Chapter 1 - The New Rule of the House
"Pack your things," Dominic Romano repeated. His voice was not loud, but it possessed a heavy, gravelly resonance that vibrated through the high arched ceilings of the marble foyer.
Cassandra DuPont frozen, her hands suspended in midair as if she had been turned to ice. The flawless, camera-ready smile she had worn just seconds before withered on her face. "Dominic, darling, surely you can't be serious. This... this clumsy peasant just flooded your entrance with cheap coffee! She’s a liability. Look at her!"
"I am looking at her," Dominic said, his dark, impenetrable eyes never leaving Beatrice's face.
Beatrice stood there, her feet bare, clutching her modest heels in one hand and her damp, coffee-stained leather portfolio in the other. She felt incredibly small, acutely aware of the soft curves of her body beneath her navy-blue dress and the stray strands of brown hair that had escaped her neat bun. She looked like a messy, disorganized storm that had accidentally blown into a pristine museum.
Yet, Dominic’s gaze did not hold disgust. It held a deep, analytical focus that made her skin prickle with heat.
"And I am looking at my son," Dominic continued, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a dangerous, razor-thin edge. He turned his head slowly toward Cassandra. "My son has not smiled in two years, Cassandra. Not for the therapists. Not for the expensive toys. And certainly not for you. Yet, within thirty seconds of meeting Miss Miller, he is holding an orange crayon and smiling."
"It was a fluke!" Cassandra hissed, her thin, perfectly manicured hands clenching into fists. "A childish whim! You're going to throw me out—a woman who has stood by you, who has graced the covers of Vogue, who has dined with senators—for a girl who looks like she works at a bakery?"
Dominic stepped forward. The sheer physical presence of the man was overwhelming. He was broad-shouldered, towering over both women, radiating an aura of absolute, undisputed power. He did not touch Cassandra, but the way he tilted his head was enough to make her take a step back.
"You have ten minutes to collect your bags," Dominic said, his tone devoid of any emotion. "If you are still on my property when the clock strikes twelve, my security team will carry you to the gate. And they will not be gentle."
Cassandra gasped, a harsh, ragged sound. She glared at Beatrice with a hatred so pure it felt like a physical blow. "You'll regret this, Dominic. She’s going to ruin you. She’s going to ruin this house!"
With a dramatic turn, Cassandra spun on her towering heels and stormed up the grand staircase, her expensive perfume lingering in the air like a poisonous cloud.
Silence descended upon the foyer, thick and heavy.
Beatrice swallowed hard, her throat dry. She looked down at the coffee puddle on the floor, then at her bare feet, and finally at the little boy standing behind Dominic’s leg. Leo was still clutching the mac-and-cheese orange crayon against his tiny chest, his large, dark eyes watching her with a quiet curiosity.
"I... I can still clean the floor, Mr. Romano," Beatrice whispered, her voice trembling. "I have some baby wipes in my bag. They work wonders on marble."
Dominic looked down at the brown puddle, then back up at her. A faint, almost imperceptible twitch appeared at the corner of his stern mouth. "The house staff will handle the floor, Miss Miller. Come into my office."
He turned and began to walk toward the double oak doors at the left side of the foyer. Leo hesitated for a moment, looked at Beatrice, and then slowly followed his father, his small bare feet making no sound on the stone.
Beatrice took a deep breath, slipped her heels back onto her feet, and tried her best to look professional despite the coffee stains on her hands. She walked into the office, prepared for whatever interrogation was about to come.
The office was massive, lined with dark mahogany bookshelves that stretched to the ceiling, filled with leather-bound volumes and antique brass globes. A massive desk carved from black walnut sat in the center of the room, behind which stood a wall of glass looking out over the manicured gardens of the North Shore estate.
Dominic did not sit behind the desk. Instead, he stood by the window, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the rain start to patter against the glass. Leo sat quietly on a small leather armchair in the corner, his knees pulled to his chest, still holding the crayon.
"Sit, Miss Miller," Dominic said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.
