004

Abigail’s POV

If gratitude could be bottled, Trevor deserved a lifetime’s supply.

“I still can’t believe you did this,” I said, clutching my coffee mug like it might stop my heart from sprinting. He’d called me out to my favorite café and dropped the best news I’d heard in weeks.

“You didn’t just get me a job, Trevor. You got me the job at the Castillo Group no less. You do realize that’s the corporate equivalent of Mount Olympus, right?”

Trevor chuckled, leaning against the counter with that smug grin of his. “You make it sound like I handed you the moon. It’s just a job, Abby.”

“It’s not just a job.” I pointed a finger at him. “It’s a full-time caregiver position for Alberto Castillo. You know, the patriarch of the entire empire your company practically worships?”

He laughed, but I caught the glint of pride in his eyes. “I work in HR, remember? It wasn’t that hard to pull a few strings. They needed someone experienced. You fit perfectly.”

I exhaled, warmth blooming in my chest. “I owe you one. No, I owe you ten.”

“You owe me nothing.” His tone softened. “You just need a fresh start, Abby. And this is it. Don’t mess it up.”

“I won’t.” I smiled faintly. “This time, I’ll make it work.”

He grinned. “That’s the spirit. Oh, and… you’ll have to report to the Castillo estate every morning. Six a.m. sharp. The old man’s schedule is stricter than a Swiss clock.”

“Six a.m.?” I groaned. “Guess sleep and I are breaking up again.”

*****

Later, after we said goodbye, the city quiet felt louder than usual.

And like clockwork, my mind drifted.

Because somewhere between my footsteps and the hum of traffic, he slipped in again—the man with the dark hair and eyes like melted chocolate.

“Chocolate eyes,” I muttered under my breath, instantly regretting it. “God, I need to stop calling him that.”

But what else could I call him?

I never got his name.

A stranger who’d looked at me like I was something rare—something worth burning for.

He made me forget everything heavy and broken for one reckless night.

And then I ran.

Like a coward.

“You did the right thing,” I whispered to myself. “You’re not that kind of girl. You don’t do one-night stands. You don’t wake up in hotel rooms with strangers.”

Still, my chest tightened. I could almost feel his gaze again, tracing heat down my skin.

“Not that it matters,” I added with a scoff. “You’ll never see him again.”

I told myself that three more times on the walk home.

It still didn’t stick.

*****

The following Monday, I stood at the gates of the Castillo estate just before sunrise, clutching my tote like it was armor.

The mansion looked like it had been built to intimidate—marble floors, endless windows, and manicured gardens that could have belonged in a museum. I half expected a guard to stop me and say I was in the wrong place.

Instead, a maid led me through a sunlit foyer that smelled faintly of citrus and polished wood. Every step echoed, reminding me that I was very much out of my league.

And yet, somehow, the air felt calm—almost peaceful.

There were flowers on every landing: lilies, orchids, roses. Someone tended to them with care.

My heart softened. If I worked here, I’d definitely volunteer for garden duty.

We stopped at a set of double doors. The maid gave a short nod. “Mr. Castillo will see you now.”

Right. Showtime.

I wiped my sweaty palms against my skirt and stepped inside.

Alberto Castillo sat behind a mahogany desk that looked older than my entire apartment complex. His silver hair was perfectly combed, his posture straight despite the cane propped beside him. 

For a man in his seventies, he carried himself like he still ruled empires.

Which, technically, he did.

“Miss Davenport,” he greeted, his voice low but slightly rough. “You’re early.”

I straightened my shoulders. “Yes, sir. I believe punctuality is part of professionalism.”

His lips twitched. Almost a smile. “Good answer.”

He gestured for me to sit. “I don’t need someone hovering every second, Miss Davenport. I may have a medical condition, but I’m not helpless.”

“I understand,” I said gently. “You just need someone to make sure you stay strong enough to prove that.”

That earned me a real smile. “You have a sharp tongue.”

I winced. “I prefer to think of it as honesty. Polite honesty.”

