THE HEIR I WAS MEANT TO HATE

03: Meet The Nanny

*FABIOLA*

I feel my face heating up behind these thick glasses.

Before I can even process the depth of the insult, Claudia laughs nervously.

“She was only joking, Miss Ava.” She shoots the girl a sharp look. “Isabella, tell her you were joking.”

“I’m not. You’re very ugly and you dress like a clown.”

“Isabella!”

The kid sticks her tongue out at me before dashing out of the room, kicking my luggage by the door as she goes.

“Oh goodness! Forgive her, Miss Ava. She’s… a difficult child.”

“It’s alright…” I lie. Even as I say it, a sharp, phantom pain twists in my lower abdomen—right where the scars are hidden. Faith would have been the same age as that kid.

Once alone, I bolt the door with shaking hands and send a quick text to Courtney confirming my situation. Her reply comes instantly.

Courtney: What? Did they recognize you? I told you that wig wouldn’t hold up in person! OMG, you’re not cut out for this! Please leave there immediately!

I roll my eyes.

Fabiola: No. I’m in the wrong house. I’m at the estate of ‘Maximus II.’ He’s the son—the hidden heir.

It takes her a full minute to reply. When the bubbles finally appear, my heart stops.

Courtney: WHAT? That doesn’t make any sense, Fab. But I think he could also be part of the corruption case Alex was trying to expose, if he had been kept hidden.

My blood turns to ice. It’s only logical that he was hidden—and hidden well—from the public eye, probably to run their illegal business.

Oh, Alex… why did you get yourself involved with these people?

A knock sounds on the door. I take a deep breath, smoothing my wig, and open it to see Claudia again.

“Miss Ava? I’m sorry to disturb you again so soon.”

“Is something wrong?”

“The Master is here.” Claudia leans in, glancing down the hall. “He’s in his study and he’s requesting your presence immediately.”

“Now?” I choke out. “But I haven’t even unpacked.”

“Right now, child. And fix your glasses.”

I ignore the shakiness in my legs as I follow Claudia up the sweeping marble staircase to meet this criminal heir.

Claudia stops before a pair of heavy oak doors. She doesn’t knock; she pushes them open, ushering me in.

I’m not surprised by the vast space. It fits an entire library inside a study. High glass windows cast Las Vegas lights across the carpeted floor. It’s disgusting. People are starving out there.

At the far end of the room, a man sits in a high-backed leather chair, silhouetted against the light with Isabella perched on his lap. I can see the brat’s pale legs swinging rhythmically over his knees.

“She’s got bug eyes, Daddy! Like a big fly staring at me—I don’t want a buggy nanny!” the child whines.

The man hums something in response, not looking up from his daughter.

On cue, Claudia casts one last reassuring glance over her shoulder before calling the brat along with her.

I watch the brat wiggle down from her father’s thighs, glare at me, and run out of the room like I stole her favorite candy.

Then I hear it.

A deep, familiar baritone voice from behind me.

“Don’t you feel hot in that jacket, Miss Vance?”

I whip my gaze from the door and freeze.

Silver-gray eyes.

“You alright, Miss Vance?”

No. No, I’m not. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I’m lost in a blur of rain, rusted metal, and the scent of cigarettes.

He stands up suddenly, his frame so wide it blocks the light pouring from the window, worry etched on his face. “Are you alright?”

“What—I—” I suck in a breath as he rounds the desk, closing the distance in four long strides.

I’m struck by how pale his hand is when it closes around my arm. The contrast makes my stomach turn.

“Your hand…”

I flinch, looking down to see I’d balled my fists so tight blood is beginning to trail down my skin.

Shit.

“Do you have a habit of inflicting injuries on yourself?”

The question sends a jolt through me. Does he remember?

It was dim on the bridge, but I’d seen his face in the strobe light of the lightning.

I jerk my hands back. “No, it’s… just a scratch. I’m fine.”

He c***s his head, silver-gray eyes narrowing. “That doesn’t look like just a scratch. But if you insist. Have a seat, will you?”

I sink into the chair, my heart beating a frantic rhythm. I watch him walk back around the desk, his black sleeveless shirt plastered against his muscled chest, his baggy pants hanging extremely low on his waist.

He doesn’t look like an Alfred. He looks too… angelic. Too… innocent… And he doesn’t have the family’s signature blond hair. His is black as sin.

I watch from underneath my lashes as he sticks a cigar in his mouth, going about his business.

