Mine To Claim

Chapter-5

Anna

I followed him in silence, my nerves too loud for me to focus on anything else. The house stretched endlessly around us, but I barely noticed. His shoulders were rigid, his steps sharp, he looked irritated again, and I had no idea why.

I tried to let it go.

I really did.

But the tension kept pressing against my chest until I couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Mr. Walton,” I said carefully, “did I do something wrong?”

He stopped instantly.

The sudden halt almost made me collide with his back. He turned, his expression grave, unreadable, and the weight of his gaze made me regret opening my mouth.

He stepped closer, not aggressively, but enough to invade my space.

“I don’t appreciate my employees fraternizing beyond what’s required,” he said coolly.

“Oh.”

The word slipped out before I could stop it.

Not because I agreed, because I absolutely didn’t, but because his nearness short-circuited my brain. His cologne hit me then, something warm and masculine, and his lips were far too close for my comfort.

Or maybe too close for my sanity.

Thankfully, he stepped back.

I inhaled deeply, forcing my thoughts back into order. Without another word, he resumed walking, and I followed, this time focusing very hard on the paintings lining the walls, the architecture, anything that wasn’t him.

I wondered briefly how people communicated in a house this massive. Intercoms? Telepathy? Carrier pigeons?

I didn’t dare ask.

He stopped in front of a door and motioned for me to enter.

The room inside stole my breath.

It was every child’s dream, bright walls, shelves overflowing with toys, soft rugs, tiny furniture perfectly sized for little hands. And yet, in the far corner by the window, sat Liam. I could physically feel his sadness.

He stayed in his position. Quiet. Still.

My chest tightened.

He reminded me too much of myself.

Of waiting.

Of believing that if I stayed long enough by the door, they would come back.

“Liam,” Mr. Walton said, his voice softening in a way I hadn’t heard before. “I want you to meet someone.”

Liam turned slowly, his eyes drifting to me, then back to Mr. Walton as if seeking reassurance.

“This is your new nanny, Anna. Say hello.”

“No,” he said suddenly, his little voice sharp with defiance. “I don’t want a nanny. Tell her to leave me alone.”

He climbed onto the bed and crossed his arms.

“That’s no way to talk, Liam......”

Mr. Walton stepped forward, but instinct took over before I could think. I reached out and gently stopped him.

The moment my hand touched his arm, I realized what I’d done and pulled back instantly.

To my surprise, he didn’t object. He simply stepped aside.

I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, keeping a careful distance.

“You really don’t want me here?” I asked softly.

Liam didn’t answer, just shook his head.

I sighed. “Okay. Then I’ll leave tomorrow.”

That got his attention.

“But,” I added quickly, “I have one condition.”

He glanced up at me. “What?”

“You see,” I said lightly, “I’m scared of being alone at night. At home, my friend stays with me, but I’m here today, and I don’t want to be scared.”

His brow furrowed. “Me… help?”

I smiled. “Mr. Walton told me how brave you are.”

I looked up at him.

He nodded once.

Liam’s lips curved into the smallest smile, and my heart nearly melted.

“So,” I continued, “Will you spend this evening with me?”

He hesitated, and for a moment I thought I’d pushed too far.

Then, softly, “Okay.”

I grinned. “Deal.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” Mr. Walton said.

He didn’t wait for a response. He simply turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind him, as if he’d been waiting for an excuse to disappear.

I exhaled.

What was I expecting, anyway? He probably had meetings, phone calls… maybe even a girlfriend waiting somewhere far more important.

I turned back to Liam, forcing the thought away.

“Will you paint with me?”

“No,” he said flatly, already reaching for a toy car and pushing it along the floor with intense concentration.

“Okay,” I said and grabbed a sheet of paper from the small study table and dipped my fingers into the paint instead. I didn’t say anything, just started painting. A crooked sun. A wobbly house. A tree that looked more like a lollipop.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him glancing at me. Quickly. Like he didn’t want to be caught.

I pretended not to see.

A minute passed. Then another.

“Liam,” I said casually, holding up my hand. “My fingers are all red and green, but the sun really needs yellow. Will you help me?

Just for a minute.”

I saw it then, the curiosity flickering in his eyes. He hesitated, gripping the toy car tighter, as if it might betray him if he let go.

When he finally stood up, it felt like a small victory.

He didn’t say anything. Just dipped his finger into the yellow paint and touched the paper carefully.

“Perfect,” I whispered, like we were sharing a secret.

We painted in silence after that houses, kites, lines that didn’t make sense to anyone but us. He didn’t talk, and I didn’t push. Trust like this wasn’t built with questions. It was built with patience.

Liam was reserved. Guarded. And I understood that getting him out of his shell would take time, days, weeks, maybe longer. But if I could make his sadness even a little lighter, every second would be worth it.

By the end of the hour, the room looked like a battlefield of color. Paint was everywhere, on the floor, on the paper, on us.

And Liam was smiling.

Just a little.

“Can I help you clean up?” I asked gently. “The paint’s stubborn, and it’s kind of my fault you’re covered in it.”

He hesitated, uncertainty flashing across his face.

I laughed softly. “Silly me. You’re a big boy. How about I draw you a bath, and you take care of the rest?”

“Hm,” he murmured, already considering it.

After the bath, I led him to the dining room, still speckled with paint myself because hunger clearly outranked personal dignity.

The dinning room was breathtaking, chandeliers hanging like frozen light, a long polished wooden table, silver cutlery arranged with such precision it almost felt untouchable. It looked straight out of an old Victorian movie.

I settled Liam into a chair.

“Don’t tell your uncle I made you work so hard without feeding you, okay?” I whispered conspiratorially. “If you promise, I’ll be back in one minute with something tasty. Don’t move. I’m trusting you.”

He nodded solemnly.

I didn’t miss the tiny curve of his lips.

I went searching for the kitchen and got hopelessly lost.

Eventually, I reached a balcony where I found a woman standing with her back to me.

“Excuse me?”

She turned slowly.

Beautiful. Sharp. Impeccably dressed in a tailored business suit, her hair pulled back into a flawless bun, she looked like she belonged in a boardroom, not a hallway.

“Yes?”

“I’m Anna. It’s my first day, and I can’t seem to find the kitchen.”

“Oh.” Her eyes moved over me slowly, measuring. “You’re the new nanny. Sorry, it’s just… you’re not what I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“All of Mr. Walton’s employees are usually more… sophisticated.”

I blinked, momentarily taken aback. I was used to people like her, working for snobs had taught me one thing very well: never be a pushover. Still, their assumptions never failed to amuse me.

“And judgmental,” I replied lightly, a polite smile fixed in place. “No offense, but I prefer comfort over spending my life buried in paperwork-induced misery.”

Her lips twitched, clearly fighting a reaction she hadn’t planned on having.

“What’s happening here?” came a familiar voice from behind us.

I turned.

Mr. Walton stood there, expression unreadable, eyes sharp and assessing.

And just like that, the air shifted again.