CHAPTER 2

SERENIA POV

The address provided in the automated response text led me to the edge of the city’s most expensive district. I stood outside a set of towering iron gates that looked like they belonged to a medieval fortress rather than a modern residence. There was no family name on the stone pillar. No welcoming sign. Just cold, polished steel.

A camera mounted on the wall swiveled toward me with a soft click.

"Name?" a voice barked through a hidden speaker. It sounded raspy and distinctly unfriendly.

"Serenia Buenavista," I said, holding my damp cardboard box a little tighter. My laundry basket full of kittens was resting by my feet. "I received a text about the nanny position."

The iron gates groaned and slowly began to swing open. I didn't wait for a second invitation. I picked up the basket, took a deep breath, and walked down the long, paved driveway.

The mansion at the end of the path was massive. It was a modern, white-stone structure with tinted floor-to-ceiling windows, surrounded by perfectly manicured lawns. But the luxury wasn't the first thing I noticed. It was the men.

Every few yards, a man dressed in a sharp black suit and dark sunglasses stood like a statue. They all had their hands clasped in front of them, ears wired with communication pieces. Their gazes tracked my every step.

What kind of person needs this much security for a childcare job? I thought, a sudden knot forming in my stomach. Did I accidentally walk into a government official's house? Or worse?

I looked down at my oversized, damp grey hoodie and my squeaking canvas shoes. I felt entirely out of place, but the memory of my five-dollar bank account balance kept my legs moving forward.

Before I could even reach the double front doors, one of them flew open.

A woman in a neat, professional gray skirt suit practically sprinted out. Her hair, which had likely been in a tight bun earlier, was completely unraveled. She was sobbing openly, clutching a leather folder to her chest.

"I can't do it!" she wailed to no one in particular as she stumbled past me down the driveway. "He's not a child! He's a demon!"

I watched her go, blinking in surprise. "Well," I muttered to the kittens. "At least the competition is eliminating itself."

I stepped inside the grand foyer. The interior was stunning—all marble floors and crystal chandeliers—but the atmosphere was absolute chaos. Two other women, both looking like highly experienced childcare professionals, were sitting on a velvet bench near the entrance. One was massaging her temples, and the other was packing her things with trembling hands.

From somewhere deeper in the house, a shrill, piercing scream echoed through the high ceilings. It sounded like a siren going off.

"No! No! No! I don't want it!" a child's voice shrieked.

I followed the sound, walking past a massive living room and into a spacious, state-of-the-art kitchen. The marble countertops were pristine, except for the splatters of red and yellow sauce currently dripping down the cabinets.

Suddenly, a small object came hurtling through the air right toward my face.

My survival instincts kicked in. I ducked instantly. A half-eaten chicken nugget flew over my head and smacked against the wall behind me with a wet thud.

"Missed me," I whispered, straightening up.

I looked toward the center of the kitchen, and my breath caught in my throat. Standing near the island was a man who looked like he had stepped straight out of a dangerous, underground world.

He was incredibly tall, with sharp, aristocratic features and a jawline that could probably cut glass. A thick, intricate tattoo crawled its way up his neck, disappearing under the collar of his crisp white shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms also covered in dark ink.

But despite his intimidating, predatory presence, he looked completely miserable. His dark hair was messy, as if he had been running his hands through it for hours. Deep, dark shadows sat heavily under his eyes, signaling an extreme lack of sleep.

Right now, a small boy—no older than four—was clinging to the man's left leg like a koala. The kid's face was bright red, tears and snot streaming down his cheeks as he yelled at the top of his lungs.

The giant covered in tattoos was staring down at the toddler with a mixture of profound irritation and utter helplessness.

"Leo, stop screaming," the man said. His voice was a deep, gravelly baritone that practically vibrated through the floorboards. He sounded like he was right on the edge of a breakdown. "Just eat the food."

"No!" Leo screamed louder, tightening his grip on the man's trousers. "I want Mommy! I want chocolate!"

A group of three bodyguards stood near the kitchen entrance, completely rigid. They looked like they would rather face a firing squad than intervene between their boss and a throwing-a-tantrum toddler.

Okay, this definitely isn't a normal rich guy, I realized, my heart beating a little faster. The tattoos, the guards, the heavy air in this room... I need to be careful.

The man rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long, exhausted breath. He looked up, his cold, piercing eyes locking onto me standing in the doorway. He didn't say anything at first. He just stared, his gaze sweeping over my soaked appearance, my cardboard box, and the laundry basket.

"Who let you in?" he demanded. His tone was sharp enough to make the bodyguards shift uncomfortably.

"The gate opened," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the intense glare he was giving me. I set my box and the laundry basket down on the floor. "I’m Serenia Buenavista. I'm here about the nanny position."

The man looked from me to the chicken nugget slowly sliding down his expensive wallpaper, and then back to me.

"You're late," he said bluntly.

"I walked through a rainstorm," I replied, gesturing to my wet clothes. "And technically, your ad didn't specify a time. It just said urgent."

Leo chose that exact moment to let out another ear-piercing shriek, burying his face into the man's leg. The man's left eyebrow twitched violently. He looked like a king who commanded an empire but was currently losing a war against a four-year-old.

"Can you make him shut up?" the man asked, his eyes narrowing as he challenged me.

"I don't know," I said, crossing my arms. "Are you going to pay me the ten thousand dollars?"

The man didn't answer immediately. He walked away from the kitchen island, practically dragging the crying toddler along with his leg. He stopped a few feet away from me, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. The scent of expensive cologne and faint tobacco drifted from him.

"We'll see," he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet rhythm. "I am Matteo Alcantara, and I don't give away money easily. Follow me to the study. Let's see if you survive the interview first."