The Genius's Nanny

Chapter4

Sunlight. Too much sunlight.

That was the first thought that drifted through my brain as I cracked one eye open. The second thought was that the bed was incredibly comfortable, like sleeping on a cloud made of marshmallows. The third thought, which hit me like a bucket of ice water, was that my alarm clock—a cheap, plastic frog that quacked—had not gone off.

I sat up, my heart doing a somersault in my chest. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand.

9:15 AM.

"Oh, no. No, no, no!"

I threw the covers off, tangling my foot in the sheets and nearly face-planting onto the plush carpet. I was supposed to be up at seven.

Breakfast was at eight. Lessons started at nine.

I was fifteen minutes late for lessons.

"I’m fired. I’m so fired. I’m going to be homeless again," I chanted under my breath as I scrambled around the room. I grabbed the nearest pair of jeans, hopping on one leg to pull them up while simultaneously trying to brush my teeth with the other hand. I didn't have time for makeup. I barely had time to breathe.

I threw on my coat—a puffy beige thing that made me look like a walking dinner roll—and sprinted out of the room.

The hallway was quiet. Too quiet.

"Silas?" I hissed, skidding to a halt in front of his door.

I didn't knock. I just burst in.

Empty.

The bed was made perfectly, the corners tucked in so tight you could bounce a quarter off them. The velvet chair was empty. The books were stacked. It looked like no one had even slept there.

"Okay, okay, don't panic," I whispered, my voice rising an octave. "Maybe he’s downstairs. Maybe he’s eating a late breakfast.

Maybe he’s waiting for me to make him pancakes."

I turned and ran for the stairs.

The grand staircase was a spiral of marble that looked beautiful but was treacherous when you were running in socks. I took the steps two at a time, my hand gripping the polished banister.

"Whoa!"

My foot slipped on the third to last step. I flailed, my arms windmilling wildly, before I managed to catch myself on the railing, swinging around like a chaotic pendulum.

I landed at the bottom with a heavy thud, breathless and disheveled.

"Ms. Choi."

The voice was ice. Absolute zero.

I looked up. Standing in the center of the foyer, looking like she had been carved out of granite, was Mrs. Sable. She was holding a tablet, her posture so straight it made my own back hurt.

"Mrs. Sable!" I gasped, straightening up and trying to smooth down my hair, which I knew was sticking up in every direction. "I am so, so sorry! My alarm didn't go off, and I—I went to check on Silas, but he wasn't in his room, and—"

"Silas is not in his room because it is Tuesday," Mrs. Sable said. She didn't blink. She didn't look at my messy hair. She looked at me with the kind of disdain usually reserved for insects.

"Tuesday?" I repeated blankly.

"He is at his lessons," she said. "He left at 8:30 AM precisely."

"Oh." I felt the blood drain from my face. "He left? Without me?"

Mrs. Sable took a slow step toward me. The sound of her heels on the marble echoed through the massive, empty house. "Ms. Choi," she said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "Mr. Vane pays you an exorbitant amount of money to ensure his son is supervised. Your only job is to be present. Today, you were not present."

"I know, I know, I swear it won't happen again!" I pleaded, wringing my hands together. "Please, Mrs. Sable. I really need this job.

Just tell me where he is. I’ll go right now. I’ll run there if I have to!"

Mrs. Sable stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. I could see her calculating whether it was worth the paperwork to fire me right now.

"This is your one warning," she said finally. "If you are late again—if you are ever absent from his side when you are scheduled to be—you will be removed from this property before you can pack your bags. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," I squeaked. "Crystal clear."

"Good." She tapped the screen of her tablet. "His schedule is in your manual. I suggest you read it."

She turned and walked away toward the kitchen, leaving me standing alone in the foyer.

The manual.

I dug into my tote bag, which I had abandoned by the door the night before, and pulled out the thick, leather-bound binder Mrs. Sable had given me. It was heavy enough to kill a man.

I frantically flipped through the pages. Dietary Restrictions... Emergency Contacts... Clothing Protocol...

"Schedule... Schedule..." I muttered, my finger tracing the lines.

Tuesday. 09:00 - 13:00. The Conservatory. 20th Floor, Vane Enterprises Building.

"The Conservatory?" I blinked. "Is that a school?"

It didn't matter. I had to go.

I ran out the front door, spotting a black SUV idling in the driveway. It wasn't the main limousine, but it looked expensive. I knocked on the driver's window.

The window rolled down. A burly man in sunglasses looked at me.

"Hi!" I panted. "I'm the nanny! The new one! I need to get to the Vane Enterprises Building. Like, yesterday!"

The driver sighed, pushed his sunglasses up his nose, and unlocked the doors. "Get in."

★

The drive into the city took forty minutes. It was the longest forty minutes of my life.

I sat in the back seat, bouncing my leg nervously. The leather seats smelled like new car and lemon polish. I stared out the window as the green trees of the estate gave way to the grey concrete of the city skyline.

My mind was racing. What kind of kid goes to school in an office building? Does he have friends? Does he have a locker? Does he have recess?

The car pulled up to the curb in front of a massive glass skyscraper that seemed to pierce the clouds. It was sleek, modern, and intimidating.

