Chapter 4

EZRA

Morning came too fast.

I’d barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I swore I could hear something moving outside my door—soft steps, a floorboard creaking, a faint hum that could’ve been the wind but didn’t feel like the wind. When the sun finally bled through the curtains, I sat up on the bed with a groan, my bones already heavy.

“Day two,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. “Congratulations, Ezra. You’re still alive.”

I wanted to laugh at myself, but all I could do was yawn and force myself upright. The contract still burned in my mind, thirty days on that damn electronic lock. Thirty days of babysitting a man who wasn’t really a man but wasn’t a child either. Thirty days for ten thousand dollars.

I shuffled to the kitchen, started breakfast like Lilian’s neat little notes told me to. Eggs, toast, fruit. Something simple. My stomach twisted just smelling it, because I knew who I had to take it to.

Kieran.

When I carried the tray toward his room, I hesitated outside the door as the memory of him bolting into the shadows last night still clawed at me. My fake smile returned and I took a sharp breath.

“Alright, champ,” I whispered under my breath. “You’re the adult here. Sort of.”

I nudged the door open and he was already awake.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the bed, hunched over a pile of toy blocks. His big hands looked ridiculous holding those little colored pieces, but he wasn’t fumbling. No, he was focused. Stacking them carefully, one on top of another.

I froze with the tray in my hands.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t move. Just kept stacking. The blocks wobbled once, and my throat tightened, waiting for him to snap. But he steadied them with this slow, patient precision.

I cleared my throat. “Breakfast.”

He glanced at me, blue eyes flat and unreadable, then went right back to his tower.

“…okay,” I said, setting the tray on the table. “Well, uh, whenever you’re ready.”

He didn’t answer, of course. Just… kept building.

I stayed, because what the hell else was I supposed to do? “You hungry?” I asked, trying for light. “It’s eggs. Everyone likes eggs. And toast. Don’t tell me you’re too good for toast.”

He hummed. Low and tuneless, like a kid distracted in his own little world.

I groaned under my breath and rubbed my temples. Babysitting. I was babysitting a grown-ass man with shoulders that could break me in half.

I crouched near the tray, picked up a piece of toast, and held it out toward him like I was coaxing a toddler. “Here. Take a bite. Just one bite, man.”

For a second, he didn’t move. Then—fast as hell—he snatched it out of my hand, shoved half of it into his mouth, crumbs falling everywhere.

I flinched back, my heartbeat racing.

He chewed noisily, staring at me the whole time.

“…great,” I said, voice tight. “We’re making progress.”

——-

Breakfast turned into a disaster.

The eggs? He dug his fingers right in, squished the yolk between them, then licked it off like it was pudding. The fruit? He smashed a grape against the plate until it popped, then laughed, actually laughed, this weird breathy sound that made my skin crawl.

By the time he was done, the tray looked like a crime scene, and I was ready to put my head through the wall.

I cleaned it up in silence, muttering curses under my breath. He just sat there, watching and humming like I was part of his entertainment.

And then I remembered the other note Lilian left.

Help him with hygiene.

I stared at the words on the paper again in my head and felt bile rise. No. Nope. There was no way she meant what I thought she meant.

But when I glanced at Kieran again with his face and hands smeared with yolk, juice dribbling down his chin, I realized she’d meant exactly that.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned.

He tilted his head but he didn’t say a word. “Fine. Fine,” I muttered, standing. “Bath time, I guess. God help me.”

—-

The bathroom was huge, white marble and gold trim, the kind of place rich people used to show off how rich they were. The tub could’ve fit three people easy.

I turned on the water, waiting for it to fill, all the while talking to myself because if I didn’t, I was going to lose it.

“This is fine. Totally fine. You’re just… giving a bath. To a grown man. Totally normal, Ezra.”

I risked a glance over my shoulder.

Kieran was standing by the door, stripping. No shame or hesitation. Just peeling off his shirt, dropping his pants and kicking them aside.

I whipped my head back toward the tub, heat climbing my neck. “Christ. Okay. Sure. Just—yeah. Clothes off. That makes sense.”

When I finally turned around, he was already stepping in, lowering himself into the water like it was nothing. He leaned back, closing his eyes and relaxed.

And I? I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.

I grabbed the soap, crouched by the tub, and started scrubbing at his arm. “This is not what I signed up for,” I muttered, voice low and tight. “I wanted a paycheck, not… this.”

He didn’t move. Just let me wash him.

I worked in silence, scrubbing his arms, his shoulders, trying hard not to think about how solid his muscles felt under my hands. He wasn’t soft like a child. He was hard, strong and dangerous.

When I reached for his hair, he opened his eyes again.

Blue. Unblinking. Locked on mine.

