Mine To Claim

Chapter-6

David

“What’s happening here?”

My voice cut into their conversation, sharper than I intended. Both women turned toward me, but my attention had already narrowed to one person.

Anna.

She was still wearing the same clothes from this morning, though now they bore unmistakable evidence of a very different kind of day. Smudges of color stained the hem of her skirt, streaks of blue and yellow marked her sleeves, and faint specks of red dotted her fingers. Her hair, which had been neatly tied back earlier, now escaped in soft, unruly strands around her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright in a way I hadn’t seen before.

She’d looked elegant this morning, composed, self-contained and confident.

Now she looked… .well adorably cute.

“Sir, good evening,” Elsa said smoothly, her tone just a shade warmer than her usual professional cadence. “I was just on my way to see you.”

“Wait for me in the office,” I said without looking at her.

There was a brief pause, the kind that suggested surprise, but Elsa nodded promptly and walked away, heels clicking crisply against the marble floor.

Silence settled between Anna and me.

She stood there, visibly unsure, rubbing her paint-stained hands together as if she could erase the evidence of the day through sheer effort. Her gaze flitted around the room, anywhere but my face.

“Did you fall into a paint basket,” I asked dryly, “or was this intentional?”

She startled, then shook her head quickly. “No—no, it was just a game. I was playing with Liam. Things… got a little messy.”

There was something endearing in the way she said it, like she was bracing herself for reprimand but ready to defend the chaos if she had to.

I exhaled slowly, more to rein in my thoughts than my temper.

“The kitchen is toward the right wing,” I said. “Second door after the dining hall.”

“Oh. Okay, thank you,” she replied quickly, already moving toward the side exit as if escape was her primary goal.

“Anna.”

She stopped, her back still to me, head tilting slightly in silent question.

“I heard what you said earlier,” I continued. “To Elsa.”

She turned just enough for me to see her expression.

“It’s admirable,” I said evenly, “that you respect your work and take pride in it. Not everyone does.”

For a heartbeat, she simply stared at me.

Then she smiled.

Not the polite, professional kind. This was unfiltered, warm, bright, genuine. It hit me unexpectedly, like sunlight breaking through winter cloud cover, and for a second, I forgot where I was.

“Thank you,” she said softly, then turned and walked away.

I stood there longer than necessary, replaying that smile in my mind until the reality of my responsibilities dragged me back.

The moment I stepped into my office, the illusion shattered.

Files. Reports. Emails demanding attention. Numbers that refused to wait. The smile faded as easily as it had come.

Elsa was already seated at her desk, fingers flying across the keyboard. She glanced up briefly, acknowledged my presence, and returned to her work. Efficient, precise, dependable, everything I required in an assistant.

I sank into my chair and immersed myself in work, the hours blurring together as they always did. Elsa and I worked in silence, broken only by the occasional request or clarification. She was good, exceptionally so. In six months, she’d proven that my decision to hire her had been the right one.

I’d fired more than twenty assistants before her. None could keep up. Elsa could and did.

There had been a time, early on, when I’d noticed the subtle signs of interest in her behavior. Lingering looks. A hand lingering for more than required. I’d addressed it immediately. I had a strict rule against relationships with employees. Once I made that clear, she’d stepped back without protest, and for that, I respected her.

By the time she packed up for the night, it was nearly ten.

“I’ll head out, sir,” she said.

I called her a cab and walked her to the gate. Once she left, the house felt quieter than usual.

Instinct or something like it, led me to Liam’s room.

I stopped in the doorway, unprepared for the sight before me.

Liam was asleep, curled into Anna’s side, one small hand fisted into the fabric of her shirt. She lay beside him on the bed, a storybook resting loosely in her hand, her breathing slow and even.

They looked peaceful.

Too peaceful.

I crossed the room quietly, removed the book from her grasp, and covered them both with a blanket. The sight stirred something uncomfortable in my chest, warmth, yes, but also unease.

Attachment came easily to children.

Too easily.

And loss followed just as fast.

This wasn’t something I could allow.

I didn’t wake her. That conversation could wait until morning.

*********************

I was halfway through breakfast when the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the room.

“Liam, slow down!”

He skidded to a stop when he saw me and climbed onto his chair obediently. Anna appeared seconds later, slightly out of breath.

I forced my gaze away, but it had already taken in too much.

She wore a pink floral dress that brushed her thighs, soft fabric clinging lightly as she moved. Her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that felt dangerously intimate.

When I looked up, she was watching me.

Caught.

I cleared my throat and shifted my attention to Liam. “So,” I said evenly, “I see you no longer have a problem with having a nanny.”

“No,” he answered quickly, then, just as fast, dropped his gaze to the table, suddenly very interested in his plate.

“Very well,” I said after a pause. “But yesterday’s behavior still counts. No television today.”

His lips pushed into a brief pout before hope crept back into his eyes. “So… Anna stays?”

I nodded.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He slid off his chair and wrapped his arms around me, squeezing tightly before darting

back to his seat.

“Eat your breakfast,” I said, my voice softening despite myself. “Ms. Steele and I need to talk.”

I turned toward the office without waiting, aware of her presence following me in silence.

Instead of my desk, I gestured toward the sofa tucked into the corner. She hesitated, then sat. The movement shifted the hem of her dress slightly, just enough that I noticed. I looked away immediately, annoyed at my own lack of discipline.

I handed her a folder.

“This is Liam’s schedule,” I said. “Daily activities, learning goals, and a brief report at the end of each day.” I paused, then added, more firmly, “Also, do not sleep in his room again.”

Color spread across her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep.”

She scanned the pages, brow furrowing in concentration. After a moment, she looked up, clearly fighting a smile.

“What’s amusing?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

“He’s three,” she replied simply. “Not an inmate.”

“Ms. Steele,” I said, meeting her gaze, “this family values discipline.”

“And structure is important,” she agreed calmly. “But curiosity matters too. Remove the time limits. Let him learn because he wants

to, not because he’s racing against a clock.”

I studied her for a long moment.

Then I nodded once. “Fine.”

She blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Thank you.”

“You may go,” I added.

She reached the door, then stopped. “One question.”

“Yes?”

“How would you like the daily report?” she asked carefully.

“By phone,” I replied. “I’m not here during the week.”

“Oh.” She nodded quickly and left the room as if afraid she’d overstayed her welcome.

I leaned back slightly, staring at the closed door.

She was different.

And the fact that I’d already begun adjusting my rules for her unsettled me more than I cared to admit.