Naughty Empires
Nothing more.
By six o’clock the house had settled into that quiet hum of wealth. I’d met the parents briefly—polite, distracted, already halfway out the door for some gala—and now it was just me and the house and the faint sound of running water echoing from the master bathroom down the hall. I was supposed to check on “the boy,” introduce myself properly. My heels clicked softly on the polished floors as I approached the half-open door, steam curling out like smoke from a dragon’s lair.
I knocked once. “Mr. Kensington? Damien? It’s Madonna, the new nanny. Just wanted to—”