Chapter 1:Hired By Accident; Trapped By Charm

THIRD PERSON POV

"What the hell do you mean by Diane made the caretaker from France insane? She’s an eight-year-old!" Mr. Shawn yelled over the phone.

"Sir, believe me when I say, she kept live lizards in her purse, and they jumped on the caretaker—so she ran out of the mansion," Dana, Mr. Shawn’s assistant, responded.

"Look here, Dana, I don’t care how you do it, but get a caretaker before I get downstairs—or else you’ll become one," he ordered, hanging up the phone.

“Damn it! Where on this round globe will I find a caretaker? If I don’t, I’m sure Mr. Shawn would make me do Diane’s laundry and dishes,” Dana muttered in frustration.

But her frustration turned into relief when she entered Mr. Shawn’s personal study and found a list filled with names of people who had applied for the housekeeping slot years ago. After scrolling through registered résumés with recommendations from various organizations, she found someone who seemed perfect for the job.

The name was—

“Rennie Brooks?”

RENNIE'S POV

RING! RING!

I received a call from a private number. The voice on the other end was calm and businesslike—not one I recognized.

"This is Dana Ellis, assistant to Mr. Shawn Wolfe. I’m calling with a job offer. You were referred to us by Saint Mary’s Orphanage Home."

This sounded too good to be true. Renowned businessmen didn’t hire ordinary people—they hired top-notch professionals, not someone trying to budget a hundred dollars for a five-day feeding plan.

“Okay, this is Rapunzel calling from the mystical terrace—how may I grant your wishes?” I replied sarcastically, ready to hang up… until I saw a message pop up:

“Caller is requesting a video call.”

This still felt like a prank. I mean, come on—it’s L.A.

But when she switched to a video call, I saw the Wolfe Estate appear on screen—an estate so exclusive that just seeing pictures of it online required a premium subscription. That’s when I realized what a fool I was.

I sat up straighter on the park bench, my heart skipping a full beat.

“I’m really sorry,” I stuttered, still short of words. I didn’t even realize she could see how lost I was in the estate’s glory until she snapped her fingers, pulling me back.

“She said you’re qualified, professional, and have a way with children.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong. I just didn’t know my reputation had started working before I could. After years of working in private homes, orphanages, and babysitting jobs, maybe my past was finally paying off.

Dana continued, “Mr. Wolfe’s daughter, Diane, is in need of a caretaker. He needs someone who can cook and clean after her—and stay with her full-time.”

“You mean as in… a nanny?”

“Yes. A live-in housekeeper and caregiver. Dual role. Full access. Very well compensated.”

I blinked. “How well?” I tried to sound casual, but even if it was $2,000, I was ready.

She didn’t even flinch when she replied, “Six figures. Plus housing, meals, and transport. But there’s one thing—Mr. Wolfe is extremely selective. He doesn’t tolerate incompetence.”

Of course not. He’s a billionaire. They never do.

I looked around the park—my whole life packed in one overstuffed backpack, my pride hanging by a thread.

“When do I start?”

“The exact time Mr. Wolfe will be coming down the stairs—in five hours.”

ARRIVAL AT THE WOLFE MANSION

Three hours later, I stood in front of a golden-black iron gate so tall it could block out heaven’s light.

My cab driver stared at the house like it might grow legs and walk away.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” he asked.

The Wolfe Estate looked more like a fortress than a home—a palace with twin fountains leading up to double oak doors. A fleet of sleek black cars lined the garage, and I caught glimpses of uniformed staff moving like clockwork between the hedges.

I adjusted my bag strap, swallowed my nerves, and rang the massive doorbell.

“State your name,” came a robotic voice.

“Rennie Brooks. I’m here to see Mr. Wolfe.”

A pause. Then—“Proceed.”

The gates groaned open like the start of a thriller film. My heartbeat synced with my footsteps.

I barely reached the front steps when the door opened.

Dana Ellis looked exactly how she sounded—sleek, perfect posture, expression blank as a fresh spreadsheet.

“You’re early. Mr. Wolfe likes punctuality.”

“I took the first cab I could find. Didn’t want to risk being late.”

She nodded once—approving, but not impressed. “Follow me.”

Inside, the mansion was warm but intimidating. Dark wood floors. Modern art. Minimal, expensive. It didn’t smell like home. It smelled like new money and old expectations.

Dana led me to a sitting room. “Wait here. He’ll be down shortly.”

I sat on the edge of a white sofa, afraid to wrinkle the perfection. My fingers played with the hem of my thrift blouse.

Then I heard footsteps.

Measured. Heavy. Confident.

Shawn Wolfe entered the room like he owned the air in it.

Tall. Built. Power practically radiated off him. Dark tailored suit, darker eyes, and a physique that belonged in a magazine. He stopped across from me, hands in his pockets, appraising me like a stock option.

“Miss Brooks,” he said, voice low and smooth. “You come highly recommended.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir. Mr. Shawn is fine.”

I nodded, butterflies swirling in my stomach.

“I don’t like strangers around my daughter. Why should I let you stay?”

Straight to the point. No warm-up.

“Because I’m not just a babysitter,” I said. “I understand kids—their needs and feelings—and I’m multifunctional. I can play the role of both babysitter and professional housekeeper.”

The Chicago flirty guts in me almost made me say wife and mother.

For a flicker of a moment, something passed through his eyes—something that looked like she’s making sense.

“And what makes you think you can handle those roles?”

“Because I’m not afraid to try—and I’ve got years of experience working as both a babysitter and a housekeeper.”

He studied me—his eyes scanning me like a detector. I didn’t look away. Finally, he nodded once.

“She’s upstairs. Dana will show you the room. You start now.”

Just like that, I had a job.

Just like that, I stepped into the lion’s den.

The Guest Room

The guest room wasn’t a room. It was a suite. Cream-colored everything. A walk-in closet. A private bathroom with a rainfall shower.

I tried not to look impressed.

After Dana left, I sat on the bed and exhaled. I checked everything, even played with the shower knob, then peeked into drawers filled with luxury lotions (which I was definitely planning to sneak home on my next break).

What the hell had I just agreed to?

I was curious—what kind of child could drive twenty nannies away in one week? It could only mean one thing: Diane Wolfe was chaos in designer clothes.

So I started looking for her room, opening doors to luxurious chambers with king-sized beds and diamond-engraved drawers.

And when I finally opened Diane’s door—

What she did to me next was something words couldn’t describe.