04

Chapter 04

Third Person's POV

The soft glow of the hallway's crystal sconces cast gentle shadows as Fabian reached into a nearby linen closet, retrieving a small stack of neatly folded clothing. The fabric looked expensive—the kind of quality that whispered rather than shouted its worth.

"Tomorrow I'll give you an advance payment," he said, turning back to face Sonia. "You can buy clothes and whatever else you need."

He extended the garments toward her, his expression matter-of-fact. "These are some of my clothes that I've never worn—they've just been sitting in my closet. You can wear these for now until you have something to change into."

Sonia's eyes widened in surprise, her hands hesitating before reaching for the offered clothing. She wanted to refuse—her pride rebelled against accepting charity—but one glance down at her current attire made the decision for her. Her dress was torn in several places, stained with dirt from sleeping in the park, and carried the unmistakable odor of someone who had been living rough.

With visible embarrassment, she accepted the clothes, clutching them tightly against her chest. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"There's dinner downstairs," Fabian continued, moving toward what she assumed was her room. "After you shower, come down and eat."

He paused at the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. The question that had been building in Sonia's mind finally found its voice.

"Don't you have any other questions for me?" she asked, her voice gaining strength. "Like my background as a nanny, or my work experience?"

The question seemed reasonable—any responsible parent would want to know about the person they were entrusting with their child's care. Even her name had gone unquestioned when she'd introduced herself earlier.

"Honestly, it's not necessary," Fabian replied, turning slightly to face her. "I know who you are."

The words hit Sonia like a physical blow. Her face went pale, the color draining from her features as the implications sank in. She had assumed that her scarred appearance would render her unrecognizable, that the bandages and disfigurement would provide a kind of anonymity.

"I didn't know what happened to you," Fabian continued, his voice gentle but matter-of-fact, "but from the moment I saw you in the park, I knew you were Sonia Valencia. That's why I didn't hesitate to bring you here."

The revelation left Sonia reeling. In all her memories, she couldn't recall a single instance where their paths had crossed directly. She had seen him from afar, of course—at industry events, on magazine covers, in the gossip columns—but they had moved in different circles despite both being in the entertainment industry.

"May I ask how?" she managed to say, her voice shaky. "I mean, I've seen you before, but how did you know my name?"

Fabian's laugh was soft, tinged with something that might have been nostalgia. "You're a famous model, Sonia. There's no one in the entertainment industry who doesn't know who you are, even from your trainee days."

He turned to face her fully, his hand moving to stroke his chin in a gesture that seemed unconscious. "You're also the first person who turned down my manager's offer for us to work together on one of my movies."

Sonia's brow furrowed in confusion. "When was that? I received many offers, many new contracts, but I don't remember reading your name on any of them."

The assertion puzzled her deeply. If she had been offered a chance to work in the entertainment industry with Fabian Martinez as her partner, she would never have turned it down. The opportunity would have been enormous for her career—the kind of break that could launch a model into the stratosphere of celebrity.

She was the type of person who never let major opportunities slip by, especially when it came to her career. Every decision had been calculated, every move strategic in building her brand and reputation.

"Don't worry about it," Fabian said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It was a long time ago. I don't really remember the details anymore."

There was something in his tone that suggested the conversation was closed, but he added one more piece of information that would prove to be a mistake.

"I knew you and your husband."

The words hung in the air like a curse. Sonia's hands clenched into fists at the mention of Victor, her body tensing as if preparing for a physical blow. The pain was still too fresh, the betrayal too recent.

"I'm sorry," Fabian said immediately, recognizing his error. He could see the change in her demeanor, the way her entire body had gone rigid at the mention of her marriage.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Sonia shook her head, though her voice betrayed her when she spoke. "It's not your fault. That topic is just... very sensitive for me right now."

She looked away, unable to meet his eyes as the memories of Victor's cruelty crashed over her like waves against a rocky shore.

---

When Sonia descended the grand staircase an hour later, Fabian paused in his cooking to look up from the kitchen. She was wearing his oversized t-shirt and boxer shorts, the clothes hanging loosely on her smaller frame. Her long hair was pulled back and secured, and fresh bandages covered the scarred side of her face.

She had tried to hide her left arm behind her back, but Fabian's trained eye caught the movement immediately.

"Is that injured?" he asked, not pausing in his cooking but keeping his voice casual to avoid making her more self-conscious.

