CHAPTER 2
696 Words
The gates of Duván Manor looked like they belonged in a movie.
Tall, black iron with intricate designs curling like ivy, they stretched so high Isla had to tilt her head back just to take in the full height. Two stone lions flanked the entrance, carved with such precision they seemed ready to leap down at trespassers.
The taxi that had reluctantly taken her this far rolled to a stop before the gate.
“This is it?” the driver asked, glancing back at her.
Isla nodded mutely, clutching her folder tighter. Her voice felt stuck somewhere between her chest and throat.
She paid him, stepped out, and the car disappeared down the road, leaving her in the shadow of the estate’s towering gates.
When the gates slowly swung open without anyone touching them Isla flinched.
An intercom crackled to life. “Miss Barlow?”
“Y-yes?” Her voice cracked like she was twelve again.
“Proceed to the front entrance. The housekeeper will meet you there.”
The long driveway leading to the mansion stretched like a scene from a fairy tale except this fairy tale felt cold, distant, like it hadn’t seen laughter in years.
The mansion itself rose at the end, all glass, stone, and sharp lines, the kind of house you didn’t just live in you ruled from it.
Isla walked up the driveway, her cheap shoes too loud on the polished stone steps.
The front doors opened before she could knock.
A woman in her fifties, posture straight as a ruler and hair pinned in a severe bun, looked her over with the precision of someone checking for dust on silverware.
“Miss Barlow,” she said. Not a question.
“Yes, ma’am,” Isla murmured.
“I am Mrs. Hills, the housekeeper. You will find the staff here efficient. Punctuality is expected. Discretion is law. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Hills turned on her heel, expecting Isla to follow. Inside, the mansion was… breathtaking. High ceilings. A grand staircase. Marble floors so polished Isla saw her reflection in them.
And yet, it didn’t feel warm.
It felt… haunted.
“This way,” Mrs. Hills said, leading her into a large room with tall windows and shelves lined with books.
It was there Isla froze.
Because seated behind a massive oak desk, dark eyes cutting toward her like knives, was him.
The man from the street.
Gabriel Duván.
He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even blink.
Just looked at her like he was remembering every humiliating second of her clumsy crash into him.
Mrs. Hills cleared her throat. “Sir, this is Miss Isla Barlow. She’s here for the nanny position.”
Silence stretched.
Finally, Gabriel spoke, his voice low, rough, and cutting through the air like a blade.
“Rules.”
Isla blinked. “S-sir?”
He leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. “Mrs. Hills, read her the rules.”
The housekeeper pulled a folded sheet from the desk and began.
“One: No guests without permission.
Two: The children’s schedule is law,no exceptions.
Three: Personal life stays outside these gates.
Four: This house requires discretion. What happens here stays here.”
Each rule fell like a hammer.
Isla nodded mutely at every one.
Gabriel’s eyes never left her.
“Five,” he said finally, voice like gravel. “Don’t quit without notice. My children have seen enough people walk out on them.”
That one cut through the air differently. He didn’t blink when he said it.
Isla swallowed hard, nodding.
Mrs. Hills cleared her throat again. “You may start tomorrow, Miss Barlow. The children will meet you then.”
The interview was over as abruptly as it had begun.
But as Isla turned to leave, Gabriel’s voice stopped her.
“Miss Barlow.”
She turned, pulse skipping.
His gaze held hers, cold and sharp. “Try not to trip over me again.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks as Mrs. Hills opened the door.
Outside the room, Isla exhaled shakily, her entire body buzzing like she’d just walked out of a lion’s den.
And tomorrow… she had to come back.
- Writer
