His Nanny, His Obsession

Chapter 3

Celeste’s pov

The formal dining room was enormous, centered around a long table that could easily accommodate twenty people. Yet with only three of us present, the space felt somehow smaller than it actually was

I sat stiffly near the head of the table, keeping my knees pressed together beneath the crisp linen tablecloth while my hands remained clenched in my lap.

I hadn't expected to be eating dinner here. Staff were supposed to eat in the kitchen, but when Mrs. Pruitt had tried to hand me a tray in my room, Vincent had stopped her.

"Miss Lawson is going to be taking care of my son," He had told Mrs. Pruitt, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She will dine with us tonight so we can properly discuss Ethan's routine."

It was meant to be a professional gesture, a sign of respect from a employer who valued his son's caregiver. But sitting here now, directly under the glaring eyes of his wife, I felt like a goat tethered in a tiger's cage.

To my left, Vincent occupied the head of the table. He had changed into a black suit jacket, though the top button of his shirt remained undone. Even without saying anything, he seemed to command most of the attention in the room.

Every time he moved his hand or reached for his water glass, I became painfully aware of him. My heartbeat would pick up without warning, and I would have to remind myself to breathe normally.

I kept my eyes fixed firmly on my porcelain plate, terrified that if I looked up, I'd catch him looking back— or worse, that Zara would notice the ridiculous crush I was fighting so hard to suppress.

Across from me sat Zara.

She looked entirely different from the disheveled mess who had screamed at me in the master suite barely two hours ago.

Her dark hair was slicked back into an immaculate, low bun, her makeup was flawless, and she wore a blood-red silk dress that fitted her figure perfectly. But beneath the refined exterior, the malice radiating from her was too prominent to ignore. She hated that I was sitting here. She hated that Vincent had invited me.

"So, Miss Lawson," Zara began, her voice so sweet that it instantly set my alarm bells ringing. She picked up her fork, lightly tapping it against her salad bowl. "My husband insists on treating you like an honored dinner guest rather than hired help. I do hope you don't get used to this level of... luxury."

I swallowed hard, forcing my shoulders to drop an inch. Just be polite, I told myself. Keep your head down, answer her questions, and survive until you can escape back to your room.

"I'm very grateful to Mr. Acosta for the invitation." I said quietly, keeping my voice gentle and even. "I'm just very eager to get started with Ethan tomorrow morning."

"Ethan, yes," Zara drawled, swirling the dark liquid in her wine glass. "My poor, delicate little boy. He's so sensitive, isn't he? It takes a very specific kind of person to handle him."

"I have a lot of experience working with quiet children," I offered, trying to manage a reassuring smile. "Sometimes they just need a little patience and space to feel comfortable."

"How noble." She purred. Then, her smile tightened, turning brittle around the edges. "Though I suppose patience is easy when you're being paid three times what you're actually worth."

The air in my lungs felt constrained, and for a moment I couldn’t think of anything to say. Beside me, I saw Vincent's hand pause over his plate, his strong fingers tightening around his knife.

"Zara." Vincent warned softly. "That's enough. I invited Miss Lawson here to discuss Ethan, not for you to interrogate her."

"What? I'm just making conversation with our new live-in help." Zara smiled innocently, leaning back in her chair. She picked up a thin folder resting beside her napkin— the official employee dossier Mrs. Pruitt must have handed her earlier on Vincent's orders.

My stomach dropped into a cold, bottomless pit as Zara flipped the cover open with one of her manicured nails.

My file.

My entire life reduced to paperwork. My background checks, my old addresses, my medical history... the darkest, most painful parts of my life that I kept buried deep under lock and key were sitting in that folder, printed on neat sheets of paper for someone else to read.

I suddenly wished I could reach across the table and take it from her.

"I was reading over your file while you were changing, Celeste." Zara said, her voice dropping the sweet act entirely, now replaced by a mocking edge. She scanned the pages, running a finger down the white sheet. "It really is quite a tragic story, isn't it? A car crash at twelve... lost both your mother and father in one night."

My throat tightened and the room seemed to tilt around me for a moment. I could see it again, the image of twisted metal and flashing red lights threatening to tear through my mind. No. Don't look at her. Don't let her see you cry.

"Zara, close the file." Vincent commanded, slamming his fork down.

Zara ignored him completely, her bloodshot eyes shining with sadistic glee as she stared straight across the table into my pale face.

"And what was her name again? Ophelia?" Zara continued softly, reading directly from the paper. "Your little sister. She died right beside you in the backseat, didn't she? Poor little thing."

A breath caught in my throat before I could stop it. It felt as if she had reached across the table and struck a knife right through me.

The room started to spin. My hands under the table began to shake uncontrollably as my nails dug into the skin of my palms so hard I thought they might bleed.

Not Ophelia. Anyone but Ophelia.

"I said close it!" Vincent growled, his chair scraping sharply against the floor as he stood up, his tall frame looming over the table almost like a dark cloud.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Vincent," Zara scoffed, though her eyes darted to him nervously for a split second before snapping back to me. She tossed the file onto the table like it was garbage. "I'm just trying to understand how someone with such an... unstable upbringing is qualified to raise my son. Shuffled between foster homes for ten years? Packing your life into plastic trash bags? No wonder your clothes look like they came out of a donation bin."

She looked down at my simple green sweater with open disgust.

Every single inch of my body was burning with shame. I was used to being looked down on— foster care teaches you very quickly that the world considers you disposable— but having the most painful trauma of my life laid out and mocked over an expensive dinner was a level of cruelty I wasn't prepared for.

I clamped my mouth shut, fighting with every ounce of strength I had to keep the tears burning behind my eyelids from spilling over. If I cried now, she’d win.

"Miss Lawson," Vincent said, his voice softer now as he looked down at me, though the muscle jumping in his jaw told me how angry he really was. "You don't have to sit here for this. Go to your room."

"No, stay." Zara commanded sharply.

Before I could even process what she had said, she reached for her wineglass. I thought she was going to take another drink but instead, she deliberately lifted the glass and tipped it toward me.

The cold liquid soaked instantly through my sweater, drenching my chest and pooling in my lap.

I flinched back with a small cry, pushing my chair out as the dark red liquid dripped onto my jeans.

"Oops," Zara said flatly, her eyes devoid of any actual surprise. "How clumsy of me. My hand slipped."

"Zara!" Vincent roared, stepping around the table so fast his shadow engulfed us both. He grabbed Zara by the arm, his grip so firm her glass clattered uselessly onto the table, but Zara didn't look at her husband. She didn't look scared of his anger at all.

Instead, while Vincent held her back, Zara leaned forward over the table, getting close enough that I could smell the sharp tang of the wine on her breath.

Her smirk was pure poison.

"You looked at him in the bedroom, didn't you?" She whispered, her eyes burning into mine with a possessiveness that made my skin prickle. "I saw it on both your faces. You think you're special, little orphan girl? Try it and see what happens to you."