The Nanny's Secret Heir

Chapter 2: Ninety Seconds

Elena looks away first, her eyes dropping to the plate in her hands. Too long. “I’ll get him breakfast,” she says, voice tight.

Damian doesn’t budge from the doorway. “That’s not what I asked.”

“You asked if something was wrong with your son. Nothing’s wrong with your son.”

He doesn’t blink. “You’re not really answering.”

In the kitchen, Mateo’s spoon scrapes against his bowl. The sound is loud enough to cut through the tension; both adults turn to him at once. He shrinks in his chair, shoulders coming up.

Elena’s gut twists, maybe with guilt, maybe with something closer to regret. Whatever’s going on, the last thing Mateo needs is to be trapped in the middle of it.

“We should finish this somewhere else,” she says, more quietly now, nodding toward the hallway.

Damian hesitates, jaw working, but finally gives a short nod. “Kitchen. Two minutes.”

The kitchen’s all white marble and steel, huge, spotless, expensive. Elena sets the plate down, fingers numb from how cold everything feels. Damian joins her, shutting the door behind him with more force than she expected. The sound echoes.

“Talk,” he says.

“I did. I thought I had seen something, but I was wrong.”

Damian’s eyes pinned her. “You went pale. Your hands are still shaking. That’s not what ‘wrong’ looks like.”

She folds her arms, more to hide her hands than anything. “I worked in a pediatric ICU for six years. Scars like that always jump out at me. Old habit.”

“What kind of scar?”

“IV scarring. Usually from early birth.” She tries to brush it off. “It’s nothing.”

Damian’s gaze lingers on her face, searching. “You said birthmark first. Now it’s a scar.” There’s a note in his voice, he’s turning over the facts, slow and steady.

Her pulse bounces. Yeah, she said that. He caught it.

“Same difference. Just another word.”

“No. Not to someone who spends all day choosing the right words.”

Silence stretches. Elena feels strain, uncomfortable.

He uses her last name this time, voice low, steady: “I don’t like people in my house who lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You’re editing,” he shoots back. He closes the distance between them. She actually has to look up to meet his eyes. “That’s not the same.”

She flinches her back and presses to the counter. She’s not sure when she moved.

“Is this how you treat all the new hires?”

“Only the ones who look at my son like he’s a ghost.”

The door nudges open, a squeak. Mateo stands there, still clutching his spoon.

“Are you going to fire her?” His voice is small, but steady.

Damian’s whole posture shifts, shoulders dropping, lines in his face softening. “Finish your eggs, Mateo.”

“You didn’t say no.”

“Mateo”

“I like her,” Mateo says matter-of-fact, simple as gravity. “She made my eggs warm.”

He disappears before either of them can answer.

Damian lets out a breath, quiet. Some of the fight leaves his body, just for a moment.

Elena breaks in, gently, “When’s the last time he ate a real breakfast?”

Damian’s eyes flick, all his defenses back. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Redirect. Don’t. I’m not done.”

“Neither am I. You asked about the scar, I answered. If you don’t like it, that’s not the same as me lying.”

He closes his mouth, looks away for a second. There’s something there now, a flash of exhaustion, maybe, like he’s tired of being on guard.

“Three nannies. Eight months,” he says. “He stopped eating with the second. Barely spoke with the third.”

Elena feels her anger dissolve into something softer. “What happened with the third?”

“She left. Said he did too much work for the pay.” There’s a sharp, controlled edge to his words. “He overheard. Through the door.”

Elena’s jaw tightens. “That’s disgusting.”

“It’s the truth about most people who take this job,” Damian’s eyes flick to her, searching. “So when someone looks at my son like they know too much, I have to find out why. I won’t see anyone hurt him again, Ms. Reyes. Not twice.”

His words hang between them, heavy, final.

Elena opens her mouth, she wants to tell him, right then, everything. But her phone starts buzzing in her back pocket.

She ignores it.

It buzzes again, then a third time, fast, like someone’s panicking on the other line.

Damian’s eyes dart down to her pocket, then back up.

“You going to get that?”

She doesn’t want to. Her heart’s in her throat when she yanks the phone out.

Three missed calls from her mother.

MOM: Elena, call me now. It’s about the agency. They found out. They know who you are.

The words blur for a second, and then slam into focus.

Elena goes cold, hands trembling. She can’t hide it; not the white face, not the way her phone shakes.

Damian watches every detail as he’s gathering evidence.

“Ms. Reyes.” His voice has softened, it’s that careful, measured tone people use when they know everything’s about to blow up. “Who found out what?”