CHAPTER 3

FREYA BROOKS POV

Moving into the Cross estate felt less like starting a new job and more like entering a high-security fortress. My room was twice the size of my cabbage-smelling studio, complete with a private bath and a balcony overlooking a perfectly manicured rose garden. It was luxurious, but the heavy silence of the house still lingered.

The only place that felt alive was Noah’s playroom.

By my fourth day, Noah and I had established a routine. He still hadn't spoken a word, but he didn't need to. We communicated in sketches, nods, and the occasional tug on my sleeve.

"Okay, buddy, time for breakfast," I said, setting down a fresh sheet of paper on his small table.

Noah didn't budge from the floor where he was sorting his colored blocks. Instead of throwing them like he used to, he was organizing them by color—a habit I noticed he did whenever he was hungry or bored.

I sat down next to him and quickly doodled a stack of pancakes with a little smiley face on top. I slid it over to him. "Pancakes with strawberries? Or should we go with eggs?"

Noah looked at the drawing, grabbed a yellow crayon, and aggressively colored the top of the pancakes.

"Extra syrup. Got it," I laughed, gently tapping his nose. He let out a silent, breathless giggle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. My heart swelled. This kid was a total sweetheart underneath all that locked-in grief.

Just as I stood up to carry him downstairs, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a G****e News alert I had set up weeks ago for Brooks & Associates.

  Brooks & Associates to Present Landmark Vance Plaza Proposal to Cross Industries This Friday.

My stomach instantly curdled into a tight, heavy knot. There was a picture attached to the article. Tristan and Sienna were standing side by side, smiling brightly, holding a digital rendering of my design. Sienna looked radiant, her hand resting smugly on Tristan’s arm. They were thriving on my stolen blood, sweat, and tears, while I was hiding out as a nanny.

A wave of bitter frustration washed over me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to rip that tablet out of her hands.

A small, warm pressure on my hand pulled me out of my downward spiral.

I looked down. Noah was standing right beside me, staring up with deep, worried brown eyes. He had noticed my sudden change in energy. With a serious expression on his little face, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of drawing paper. He flattened it out against my knee.

It was a drawing of me. It was crude, drawn with a black crayon, but he had given me a massive, exaggerated sad face with giant teardrops. Then, he took a pink crayon and drew a giant heart right over my chest.

He pointed to the heart, then pointed at me, before giving me a firm, unblinking nod.

 He’s trying to comfort me.

The sheer purity of it broke through the anger in my chest. I knelt down, wrapping my arms around his tiny frame. "Thank you, Noah," I whispered, fighting back the sudden prickle of real tears. "I’m okay. I promise."

When we finally went down to the dining room, the heavy atmosphere returned. Killian Cross was already seated at the head of the long mahogany table, completely absorbed in his tablet while taking a sip of black coffee. He looked as flawless and intimidating as he had on day one.

Normally, Noah would sit as far away from his father as possible, eating in total isolation. But today, as I tried to guide Noah to his usual seat, the little boy resisted. He firmly planted his feet, grabbed my hand, and yanked me toward the head of the table.

"Noah, sweetie, your seat is over there," I murmured softly.

Noah ignored me. He pulled out the heavy dining chair right next to Killian, climbed up, and then pointed at the empty chair beside him, looking directly at me. He gave the table a demanding little slap.

Killian lowered his tablet, his icy grey eyes shifting from his son to me. One dark eyebrow rose in silent question.

"I apologize, Mr. Cross," I said quickly, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "He usually doesn't—"

Before I could finish, Noah grabbed a clean fork from the table, picked up my hand, and forced the fork into my fingers. Then he looked at his dad, then at me, and made a eating motion with his mouth.

He was forcing us to have a family breakfast.

Killian stared at his son for a long, quiet moment. The silence was so loud I could hear the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway. I expected the billionaire to snap, to call Arthur and have us escorted out for breaking protocol.

Instead, Killian set his tablet completely face-down on the table.

"Sit, Miss Brooks," Killian said, his voice low and smooth. "It seems my son has made his decision, and I’ve learned it's useless to argue with him."

I hesitated for a second before sliding into the chair next to Noah. The proximity to Killian was dizzying. He smelled of expensive cedarwood and sharp espresso, his powerful presence filling up the entire space between us.

"Arthur told me Noah hasn't had a single tantrum since you arrived," Killian said, his eyes drilling into mine as the butler served our food. "He’s even eating his vegetables."

"He just needs a different way to speak, Mr. Cross," I said, placing a strawberry on Noah’s plate. "Words aren't the only way to communicate."

Killian didn't answer immediately. He watched as Noah happily munched on his food, occasionally leaning against my arm. There was a look in Killian’s eyes that I couldn't quite decipher—something heavy, speculative, and intensely focused.

"You're an architect, aren't you?" Killian asked suddenly, taking a slow sip of his coffee.

I froze, my fork hovering halfway to my mouth. "How did you know that?"

"I don't hire people to live under my roof without looking into them, Freya," he said, using my first name for the first time. The way it rolled off his tongue sent a strange shiver down my spine. "Your background is impressive. Which makes me wonder why a top-tier designer from Brooks & Associates is suddenly working as a nanny."

Before I could formulate a lie to protect what was left of my pride, Noah suddenly reached over and tapped Killian's arm. The little boy had a fierce, protective glare on his face, as if he knew his dad was interrogating me. Noah pointed an accusatory finger at Killian, then covered my hand with his own.

Killian actually let out a short, low chuckle, the sound surprisingly rich.

"Relax, Noah. I'm not firing her," Killian said, his gaze shifting back to me, the intensity in his grey eyes deepening. "In fact, I think your nanny is about to become very important to this family."

Arthur walked into the dining room, clearing his throat. "Sir, the legal team is waiting in the study. And the representatives from Brooks & Associates have just sent over their updated digital pitch for tomorrow's meeting."

I gripped my napkin tightly under the table, my knuckles turning white. The moment of reckoning was coming, and I was stuck on the sidelines.