The Voss mansion was even more intimidating in person than in the photos from the agency.Marble floors, towering ceilings, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. I clutched my small suitcase tighter as the housekeeper led me to my new room on the second floor — right next to little Emma’s nursery.“Mr. Voss will be home shortly,” the older woman said politely. “He’s very particular about his daughter’s routine. Don’t disappoint him.”I nodded, heart racing. Twenty years old, drowning in student debt, and now I was the live-in nanny for one of the richest men in the city. A single dad. A man everyone described as cold, demanding, and dangerously attractive.At 8:30 PM, after I’d unpacked and changed into comfortable shorts and a thin tank top, I heard the front door open.Damien Voss walked in.He was 39, tall (easily 6’3”), with broad shoulders, a powerful build, and sharp, commanding features. Dark hair with a hint of silver at the temples, stormy grey eyes, and
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