The Billionaire's Runaway Nurse

Knock knock. "Come in," I murmured, rubbing my temples, trying to will away the tension that had settled behind my eyes. I had just returned from my second job, desperate for a moment of peace, but even in this house, peace was always fleeting. Claire entered quietly. She was one of the maids, though it felt wrong to call her that—she wasn't my maid. None of them were allowed to assist me, courtesy of my father’s strict orders. I didn’t mind. I preferred doing things myself. It was one of the few things in life that I had complete control over. "Miss, Mr. Smith has asked to see you in his study," Claire said, her voice soft but formal, as always. A knot tightened in my stomach as I nodded, feeling the weight of what those words meant. Claire left as quietly as she had come, and I was left with the gnawing uncertainty that always accompanied any interaction with my father. Why would he want to see me now? It couldn't be good. We lived under the same roof, but we may as well have been strangers. I barely saw him, and when I did, it was never for anything pleasant. The only reason he hadn’t thrown me out was because he needed my paycheck. The so-called "rent and food" I was expected to contribute took almost every dollar I earned. My father had a way of making you feel like you owed him everything, though the truth was, he had given me nothing. I sighed and steeled myself. I couldn't delay; he'd get angry if I kept him waiting. As much as I despised him, his anger was something I had learned not to provoke. With a deep breath, I made my way downstairs to his study, the familiar unease crawling up my spine with every step. Before entering, I paused for a moment, trying to calm the rapid beating of my heart. My hand hovered over the doorknob. Then, with one final breath, I knocked lightly and pushed the door open. My father was seated in his armchair, the same one he’d always occupied, as if it were his throne. He smiled when he saw me, a broad, disarming grin that did nothing to soothe my nerves. "Ah, Mia," he said warmly, rising to his feet, his arms outstretched as if he were welcoming me into some long-awaited embrace. I froze. This wasn’t normal. The alarm bells in my mind grew louder, warning me that this was far from a friendly meeting. There was always something behind his smiles, some hidden agenda that only he could see. I stiffened as he enveloped me in a hug, holding my breath. "You seem tense," he said, pulling back, his eyes searching my face as if gauging my reaction. "You’re not happy to see your old man?" "I am happy, Dad," I lied, forcing a weak smile that I knew didn’t reach my eyes. "I’m just... surprised. We don’t usually do this." "Busy, you know how it is. But just because I’m earning a fortune doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about my daughter," he said, his grin never faltering. But something in his voice didn’t sit right. My father’s words were like a sugary veneer masking something sour. He wasn’t one to make time for me unless there was something he wanted. The memory of the last time he had called me into his study flashed through my mind—a time when I had dared to keep half of my paycheck. He hadn’t even yelled that day, just smiled calmly as I lay in a hospital bed afterward, recovering from "an accident" that had left me terrified of ever crossing him again. "You’re free now, yes?" His smile lingered, his tone deceptively light. I nodded, though my throat felt tight, and the word "yes" lodged itself somewhere between my heart and my mouth. "Good," he said, his eyes glinting with something I couldn’t quite place. He reached behind his desk and pulled out a shopping bag. "Here. I bought you a dress. I want you ready in half an hour. We’re going somewhere important tonight, and I need you to look your best." He pushed the bag into my hands, his grip firm and unrelenting. My fingers clenched around the handles as though they might steady me. "I... I don’t..." I began, but the words died on my lips when his eyes locked onto mine—cold, expectant, and with that ever-present smile. "Half an hour," he repeated, still smiling but with a finality that sent a chill down my spine. I left without another word, practically running back to my room. As soon as the door shut behind me, I collapsed onto my bed, the bag slipping from my hands. Tears came unbidden, hot and fast, spilling over as fear and helplessness overwhelmed me. Where was he taking me? What could he possibly want this time? I wiped my tears and stood up, shaky but determined. There was no escaping him. I knew that all too well. Even now, working two jobs, I couldn't break free. Not while my brother, Liam, still needed him to pay for university. He was my only reason for staying, my only reason for enduring this nightmare of a life. If it weren’t for him, I’d have run far away long ago. I quickly showered and changed into the dress he had bought—an elegant, expensive thing that felt foreign against my skin. It clung too tightly, as if it belonged to someone else, someone with a life far different from mine. When I descended the stairs, my father was waiting at the bottom, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Now that’s my girl. You look beautiful." I kept my head down, muttering a quiet "thank you," hoping to avoid his scrutinizing gaze. Compliments from him always felt more like traps than genuine praise. "You’re not excited?" he asked, his voice smooth but laced with an edge that made me flinch. "Not happy that your father is taking you out?" I forced myself to smile, though it felt like the muscles in my face were betraying me. "Of course, Dad. I’m happy." "Good. Let’s go, then," he said, and I followed him out to the car, my steps heavy with dread. As we drove, the silence in the car was suffocating. I kept my head down, watching the city lights blur past the window, my thoughts spinning in a thousand directions. What could he possibly want from me tonight? What was this important event he had mentioned so cryptically? After what felt like an eternity, the car slowed and came to a stop, but something felt off. This wasn’t a grand entrance to some glittering gala or a high-society event. No, it was something far more discreet. We had pulled up to a dark, unmarked building, the kind of place that didn’t want to be noticed. "Well? Are you waiting for someone to open your door?" my father’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, sharp and impatient. I scrambled out of the car, my pulse quickening as I followed him into the building. The air inside was thick with tension, as if the walls themselves were holding secrets I wasn’t meant to know. A tall man greeted us as soon as we entered. He was broad-shouldered, with an expression that sent a ripple of unease through me. "Mr. Smith," he said, shaking my father’s hand with a knowing smile. "We’ve been expecting you." "Good things take time," my father replied smoothly, his tone casual, though there was something unnervingly businesslike in the exchange. The man’s gaze flicked to me, assessing, calculating. "Is this her?" My father nodded, his grip on my arm tightening almost imperceptibly. "She’s the one." The man raised an eyebrow, disbelief evident in his eyes. "Are you sure? I mean, she’s... your daughter?" "Are you questioning me?" my father asked, his voice laced with a threat so subtle that only someone who knew him as well as I did would catch it. "No, of course not," the man said quickly, raising his hands as if to placate him. "It’s just... unexpected, that’s all." My father smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Good. Then we’re ready to proceed." Proceed? With what? My heart raced, a thousand questions swirling in my mind. What had I just been brought into? And more importantly, how was I going to survive it?