BOUND TO HER LIGHT

The city of Havenbridge buzzed with its usual rhythm cars weaving through traffic, pedestrians rushing with purpose, the occasional street performer filling the air with the sound of a saxophone. For Isla Barlow, the city had always felt too big, too busy, too much. She stood at the bus stop, clutching her thin folder of documents like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her palms were clammy, her heart beating too fast for someone who had barely eaten all day. The interview. The nanny position at Duván Manor. It wasn’t just any job. It was the kind of position that could change things for her mother, for her brother in college, for the overdue rent notices piling on their kitchen table. Her shoes pinched cheap knock-offs bought from a clearance sale last year but she ignored the discomfort. She was used to discomfort. Checking her watch for the fifth time in two minutes, Isla sighed. The bus was late. It always was. She glanced down at her résumé, lips pressed together. The corners were already soft from her constant checking, the ink smudged in places where her nervous fingers had lingered too long. This job meant everything. She was so caught up in her thoughts she didn’t see him until it was too late. A man in a sleek, black wheelchair rolled out of the corner café toward the bus shelter. He moved with calm efficiency, his presence drawing subtle glances from passersby not because of the chair but because of him. Dark hair swept back, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, a charcoal-gray suit that looked like it cost more than Isla’s entire yearly rent. He radiated money, power… and something colder. Isla stepped back automatically to give him space, eyes dropping to the pavement like she always did when someone important-looking came near. But then fate decided to humiliate her. The heel of her cheap shoe caught on the uneven pavement. She stumbled forward, arms flailing.. And crashed straight into him. Not a soft, apologetic bump. A full-on collision that sent her folder flying, papers scattering across the pavement like white birds fleeing for their lives. “Oh my God! I’m so, so sorry!” Isla dropped to her knees, scrambling after the papers before the wind claimed them. The man stopped his chair, turning slowly toward her. He didn’t bend to help. He just watched, eyes like winter ice, as she scrambled at his feet, muttering apologies she wasn’t sure he even heard. Finally gathering the last paper, Isla stood, face hot, breath uneven. “Here,” she mumbled, clutching the papers to her chest like a shield. “I didn’t mean to.....” “Do you always throw yourself at strangers,” he said, voice smooth but laced with irritation, “or is today a special occasion?” Isla blinked. His voice was deep, expensive-sounding, with the kind of accent that made you feel the edges of every word. “I....I didn’t see you,” she stammered. “Clearly,” he said flatly. His dark eyes flicked over her messy hair, faded sweater, scuffed shoes and then dismissed her like she was a nuisance rather than a person. For some reason, that stung. He turned slightly toward the man in a crisp uniform standing by the car at the curb. “James. We’re late.” The driver nodded, opening the car door. Isla swallowed hard, clutching her pathetic folder. She should say something else. Maybe even apologize again. But his expression,hard, tired, impatient made her throat close up. He looked at her one last time, eyes lingering just long enough to make her shift uncomfortably under his gaze. And then he was gone. Into the car. No kindness. No help. Not even curiosity. Isla stood frozen, clutching the wet corners of her résumé. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. The black car disappeared into traffic, leaving only the echo of its tires and the faint smell of expensive cologne clinging to the air. She exhaled slowly, knees shaking. He was probably just another rich man. Rude, arrogant, untouchable. She didn’t know he was Gabriel Duván himself the man whose house she was about to walk into. The man who hadn’t smiled in three years. The man whose rules could break her before she even began.