“Sit forward,” I said, my voice cracking.

He did, leaning in close, and for a second—just a second—his face was right there. Too close and too much to mine.

I rinsed him fast, water streaming down his face, down his chest, my hands trembling but he never blinked. Never looked away.

And the worst part? He smiled. And that smile sent a shiver right through me.

It wasn’t wide or sharp, it was just a small tug of his lips, like he knew. Like he was in on some joke I’d never get.

I almost dropped the soap. “Great,” I muttered. “Real comforting, thanks.”

I finished fast, scrubbing him down like my life depended on it. Which, honestly, it probably did. The water sloshed around his body, steam curling up and making me sweat. My hands slipped more than once, and every time they did, he’d tilt his head slightly, watching me like I was the clumsy one.

When I finally stood and reached for a towel, he rose out of the water in one smooth motion.

And Jesus Christ he was tall. Taller than me, dripping wet, water sliding down over his chest, his arms. Not a man-child, not really. Not when his body screamed power in every line.

I shoved the towel at him. “Here. Dry off. You can handle that much, right?”

For once, he listened. He wrapped it around his waist, rubbing at his hair in slow, awkward strokes. Like a kid mimicking something he’d seen but never learned.

I backed toward the door. “Cool. You’re clean. Mission accomplished.”

He hummed that same low, tuneless sound while I slipped out of the bathroom and let the door click shut, leaning against the hallway wall, gasping. My heart wouldn’t slow down.

“What the fuck, Ezra,” I whispered to myself. “What the actual fuck are you doing?”

——-

The rest of the morning blurred together.

I gave him his pills, I tried keeping him entertained. God help me, I sat on the floor with him and “played.” At first it almost seemed harmless. He stacked blocks, pushed toy cars across the rug, held a stuffed bear by the arm and dragged it around.

But he didn’t play like a child.

He’d smash two cars together so hard the plastic cracked. He’d stack blocks just to slam his palm down and send them flying. He’d grip the stuffed dinosaur by the head and swing it until the seams stretched.

Every crash, every snap made me flinch.

I forced myself to smile, to keep my voice soft. “That’s… fun. Real fun. Maybe a little gentler, huh?”

He ignored me.

Once, when I reached to steady his tower of blocks, he lashed out, snatched my wrist in one quick grab. Hard. Too hard. My bones ground together, and I gasped.

“Hey, easy,” I stammered, forcing my face calm, calm, calm even though my heart was hammering. “I was just helping.”

He stared at me, grip tight and his lips curled but not a smile this time. More like… baring teeth. Then, just as fast, he let go and went back to stacking like nothing happened.

I sat there, rubbing my wrist, swallowing my heartbeat back down.

This wasn’t babysitting. This was survival.

———

By afternoon, I was wrecked. Every nerve fried.

Kieran finally yawned, dropped the stuffed dinosaur, and wandered toward his room. I followed at a careful distance, praying he was tired enough to stay put. He climbed into bed without a word, curled on his side, and shut his eyes.

I stood there, holding my breath and waiting, just hearing his slow, steady breathing.

“…thank God,” I muttered, backing away and puffing out a breath.

I needed air. Real air.

—-

The backyard was a goddamn paradise compared to the house.

The garden stretched wide, rows of manicured hedges and bursts of flowers I couldn’t name. Beyond that, a lake shimmered, sunlight bouncing off it like glass. The whole thing felt like a painting.

I found a bench under a tree and collapsed onto it, groaning. My muscles ached from tension and every part of me wanted to shut down.

I tilted my head back, staring up through the branches, letting the wind touch my face. For the first time since stepping foot in that house, I felt like I could breathe.

Thirty days. Just thirty days.

I could do this.

I had to.

My eyes drifted toward the lake. The surface rippled softly. Birds skimmed across the water. And way, way at the far end of the estate, just where the trees thickened into shadow, I saw something move.

My breath caught.

It wasn’t big. Not at this distance. Just… someone. A figure moving along the far edge of the trees.

I blinked and sat up straighter.

A gardener, maybe? Groundskeeper? Had to be. Places like this always must have staff.

As I watched, the figure stopped, took off his wide straw hat, and waved once in my direction. I froze, then managed an awkward half-wave back.

He didn’t shout or come closer, just set the hat back on his head and bent to work at the base of a hedge, pulling at something in the dirt.

Relief sagged through me like my bones had finally unclenched. Not creepy. Not a ghost. Just… staff. A normal person doing a normal job.

“Gardener,” I said aloud, this time with more confidence.

I leaned back on the bench, closing my eyes for a moment and letting myself breathe. For the first time all day, it felt like maybe I wasn’t completely alone here.

Inside that house was one kind of nightmare. But at least, outside, there was someone else.