He doesn’t recognize me.

He pauses, the flame hovering.

“Does the smoke bother you, Miss Vance?”

“No,” I manage to whisper. “Not at all.”

“Good.” He exhales a slow plume. “I must say, you look nothing like your picture.”

“W-what?”

“Well, for one, I was expecting plain. My daughter said you looked… like a clown. No offense, but you look far from plain to me.”

“Um… thank you?”

“Well…” He drops his gaze to my chest without shame. “You’ll do.”

I’ll do. Seriously? These Alfreds really think they’re above everyone.

“If I may ask, with all due respect, sir, why am I here? I applied for a position on the household staff at the Maximus I estate.”

He gives me a look that suggests I’m insane. “Why would you want to work for my father? Is this some weird kink?”

“Pardon?”

He sighs, leaning back. “You have a background in child development.”

“I do?”

He quirks a brow.

Shit. What did Courtney put on that bloody résumé?

I clear my throat, adjusting my glasses. “Yes, of course I do. But—”

“So isn’t it reasonable you work for me?” He leans forward, the light from the desk lamp catching the sharp line of his jaw. “With a qualification like that, it would be a shame for you to work as a mere house cleaner.”

“I—”

“My brother also spoke highly of your other… skills,” he interrupts smoothly.

My lungs seize. Brother?

I scramble through my memory, reciting the names of the three known Alfred sons. Malakai, the oldest of the three, currently in Massachusetts. Chad, the playboy whose pants are never fully up his arse in media photos. Herald, the recluse. Which one of those bastards am I—Ava Vance—supposed to know?

And what bloody skills is he talking about?

“Ahh… your brother…” I stall. “He’s a very… memorable man.”

Maximus doesn’t blink. He just watches the heat rise up my neck.

“Memorable… Hmm… I see.”

What do you really see?

Just then, he slides something across the mahogany.

It’s a check.

“What’s this for?” I don’t touch the paper. I just stare at it like it’s a coiled snake. It probably is.

“I want you to reconsider your application.”

He rounds the desk and comes to sit in front of me on the tabletop. The movement is so sudden I barely have time to back away.

What is it with this man and people’s personal space?

“I’m a very busy man, Miss Vance,” he says, stubbing out his cigar. “I need an ally here when I’m away. My daughter is surrounded by sycophants who cater to her every whim. She doesn’t need a servant. She needs discipline. And looking at your résumé… you seem like a woman who understands discipline.”

Courtney’s words come blasting into my head. This is where I need to be. The man who saved me from that near fall is not a hero. Anyone would have done the same.

The only problem I have now is the brother who allegedly knows Ava Vance. If he’s acquainted with her, surely he’ll know I’m not the real person if he sees me. But if I can get the documents I need quickly, I can leave faster.

I blink up at him to find his eyes on mine. Waiting for my response.

“Okay… I accept your offer, Mr. Maximus. But the… charit— the money isn’t needed. I’ll earn my keep.”

I push the check back across the mahogany, my eyes locked on his amused ones. I just hope I’m not making the wrong decision.

“Is this you playing hard to get, or… are you just a very generous professional woman?”

“I don’t underst—”

“It’s okay.” He doesn’t reach for the check. Instead, his eyes flicker toward the doorway for a fraction of a second, jaw clenching.

Then he stretches a leg into my personal space, his knee brushing mine.

Before I can recoil, he reaches out, takes my injured hand, and presses his lips to the bloody crescent marks on my palm. It’s a slow, intimate kiss that makes me want to shudder with revulsion.

No man has ever touched me like this. For it to be an Alfred is more than just a betrayal; it’s an insult to the soul of my beloved husband.

I flinch, the instinct to slap my new employer’s pale face getting stronger.

But suddenly, footsteps sound from behind, followed by a high-pitched, feminine voice.

“Maximus! Bella is throwing a tantrum about some new nanny who looks like a bug-eyed freak in glasses. Don’t tell me you hired—what… what the hell is this?”

I try to wrench my hand away, but Maximus’s grip is a silk-covered vise. He doesn’t let me turn; his silver-gray eyes remain locked on mine, heavy with a challenge I don’t understand.

“Miss Vance, I want you to meet my wife, Francisca,” he says, his voice so intense it stirs something in me.

Something I’m not proud of.

He finally lets go, but the heat of his lips still burns my palm. “Francisca, meet Ava Vance, the nanny… and my mistress. Hope you don’t mind.”