flicked to Kiera.
She smiled. "If that's okay with you."
He nodded quickly.
The drive to Leo's private school was quiet but comfortable. Kiera talked softly about random things—the clouds, the city, the dog they passed on the sidewalk. Leo listened. When they arrived, he hesitated before getting out.
"Will you be here when I come back?" he asked, barely audible.
Kiera's heart cracked open.
"Yes," she promised. "I will."
He nodded, then ran inside without looking back.
Kiera sat in the car for a moment, hands trembling on the steering wheel. She hadn't realized how badly she needed to be needed—until a small boy trusted her presence enough to ask.
Back at the penthouse, Kade was already on a call, pacing the living room.
"No, I don't care what the board thinks," he snapped. "We don't cut corners. Ever."
Kiera hovered uncertainly near the kitchen.
He ended the call abruptly and turned to her. "You don't need to stand there."
"I wasn't sure what I should do."
"Take the rest of the morning," he said. "Settle in. Leo responds to structure. He lost his mother two years ago."
Her breath caught. "I'm sorry."
Kade's expression hardened. "So is he."
There was a beat of silence.
Then, quietly, "And the bruise?"
Kiera hesitated.
Her instincts screamed at her to deflect, to smile, to say it was nothing. But something about his gaze—steady, unyielding—made the words stick in her throat.
"My father," she said finally. "He drinks."
That was all.
It was enough.
Kade's hands curled slowly into fists. "You don't live there anymore."
"No."
"Good."
The word landed with finality.
The rest of the day passed in a strange rhythm. Kiera organized Leo's room, carefully preserving what little chaos remained. She noticed how Kade avoided certain spaces—family photos turned face-down, a door at the end of the hall that stayed firmly shut.
Pain lived here.
It was just hidden better than in her old home.
When Leo returned in the afternoon, he ran straight to her, showing her drawings from school. She listened. Truly listened. And Leo bloomed under the attention.
From a distance, Kade watched.
He told himself he was evaluating her work.
He told himself he wasn't watching the way she knelt to Leo's level, how her laughter was soft but genuine, how she touched his son like he was something precious instead of fragile.
That evening, as Leo slept, Kade poured himself a drink.
Then stopped.
He stared at the glass for a long moment before pushing it away untouched.
Kiera stood at the doorway, unsure if she should speak.
"You don't have to stay up," he said.
"I know."
She didn't leave.
"Why do you stay?" he asked suddenly.
The question surprised them both.
She considered it carefully. "Because leaving doesn't always mean freedom."
He looked at her then. Really looked.
"What shattered you?" he asked quietly.
Kiera's chest tightened. "Everything."
Silence stretched between them, thick and charged.
"This arrangement," Kade said slowly, "is professional."
"Yes."
"There are lines."
"I understand."
Their eyes locked.
The line already felt thin.
Later that night, Kiera lay awake again—but this time, it wasn't fear keeping her up.
It was the way Kade's voice softened when he spoke to Leo.
The way his anger burned not for himself—but for her.
And in another room, Kade Nightwell stared at the city lights, realizing something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.
Kiera Frost wasn't just changing his home.
She was undoing him.
And he wasn't sure he wanted to stop it.