Mind-Reading Nanny: The $50 Million Bribe from a Lycan Baby

For generations, the Knox family had only ever produced boys. Every single one. Until finally—a girl. A little princess. At long last. The patriarch couldn't contain himself. Right there at the one-month celebration, he made the announcement over the mic: "Effective immediately, Ivy is the primary beneficiary of the family trust. And the company. Everything goes to her." The words had barely left his mouth when a dull thump came from the direction of the crib. Dr. Harris, the family physician, knocked over a whole champagne tower sprinting over. He flipped open Ivy's eyelids. Pressed his stethoscope to her chest. Held it there. A few seconds crawled by. Then he looked up, pale as paper. "Respiratory failure." He staggered back half a step. "I can barely find a pulse. She might not... make it through the night." The chatter in the hall died instantly. A dozen pairs of eyes cut across the crowd and landed on me. I was the Knox family's new trainee nanny. Three days on the job. 20 minutes ago, I'd given Ivy her last bottle and carried her back to the hall. "What did you do to her?" The second heir was already crossing the room. He grabbed me by the collar and yanked me off the floor. I went up on my toes. My back slammed into a pillar, knocking the air out of me. "I just fed her the standard formula. The temperature and the amount—everyone watched me check—" "Shut up!" He let go. I hit the marble floor hard. Nearby, Vivian—the head secretary—pressed a handkerchief to her mouth. Eyes red, she walked up to the crib and leaned over. A wave of heavy sweetness rolled off her. Cloying. Sharp underneath. And then a voice exploded inside my skull. "You i***t, stop kneeling there!" The voice was tight, furious. "That woman's perfume is poison! I'm suffocating! Get me some fresh air!" I snapped my head up. The guests were murmuring. Sebastian's mother was trembling in his arms. No one else was talking. "What are you staring at? It's me!" The voice came again—weaker now, but even angrier. "Get me out of here! I'll give you 50 million!" I looked at the crib. Ivy—barely a month old—lay wrapped in lace. Her tiny face had turned blue. Her chest had gone completely still. 50 million. I dropped my gaze to Vivian, still dabbing at her tears by the crib. That sickly-sweet smell kept spreading. "Lock her in the basement." Sebastian's voice was icy. "Find out what she's touched." Two guards reached for my arms. I scrambled up off the floor, ducked under their hands, spun around a chair, and bolted for the crib. "Get out of my way!" I shoved Vivian aside before anyone could react, reached down, and grabbed Ivy—already lifeless—and pulled her tight against my chest.