The Billionaire's Nanny

Chapter 8

★NINA★

I woke up before my alarm rang, my eyes snapping open as though my body already knew what was expected of me. For a brief second, I lay still, listening. The house was silent except for the faint hum of electricity and the distant tick of a clock somewhere down the hall.

The digital clock on the bedside table glowed faintly in the dim room.

5:57 a.m.

I sat up immediately, pushing the covers aside. This wasn’t my house, and this wasn’t a place where I could afford to be careless. Malachi had trusted me with his child, his home, and his routine. That kind of trust wasn’t something I took lightly. I refused to give him even one reason to regret it.

I made my bed neatly, smoothing the sheets the way my mother had taught me years ago, pulling the corners tight until everything looked orderly. It was a small thing, but it grounded me. Control, even over something as simple as a bed, mattered.

Then I slipped into the bathroom and took a quick shower. The water was warm and steady, beating softly against my shoulders and washing away the last traces of sleep. For a few moments, I allowed myself to breathe, to exist without thinking about responsibilities or expectations. When I stepped out, I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and tied my hair into a simple low bun. I dressed in the usual maid uniform stacked in my wardrobe.

By the time I stepped downstairs, the house was still quiet. I grabbed the cleaning supplies from the storage room and started immediately, moving with purpose. I wiped down the living room surfaces, straightened the cushions until they were perfectly aligned, and swept the floor in slow, methodical strokes. I cleaned the dining area carefully, adjusting the chairs so they were evenly spaced.

In the kitchen, I washed yesterday’s pan, scrubbed the counter, and cleaned the stovetop until it shone. The faint smell of detergent lingered in the space.

When I was done, I checked the time again.

7:02 a.m.

Right on schedule.

I started breakfast right away. Toast browned in the toaster, eggs sizzling softly in the pan as I scrambled them just the way Lila liked—not too dry, not too runny. I sliced fruit carefully, arranging the pieces neatly on a plate. I warmed milk for Lila and brewed coffee for Malachi, hoping I remembered how strong he liked it. The aroma filled the kitchen, rich and comforting.

I set the table with care, placing Lila’s pink plate and silicone fork where she always sat. Even the smallest details mattered when it came to children. Routine made them feel safe.

Then I headed upstairs.

I knocked softly on Lila’s door. “Lila, sweetheart,” I called gently, keeping my voice light.

No answer.

I opened the door slowly and smiled when I saw her sprawled across the bed, one leg hanging off the side, her stuffed bunny clutched tightly to her chest. Her hair was a wild halo around her head, and she looked peaceful—unburdened by the weight of the world.

I walked closer and brushed her hair away from her face. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

She stirred, rubbing her eyes with small fists. “Nina…”

“Yes, baby. It’s Monday.”

She groaned dramatically, rolling onto her side. “I don’t like Mondays.”

“That makes two of us,” I chuckled softly.

I helped her out of bed and into the bathroom. She giggled as I bathed her, splashing water everywhere on purpose, clearly enjoying the mess she was making. I brushed her teeth while she made silly faces in the mirror, sticking her tongue out and laughing at herself.

Once she was dry, I dressed her in a pink tutu dress with tiny bows at the waist.

She spun in a circle proudly, holding the skirt out. “I’m pretty.”

“You’re beautiful,” I corrected softly, meeting her eyes.

We went downstairs, and I sat her at the dining table. “Stay here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“I promise,” she said seriously, gripping her fork like it was an oath.

My heart tightened a little. Children trusted so easily, so completely. It was both beautiful and terrifying.

I took a deep breath and climbed the stairs again, stopping in front of Malachi’s door. I adjusted my blouse nervously before knocking lightly.

“Mr. Malachi?” I called.

No response.

I hesitated, then knocked again and pushed the door open slightly. Then I froze.

Malachi stood near the bed, shirtless, his back muscles shifting as he reached for something on the dresser. For a split second, my mind went blank. My breath caught painfully in my throat.

He turned. Our eyes met.

“Oh!” I gasped, immediately turning around, staring hard at the wall as my face burned hot. “I’m so sorry!”

“Nina?” he said, clearly surprised.

“I—I came to tell you breakfast is ready,” I rushed out, words tumbling over themselves. “And Lila is awake.”

There was a pause. Then the sound of fabric being pulled on.

“You can turn around,” he said calmly.

I did, slowly. He had a shirt on now, though his hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends. I focused anywhere but his chest, suddenly very aware of how small the room felt.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered again.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I should’ve locked the door.”

We walked downstairs together in silence, the air between us thick with unspoken awkwardness.

Breakfast passed quietly. Lila talked nonstop, swinging her legs happily while eating, telling us about a dream she’d had that made no sense at all. Malachi listened patiently, responding when needed, occasionally smiling. I focused on my plate, my thoughts still scrambled, replaying the moment upstairs whether I wanted to or not.

After breakfast, Malachi stood. “I’ll be taking Lila to school.”

The day passed in a blur of grocery shopping and occasional cleanings, but my mind wandered constantly—to Lila’s laughter, to Malachi’s calm presence. I pushed the thoughts aside and focused.

When I returned later, a car was parked outside.

Inside, I heard Lila’s laughter—and another voice. Sharp. Cold.

The tutor, Cynthia, stood near the doorway, arms crossed.

“She’s late,” she said flatly when she saw me.

“I’m sorry,” I replied calmly. “There were a lot of—”

“I just don’t think distractions are good for Lila,” she interrupted.

Lila frowned. “Nina isn’t a distraction.”

Cynthia forced a smile, but her eyes were hard.

I understood then. Cynthia didn’t like me.