That made him laugh, a low, surprised sound that softened his features. “Polite honesty,” he repeated. “I like that. You’ll do just fine.”

He went on to outline my duties—monitoring his medication, assisting him with mobility when necessary, and keeping track of his symptoms. It was straightforward enough. But I could tell he didn’t like the idea of anyone seeing him as weak.

When the meeting ended, he stood and offered his hand. His grip was firm, if slightly trembling.

“Welcome to the Castillo estate, Miss Davenport.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.”

“Martha will show you around,” he said, waving me off as I stepped back into the hallway—relieved, intrigued, and strangely protective already.

*****

Martha, the housekeeper, was waiting in the hall, her kind smile grounding me instantly.

“Don’t mind the old man,” she said as we walked. “He acts like he’s carved from stone, but underneath, he’s soft as warm butter.”

I laughed. “I think I caught a glimpse of that.”

“Good. You’ll need that insight,” she said knowingly. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

We passed through the massive kitchen, where staff were prepping dinner. The smell of garlic and butter made my stomach rumble.

“The estate is massive,” I said, unable to hide my awe.

Martha’s smile was tinged with pride. “It’s home. You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

We entered a bright breakfast room where two girls sat at the long table.

“Abigail, these are Mr. Castillo’s grandchildren,” Martha announced.

Two teenage girls turned toward me—identical faces, opposite energies.

“Emilia and Esmeralda,” Martha said with fondness. “Seventeen, and far too clever for their own good.”

Emilia, composed and perfectly poised, offered a polite smile. “Welcome,” she said coolly. “I hope you’ll help Abuelo stay… comfortable.” 

Esmeralda grinned, spinning a pencil between her fingers. “Ignore her. She’s just mad Abuelo finally hired someone younger than his doctor. I’m Esme. Love your hair.”

“Thank you,” I said, laughing softly.

Before I could say more, a small boy burst into the room, his curls bouncing and a toy helicopter in hand.

“Are you the new doctor?” he asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Something like that,” I smiled. 

He studied me seriously, then nodded. “You look like you plant things.”

That startled a laugh out of me. “I do, actually.”

“Good.” He gave a decisive nod before dashing back down the hall.

“Crew,” Martha said fondly. “Mr. Castillo’s great-grandson. His mother’s away on business.”

“He’s sweet,” I murmured.

“Sweet and unstoppable,” Esmeralda said. “Good luck keeping up.”

Emilia rolled her eyes. “Come on, Esme. Abuelo’s waiting.” The twins left in a flurry of whispered bickering that made me smile.

“They’ll grow on you,” Martha said, leading me on.

“I hope so,” I replied. “They seem… spirited.”

She chuckled as we continued on the tour.

The hallways were lined with oil portraits—men and women who shared the same sharp and striking features.

Then one painting made me pause.

A younger version of Mr. Castillo stood beside a beautiful woman, his arm around her waist. There was something hauntingly familiar in the way his eyes looked out from the canvas—dark, magnetic, intense.

The same kind of eyes that had once looked at me from across a bar.

I blinked, shaking the thought away. “Weird,” I whispered.

“What’s that, dear?” Martha asked.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Just… he looks familiar, that’s all.”

Martha smiled knowingly. “Mr. Castillo tends to have that effect on people.”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “I bet he does.”

That wasn’t it. I was sure. 

But I brushed the thought to the back of my mind. 

*****

By the time I clocked out that evening, the sun was setting behind the estate’s fountain. Alberto had taken his medication, eaten dinner, and pretended not to like my company while secretly enjoying our small talk about his younger days in Spain.

As I walked to the giant gates, I felt… lighter.

Like maybe this wasn’t just another job. Maybe this was the start of something that might finally, finally go right.

And yet, as I walked through the gates, my mind wandered to the beautiful, dangerous stranger who turned my insides to liquid.

The stranger with the dark eyes and the quiet fire.

The one I’d convinced myself I’d never see again.