Malachi's POV

MALACHI★

The office was silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioner and the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. I sat behind my mahogany desk, the glow of the computer screen reflecting in my eyels. On the screen was the background check I had ordered on Nina Manalo.

I had told myself it was just standard procedure. I was a father, after all. I couldn't bring just anyone into my home to stay with Lila. But as I scrolled through the digital files, a frown deepened on my face.

It wasn’t what I found that bothered me—it was what I didn’t find.

Her record was clean. No criminal history, no shady debts, no scandals. But it was "empty." After the age of sixteen, Nina Manalo seemed to become a ghost. There were no college applications, no stable addresses, just a string of low-paying, menial jobs. Waitress, cleaner, dishwasher, shelf-stocker.

I leaned back, my eyes narrowing. My investigators had flagged a police report from years ago. A double homicide in a quiet neighborhood. Her parents.

The air in the room felt suddenly heavy. I thought about the way she flinched when voices were raised, or the way she looked at Lila with a mixture of love and a deep, hidden sorrow. She was entirely alone. No aunts, no cousins, no siblings to call. Since she was sixteen, she had been fighting the world with nothing but her bare hands and a smile that she used as a shield.

A strange surge of protectiveness, hot and sharp, flared in my chest. It was more than just the responsibility of an employer. I hated the idea of her out there in the city, vulnerable and unprotected. I thought of the marks James had left on her neck and my jaw tightened so hard it ached.

She was under my roof now. That meant she was mine to protect.

I closed the laptop with a snap. I needed to clear my head. I looked at the time; I had a quick meeting to attend, but I found myself wishing I could just stay home and ensure she was safe in the kitchen, probably teaching Lila something else she wasn’t supposed to know yet.

★NINA★

The sun was beginning to dip, casting long, orange shadows across the pavement. I had finished my chores early, and Lila was occupied with a new puzzle Malachi had bought her. I decided to walk to the local upscale grocery store a few blocks from the estate.

I wanted to make something special. Malachi had been so kind to me, especially after the way he handled Cynthia. He didn't see me as just a lowly cleaner. He saw me as a person. I wanted to cook a traditional Filipino dish my mother used to make—Adobo. It was comforting, savory, and smelled like home. I needed specific peppercorns and a certain brand of vinegar that the estate's pantry didn't have.

As I walked, the fresh air felt good against my skin. For the first time in years, I felt a tiny spark of hope. I had a bed, a job that paid well, and a little girl who made me laugh.

I reached the store, picked up the items, and started my walk back. The grocery bag was light, swinging at my side. I was humming a soft tune, thinking about how to explain the flavors to Lila.

Then, I heard it.

The low, throaty rumble of an engine.

I didn't think much of it at first. It was a rich neighborhood; expensive cars were everywhere. But as the car slowed down behind me, my heart gave a sudden, violent thud.

I glanced over my shoulder.

It was a black sedan. Tinted windows. A specific, older model that looked out of place among the Ferraris and Porsches of the estate.

My breath hitched. My mind, usually so good at burying the past, suddenly betrayed me. I was thirteen years old again, hiding in a closet. I saw the same black car idling outside our house through the slats of the wooden door. I remembered the sound of the engine running while the screams started inside.

The car moved slowly, matching my pace.

"No," I whispered, my voice trembling. "It’s not them. It’s just a car."

But my body didn't believe me. My legs felt like lead. The bag slipped from my hand, the bottle of vinegar shattering on the sidewalk. The smell of it—sharp and acidic—filled my nose, mixing with the phantom smell of copper and gunpowder from my nightmares.

The world began to tilt. The black car slowed even further, the glass of the passenger window starting to slide down.

I couldn't breathe. It felt like a giant hand was squeezing my lungs, tighter and tighter. My vision blurred at the edges, turning gray. I staggered toward the curb, my knees hitting the concrete hard.

Run, Nina! my mind screamed, but I couldn't move. I tucked my head between my knees, my hands clawing at my hair. I was shaking so hard I could hear my teeth chattering.

"Please," I sobbed into my lap. "Not again. Please don't take me too."

I was trapped in the middle of the sidewalk, a small, broken figure in a sundress, drowning in a sea of memories. The sound of the engine was all I could hear. It felt like the ghost of the man who destroyed my family had finally come to finish the job.

I didn't hear the other car. The one that drifted to a sharp, screeching halt just a few feet away. I didn't hear the door fly open or the heavy, hurried footsteps hitting the pavement.

All I knew was that suddenly, the cold air was gone.

A pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around me. I shrieked, flinching away, my hands flying up to protect my face.

"Nina! Nina, look at me!"

The voice was deep. Commandingly loud but laced with a frantic edge I had never heard before.

I opened one eye, gasping for air. Malachi was there. He was kneeling in the dirt and the broken glass of my groceries, his expensive suit trousers getting ruined. His face was pale, his green eyes searching mine with an intensity that felt like a lifeline.

"Malachi?" I choked out, my voice sounding like a stranger's.

"I’ve got you. You’re okay," he muttered. He didn't wait for me to stand. He slid one arm under my knees and the other behind my back, lifting me off the ground as if I weighed nothing at all.

I buried my face in his neck, my fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt so tight my knuckles turned white. He smelled like cedar and expensive soap—the smell of safety.

He carried me to his car, which was idling in the middle of the road with the door open. He tucked me into the passenger seat, buckled the belt, and sped off toward the house. He didn't say a word the whole way, but I could see his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.

When we reached the house, he didn't ask me to walk. He carried me inside, past the shocked security guards, and straight into the living room. He set me down on the plush brown couch, but he didn't pull away. He stayed crouched in front of me, his hands resting on my knees to stop their shaking.

"The car," I whispered, my eyes darting to the window. "The black car."

Malachi’s expression darkened, a dangerous glint appearing in his eyes. He reached up, cupping my face with both hands, forcing me to look at him. His thumbs brushed over my cheekbones, wiping away the tears.

"There is no car out there now, Nina. Only my men," he said, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating growl.

He leaned closer, his forehead almost touching mine. The air between us was thick, charged with the fear I was feeling and the mounting rage he was radiating.

"I saw your file today," he admitted, his voice raw. "I know about your parents. But that car... that wasn't a random panic attack."

I shook my head, a fresh sob breaking through.

He gripped my face a little firmer, his gaze locking onto mine, refusing to let me drift back into the dark.

"Nina," he said, his voice a stern command that demanded the truth. "Tell me right now. What are you so afraid of? Who is following you?"