Chapter 2

*Margaret's POV*

Six years later...

"If you don't take this job, Margaret, the landlord is literally going to throw your bags onto the street by Monday."

My gay best friend, Leo, shoved a folded slip of paper into my hand. He had been pacing around my apartment for the last twenty minutes while I counted the remaining dollar notes sitting on my kitchen counter.

It wasn't even enough to cover half of my rent, let alone buy groceries for the rest of the month.

"I know," I said, running a hand over my face. "I'm not refusing to work, Leo. I'm just asking who this guy is. You said he pays ridiculously well, but nobody lasts more than two days in his house? That sounds like a trap."

"It's not a trap, it's just his nightmare kid," Leo sighed, dropping onto my couch. "His name is Alexander Vance. Yes, that Vance, the billionaire who basically owns half the tech and real estate in the city. His wife passed away a few years ago, and ever since then, he’s been trying to hire a nanny for his six year old daughter, Jasmine. But the girl is a complete menace. She’s fired or chased off every single woman they've brought in."

I looked down at the address written on the paper.

Six years. Six long, empty years of trying to put my life back together after the worst night of my existence. Back then, when the doctor told me my newborn baby girl didn't make it, a piece of me died in that hospital room. I had buried myself in nanny work afterward just to stay sane, holding other people's children because my own arms were empty. But eventually, the grief got too heavy, and I stepped away.

Now, broke and desperate, I didn't have the luxury of letting old wounds stop me.

"Fine," I said, pulling my jacket off the chair. "Tell me where to go."

"That's my girl" Leo said

*

*

An hour later, I was standing in front of the massive iron gates of the Vance estate. The house looked more like a fortress than a home, all security cameras tracking my every move.

A butler led me through giant doors into a high ceilinged study that smelled expensive.

And sitting behind a sleek black desk was Alexander Vance.

He didn't look like a man who spent his time dealing with domestic drama. He looked like a sharp man who doesn't take bullshit from anyone.

"You're late, Miss... Margaret, was it?" His voice was low, smooth, and entirely unbothered as he scanned the papers I brought.

"By two minutes, Mr. Vance," I replied, keeping my back straight and my voice level. "Traffic near the estate gate was backed up."

He set my paper down, leaning back in his leather chair as he looked me up and down. There was no warmth in his expression.. Just pure and calculated.

"I'll save us both some time," Alexander said, crossing his arms. "I don't care about your references or your past experience. My daughter, Jasmine, is six years old, and she does not want a nanny. She has driven out five qualified professionals this month alone. She is stubborn, manipulative, and entirely uncontrollable when she wants to be. If you're looking for a soft, easy paycheck, walk out that door right now."

I didn't flinch. "I'm not looking for easy, Mr. Vance. I'm looking to do my job. Children act out when they're testing boundaries or when they feel unheard. I don't scare easily."

A slight shadow of amusement flickered across his face, though his mouth remained a tight, flat line. "We'll see about that."

Before I could answer, the heavy door of the study flew open with a loud crash.

A tiny girl with brown, messy hair and a sharp glare stood in the doorway. She was wearing a bright yellow dress, but her expression was pure thunder. In her hands, she held a large glass mug filled to the brim with dark red cherry juice.

"I told you I don't want another stupid nanny!" Jasmine shouted, her small voice echoing through the study.

Alexander didn't even raise his voice. "Jasmine. Put the glass down and go back to your room."

"No daddy!" She stomped her foot, her eyes locking onto me with pure hatred. "She's ugly, and I hate her! Send her away!"

She didn't wait for an answer. With a sudden, fast flick of her wrists, Jasmine threw the entire glass of red juice straight at my chest.

The liquid hit me hard, soaking straight through my clean white blouse and staining the front of my clothes a dark, sticky red. The heavy glass mug dropped to the floor, shattering against the hardwood with a sharp crack.

Silence instantly filled the room.

Alexander immediately stood up slowly from his desk, his eyes darkening with anger. "Jasmine—"

I raised my hand slightly, cutting him off before he could yell.

I looked down at my ruined shirt. The juice was cold, sticky, and completely wrecked my only decent job interview outfit.

A few years ago, or with a different person, maybe there would have been tears or an outburst. But I had survived real heartbreak. A spilled glass of juice from an angry six year old wasn't going to make me run away.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out a small packet of tissues, and calmly began dabbing at the front of my shirt.

Then, I crouched down to Jasmine's eye level, making sure to keep a safe distance from the broken glass on the floor.

Jasmine stood her ground, her small chest heaving, waiting for me to scream at her or cry like the others probably had.

Instead, I looked straight into her eyes and spoke in a soft, completely relaxed tone.

"Red is actually my favorite color," I said, giving her a tiny, calm smile. "But next time, I would prefer it in a cup I can drink, okay?"

Jasmine's mouth dropped open slightly. The anger on her face faltered, replaced by pure shock. She looked at me, then looked down at her stained hands, completely thrown off by the fact that I hadn't yelled back.

I stood up straight, turning back toward Alexander, who was watching the entire scene from behind his desk. He hadn't moved. His eyes were fixed on me, a look of genuine surprise replacing his earlier cold demeanor.

"If you have a spare towel, Mr. Vance, I can clean this up," I said calmly, smoothing down the edges of my ruined blouse. "And then we can discuss my starting hours."

Alexander looked from his stunned daughter back to me. For the first time since I had stepped into the room, the tight tension around his shoulders relaxed just a fraction.

"The job is yours, Margaret," he said slowly, his eyes burning with something new. "Start tomorrow morning."