Sonia remained silent for a moment before answering. "This happened two years ago. It's fully healed now."

"Please, sit down," Fabian said, gesturing toward the dining table. "Breakfast's almost ready."

"Mr. Martinez, let me help with the preparations," Sonia said, immediately moving toward the kitchen. Panic crept into her voice as she spoke—the idea of someone cooking for her, serving her, seemed to overwhelm her completely.

Their bodies collided as she rushed forward, and Sonia immediately dropped into a bow of apology. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she repeated, her voice shaking.

The collision caused Fabian to drop the spoon he'd been holding, the metal clattering against the tile floor. He stared at her in amazement, unable to comprehend her extreme reaction.

"Sonia, relax," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "I can't believe that just putting a plate on the table in front of you caused you to panic like this."

From the car ride to their conversation about her injuries, through their introductions and discussions about France, Sonia had remained relatively calm and composed. He couldn't understand how such a simple domestic gesture could trigger such an intense response.

"I'm just not used to anyone doing things like that for me," Sonia said, her voice trembling. "It's just—I'm sorry."

Her hands were shaking visibly now, and Fabian found himself staring at this woman who bore so little resemblance to the confident, self-assured Sonia Valencia he had known five years ago. That woman had been full of confidence in everything she did, strong-willed and self-reliant, capable of handling anything life threw at her.

Fabian's expression became carefully neutral as he processed this transformation. What had happened to her in the three years since she'd disappeared from the public eye? What had occurred after her accident to reduce this once-powerful woman to someone who trembled at simple kindness?

"Sit down over there," he said, his voice gentle but leaving no room for argument. "You can't prepare breakfast when your hands are shaking. Just relax."

Sonia looked at him uncertainly before moving to take a seat at the dining table. Fabian deliberately turned away, busying himself with retrieving the remaining dishes from the counter to give her a moment to compose herself.

"You don't have any allergies or dietary restrictions, do you?" he asked, changing the subject to something safer. "My cooking repertoire is pretty limited."

From his peripheral vision, he could see Sonia settling into her chair, making a visible effort to calm herself.

"I'm not picky about food," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Any allergies?" Fabian pressed, setting several dishes on the table.

"Beans," Sonia murmured.

Fabian quickly scanned the dishes he'd prepared, removing two plates that contained bean-based sides and setting them aside.

"Go ahead and eat," he said, having finished setting out plates and utensils for both of them.

He took his seat across from her, the dining table suddenly feeling both intimate and vast at the same time. As he began serving himself, Sonia spoke up hesitantly.

"Sir, may I ask you something?"

Fabian continued filling his plate, but his attention was focused on her. "Sir?" she repeated when he didn't immediately respond.

"I'm listening," he assured her, though he was curious about her formal tone.

With visible embarrassment, Sonia asked, "Is it normal for you to eat with your household staff?"

The question revealed so much about her current state of mind—the assumption that she was merely hired help, the surprise at being treated as an equal, the confusion about her place in this household.

"The staff here usually eat earlier because I'm always late coming home from work," Fabian explained matter-of-factly.

It was true—being both a celebrity and the full-time CEO of one of the continent's largest automotive companies meant that his schedule was perpetually packed. It wasn't unusual for him to arrive home well after normal dinner hours.

"I'll have my assistant prepare your contract as France's personal nanny tomorrow," he continued, cutting into his food. "You can start officially then."

The conversation flowed more easily after that, though Sonia remained somewhat guarded. As they ate, Fabian found himself studying her—noting the way she kept her scarred side turned away from him, how she ate with careful, measured bites as if afraid of drawing attention to herself, the way her eyes constantly darted around as if expecting some kind of threat.

This was not the woman he remembered, and he found himself wondering what kind of hell she had endured to transform her so completely. The Sonia Valencia he had known would never have apologized for existing, would never have trembled at simple kindness, would never have hidden herself away like a wounded animal.

But perhaps, he thought as he watched her slowly begin to relax in the safety of his dining room, this was exactly the kind of person who could help heal his broken son. Sometimes it took someone who understood pain to recognize it in others, someone who had been shattered to know how to carefully piece the fragments back together.

As the evening wore on and the conversation gradually became more natural, Fabian began to see glimpses of the woman Sonia had once been—flashes of intelligence, moments of dry humor, the underlying strength that had carried her through whatever trials had brought her to his doorstep.

Perhaps this arrangement would benefit them all more than he had initially imagined.