Beatrice sat, trying to keep her posture straight, though her soft body sank into the plush leather. She placed her damp portfolio on her lap.
"Your portfolio is ruined," Dominic observed, not looking at her.
"It’s okay," she said quickly. "The drawings inside are plastic-wrapped. I... I brought some art activities. I find that children who don't like to talk sometimes like to draw. It gives them a way to speak without using words."
Dominic turned around. His eyes locked onto hers, searching, weighing her worth in a way that made her breath hitch. "The agency said you have a degree in early childhood development. They also said you were let go from your last position at a private academy in Gold Coast. Why?"
Beatrice felt the familiar sting of shame. She looked down at her hands. "Because I didn't fit the demographic, Mr. Romano."
"Explain."
"The headmaster felt that a nanny and assistant teacher at their school should represent a certain... aesthetic," she said, choosing her words carefully. "They wanted someone who looked like the mothers. Thin, polished, wearing designer labels. I was told that my physical appearance was 'unprofessional' and that I didn't present the image of health and discipline they wanted to project. In short, sir, I was too fat for them."
She expected him to laugh, or to offer a polite, empty apology. Instead, Dominic’s face went incredibly dark. A dangerous, cold aura filled the room.
"They fired you because of your size?" Dominic asked, his voice dangerously low.
"They called it a restructuring of the department," Beatrice said with a small, sad smile. "But yes. That was the reason."
Dominic walked over to his desk and picked up a silver pen, spinning it between his long, scarred fingers. "Idiots," he muttered. "They look for porcelain dolls to guard their treasures, not realizing that porcelain breaks at the first sign of trouble."
He leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing his ankles. "My son has not spoken a word since his mother died in a car accident two years ago. He does not play. He does not cry. He simply exists. The doctors call it selective mutism brought on by severe trauma. I have hired the best pediatricians, the most expensive therapists, and three different nannies who looked exactly like Cassandra. None of them lasted a week. They spent more time trying to get into my bed than trying to get into my son's heart."
Beatrice’s heart ached as she looked over at Leo. The little boy was watching his father, his face completely blank, but there was a deep, lingering sadness in his eyes that she recognized all too well. It was the look of a child who felt entirely alone in a massive, terrifying world.
"I don't care about your size, Miss Miller," Dominic said, his dark eyes burning into hers. "I don't care about your ruined shoes or your clumsy hands. I care about my son. You made him smile. For that, I am prepared to offer you double the agency's starting rate. You will live here. You will have your own suite in the east wing. Your only duty is Leo. Do we have an agreement?"
Beatrice’s jaw dropped. "Double? Mr. Romano, that’s... that’s more money than I’ve ever seen in my life."
"Then it should make paying your overdue rent quite easy," Dominic said coolly.
Beatrice blinked. "How did you—"
"I know everything about the people who enter my house, Miss Miller," Dominic interrupted, a faint, dark smirk playing on his lips. "It is my business to know. Do you accept the position?"
She looked at Dominic, this powerful, terrifying man who half the city feared, and then at Leo, who was still holding her orange crayon. She felt a sudden, fierce wave of protectiveness wash over her. This boy needed someone who would look at him, not at his father’s bank account.
"I accept, Mr. Romano," Beatrice said, her voice finding its strength. "But I have one condition."
Dominic’s eyebrows rose. No one set conditions for Dominic Romano. "And what is that?"
"I don't do 'invisible,'" Beatrice said, looking him dead in the eye. "If I am going to heal your son, I need to be a real part of his life. That means I eat meals with him, I play with him in the main areas of the house, and I will not step aside or hide in the shadows when your business associates visit. Leo needs to see that the people who care for him are not ashamed to be seen."
Dominic stared at her for a long, silent moment. The tension in the room grew so tight it felt like a piano wire ready to snap.
May you like
Then, Dominic let out a low, gravelly chuckle.
"Agreed, Beatrice," he said, using her first name for the first time. "Welcome to the Romano household."
