Lahat ng Kabanata ng Bound to Killian St. Claire: The Nanny’s Forbidden Vow: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 6

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 The gown Mrs. Halloway had left on my bed was a deep, bruised plum. It was far too expensive for a nanny, and as I zipped it up, the silk felt like a second skin; one that didn’t belong to me. I looked in the mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back. The desperation was still in my eyes, but the dress made me look like I belonged in the St. Claire lineage. It was a lie I had to wear. Dinner was served in a dining room that could have hosted royalty. A long, mahogany table stretched between us, and at the head sat Killian. He had changed into a black tuxedo, looking every bit the lethal aristocrat. To his right sat Rose. She was a miniature porcelain doll; her dark hair perfectly curled, but her eyes were vacant and fixed on the empty plate in front of her. She still clutched the eyeless doll. "Sit," Killian commanded without looking up from his wine. I took my seat across from Rose. The silence was deafening, broken only by the rhyt

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 The sun rose over the St. Claire estate not with warmth, but with a clinical, blinding glare that exposed every crack in the manor’s ancient facade. I hadn't slept. I sat on the floor of the North Room until the early hours, clutching that crumpled birth certificate like a shield. If the document was real, Killian wasn't just my employer or my enemy; he was the man standing between me and my rightful name. But more terrifyingly, he was the man who had just promised to marry me to satisfy a blood feud. A sharp knock at the door startled me. Mrs. Halloway entered, followed by two women carrying garment bags that looked like they contained clouds of white lace. Their faces were masks of professional indifference. "Mr. St. Claire has requested you be ready by ten," Mrs. Halloway said, her voice devoid of its previous pity. She looked at the mannequin in the corner and then at me, her lips thinning into a straight line. "The lawyers are already in

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 The foyer suspended itself in a sudden, oxygen-deprived vacuum. "A third?" Vanessa’s voice dropped its silk purr, sharpening into an ugly, unscripted screech. "What ridiculous dementia is this, Sterling?" The elderly board member, Arthur St. Claire’s former right hand, didn't answer her. His brass-tipped cane clicked against the marble as he stepped past Vanessa’s frozen form, his rheumy eyes fixed entirely on the woman stepping through the threshold. She moved not with the wild desperation of my own terror, nor with Vanessa’s practiced, theatrical grace. She moved with a calculated, surgical stillness. She wore an immaculate charcoal tailored suit—a mirror image of Killian’s armor and her dark hair was pinned up in a strict, ruthless chignon. Her face was our face. The exact brow, the high cheekbones, the full lips. But her eyes held a hollow, chilling detachment that made even Killian’s icy demeanor seem human. Killian’s hand didn't release