Chapter 5

Sophia’s POV

My eyes grew wide with terror. My lungs ached intensely as the oxygen grew scarce, and the world around me started to dim, with only the faint thump of my heartbeat echoing in my ears.

Was this really how my life was going to end?

As my sight began to fade into haze, he eventually released his hold. His fingers slid away from my throat, and I collapsed onto my knees, my head bowed down low. I coughed harshly, desperately trying to pull air back into my lungs.

Then he lowered himself to meet my gaze, his face showing an expression that was impossible to interpret, and he extended a black folder toward me.

“I strongly advise you to never speak to me like that again. This better not happen a second time,” he stated deliberately.

“Y… yes. Yes, sir,” I stuttered, scooting backward. My back was already pressed firmly against the wall, leaving me no room to retreat further.

“You’ll sign this immediately. You are mine now, by law and by your own decision.” He presented a feather quill and the document.

“I don’t want to continue working here. I quit,” I murmured softly.

“That would be pointless, considering you have no option in the matter. Once you’re involved, there’s no escaping it. Sign it now before I force your hand.”

He thrust the papers at me. I took them and quickly skimmed through the contract. My name was printed prominently in bold typeface, and his signature appeared in vivid red ink.

He leaned down and grasped my left hand. Then he forcefully sliced it open, letting my blood trickle into a tiny golden chalice that he had retrieved from his desk drawer.

I winced sharply in agony as the drops of my blood fell.

After that, he immersed the feather quill into my blood and passed it over to me.

Who in the world were these individuals? Were they even in their right minds?

Did this imply that he had signed the contract using his own blood as well?

My hands shook uncontrollably as I extended them to accept the quill and the agreement. Every instinct inside me urged me to flee, but to where? The sensation of his grip around my neck was still fresh in my memory.

I paused, the quill suspended just above the page. Then, with one last decisive motion, I completed it. Moments later, I experienced a sudden, sharp tug deep within my chest, as though unseen threads had fastened themselves to my very essence. My breath hitched in my throat; it wasn’t exactly painful, but it certainly wasn’t soothing either. It resembled some kind of unbreakable bond.

Inwardly, my spirit uttered a silent plea, “Please… allow me to make it through this.”

The door latched closed after him, and a heavy quietness enveloped the space. I remained seated there, immobilized, gazing at my hands that had just moments ago clutched the contract bearing my signature in blood.

His final directives reverberated in my thoughts: “Clean yourself up. Head downstairs and introduce yourself to my daughter.”

My legs felt unsteady as I attempted to rise, not due to the strangling, but from the immense burden of what I’d just committed to. I leaned on the wall for stability, then hauled myself toward the door of my room.

I rinsed my hands and face, and combed through my hair once more. I spotted a compact first aid kit resting on my bed.

It seemed like someone had placed it there earlier.

I spread the soothing cream on my neck and other sore areas of my body, and also swallowed a couple of pain relievers.

I gazed at my image in the mirror. My cheeks were tinged with red, and my eyes appeared lackluster. I inhaled deeply and muttered quietly to myself, “Just endure this. You have the strength to overcome anything.”

By the time I descended to the base of the staircase, the opulent house had reverted to its serene yet daunting sophistication.

The woman from before approached me. “Miss Amelia is currently enjoying her breakfast. Please come this way.” She guided me without uttering another word.

As I entered the room, a young child immediately drew my focus. She was perched in a soft pastel pink high chair at the head of the dining table. Her small feet dangled far from the footrest. A dish containing scrambled eggs and toast was placed before her, but she was idly prodding it with her fork, lost in thought.

She appeared quite petite, as if she were only about two years old. Her complexion was fair, and her lips looked dry and cracked.

Her gentle, curly locks were gathered into two adorable puffs, and her sweet blue eyes calmly took in the surroundings.

Clara spotted me first and offered a kind smile.

“Sophia, you’ve arrived at just the right moment.”

She motioned toward the child. “Come and meet the little one.”

I advanced a few paces as Clara went on, “Sophia, allow me to introduce Amelia. She’s Mr. Ethan’s adopted daughter, and she’s three years old.”

Adopted? That detail surprised me. He had gone to the trouble of hiring a nanny for her. It struck me as somewhat inconsistent with his personality, given that he’d nearly choked the life out of me, yet here he was providing care for an adopted child.

I blinked, my gaze briefly sweeping over Amelia once more.

“Hello, sweetie,” I said gently, bending down a bit to align our eyes.

“I’m Sophia, and I’m going to be your new… um… nanny. So, you can call me Nana if you’d like.”

I flashed a fun-loving grin and added a wink for good measure.

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. Her tiny fingers ceased their restless movement with the food, and she glanced up at me with a sense of wonder.

“Hi,” she replied in a whisper, her delicate voice hardly audible.

It warmed my heart completely. Her tone was utterly charming and endearing. She had on a pale blue blouse that matched her eyes perfectly, along with a pink skirt. That little grin of hers made me feel as though I’d just achieved something extraordinary.

“Would it be alright if I sat next to you?” I inquired.

She paused for a moment, staring at her meal, before giving a small nod of approval.

I drew out the chair beside her and settled in, observing as she gradually lifted a slice of toast and took a genuine bite.

I beamed at her and motioned for her to keep going. She peeked at me, then returned her attention to her plate.

“She hasn’t shown a single smile since she first came here; she’s always so reserved and silent,” Clara mentioned softly while dishing out breakfast for me.

I promptly rose with the plate in my grasp. “I don’t believe I should eat in here.”

“As Amelia’s nanny, your role requires you to be wherever she is. Please have a seat and join her for breakfast,” Clara encouraged with a smile.

I resumed my place and kept an eye on Amelia while she ate.

“I have a feeling you’ll bring about a significant positive change, not only for her

but for everyone you encounter here,” Clara remarked.