"We're here," the driver grunted.

"Thank you!" I yelled, practically diving out of the car.

I ran through the revolving doors into a lobby that was bigger than my entire college campus. It was all white marble and glass. Men in suits were walking briskly, talking on phones.

I spotted the security desk and sprinted over.

"Stop," a security guard said, holding up a hand. He was built like a vending machine. " ID."

"I'm here for Silas Vane," I said, fumbling for the lanyard Mrs. Sable had given me along with the manual. "I'm his nanny. Macy Choi."

I held up the plastic card. The guard scanned it. A little light beeped green.

He looked at me, raising an eyebrow at my puffy coat and frantic energy. "20th floor. Elevator bank B."

"Thanks!"

I found the elevators and jabbed the button for the 20th floor. My heart was still hammering against my ribs. Please be okay, please be okay.

The elevator whooshed up, my ears popping as the numbers climbed. 10... 15... 20.

Ding.

The doors slid open.

I stepped out, expecting a classroom. Maybe some cubbies with names on them. Maybe a chalkboard.

Instead, I stepped into a room that looked like a concert hall.

It was vast. The walls were lined with acoustic panels. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a dizzying view of the city below. And in the absolute center of the room, sitting alone at a black Steinway grand piano, was Silas.

He was playing.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

The music was... complicated. It wasn't "Chopsticks." It wasn't a simple melody. It was a torrent of notes, fast and aggressive, cascading over each other like a waterfall. It sounded difficult. It sounded perfect.

But it also sounded cold. There was no joy in it. It was technical perfection, executed by small hands that moved with a blurring speed.

I looked around the room.

"Where are the others?" I whispered.

There were no other desks. No other children. No teacher. Just Silas and the giant piano.

I let out a shaky breath, realizing I had been holding it. He was safe. He was here.

I walked quietly into the room, my sneakers squeaking slightly on the polished wood floor. I didn't want to interrupt him, so I perched myself on the edge of a long table near the door.

I bit my lip, swinging my legs slightly. I watched him.

He looked so small against the massive instrument. His back was straight, his face intense. He wasn't looking at the keys; he was staring straight ahead at the sheet music, devouring it.

Is this school? Where are the finger paints? Where are the loud kids throwing erasers at each other?

Silas hit the final chord. It rang out, harsh and final, echoing in the empty room.

He didn't pause to appreciate the silence. He didn't stretch. He immediately reached up, closed the music book, and stood up. He turned around and saw me.

I offered a weak, apologetic wave. "Hi. Sorry I'm late. Alarm clock malfunction. Also, I almost died on the stairs."

Silas didn't react to my joke. He didn't look relieved to see me. He didn't look annoyed. He just looked... through me.

He walked past the piano, past the table where I was sitting, and headed for the double doors on the other side of the room.

"Okay," I muttered, hopping off the table. "Follow the leader. Got it."

I hurried after him.

He led me down a pristine white hallway. It felt like a hospital, or a laboratory. There were no drawings on the walls. No "Student of the Month" posters.

He stopped at a door marked Room 204 and pushed it open.

This room was different. It had a large mahogany desk and a whiteboard covered in equations that looked like alien hieroglyphics.

A man was waiting there. He was older, wearing a tweed jacket and thick glasses. He didn't smile when Silas entered.

"You are three minutes late, Mr. Vane," the man said, checking his watch.

Silas didn't apologize. He simply walked to the smaller desk facing the whiteboard and sat down. He pulled out a notebook and a fountain pen.

The teacher looked at me. "And who is this?"

"I'm the nanny," I said, flashing my ID again. "I'm just... observing."

"Sit in the back," the teacher commanded. "Do not make a sound."

I scurried to a chair in the corner and sat down.

"Today," the teacher began, turning to the whiteboard, "we are continuing our analysis of global market trends and the impact of fluctuating currency rates on international trade conglomerates."

My jaw dropped.

Global market trends?

I looked at Silas. He was eleven. Eleven! When I was eleven, my biggest concern was whether or not my Tamagotchi was going to die.

Silas was writing notes. He was focused, intense, absorbing the information like a sponge.

The lesson went on for an hour. The teacher droned on about stocks, bonds, and corporate mergers. He asked Silas questions.

"If the Yen drops by two points, how does that affect the supply chain in the manufacturing sector?"

Silas answered. His voice was quiet, scratchy from disuse, but steady. "It creates a deficit in the procurement of raw materials, necessitating a shift to domestic suppliers."

I blinked. I had absolutely no idea what he had just said.

I looked around the sterile room. Just the three of us. No laughter. No friends. No break time.

A heavy sadness settled in my chest. I looked at the back of Silas's head, at his messy black hair.

This wasn't a childhood.

This was an assembly line. They weren't raising a boy; they were building a CEO.

He was a prince in a tower, but instead of a dragon guarding him, it was economics and silence.

I slumped back in my chair, clutching my manual.

So this is his life. No wonder he doesn't talk. He has nothing to talk about.

Silas turned the page of his notebook, the sound of the paper crisp and loud in the quiet room. He didn't look back at me. He didn't need to.

We were worlds apart, separated by a divide much bigger than the few feet between our desks.