Chapter 3 No.3

Nora POV

I didn't sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those piercing green eyes in the shadows. I felt the phantom heat of his breath against my skin and heard the mocking drawl of his voice. The storm had finally died down around four in the morning, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating silence. I had spent the rest of the night sitting upright in bed, my back pressed against the headboard, listening to every creak and groan of the old house.

When the first pale rays of dawn crept through the curtains, I finally allowed myself to breathe.

I got up, my muscles aching from tension, and dressed in a simple pair of dark jeans and a crisp white blouse. I pulled my damp hair back into a tight ponytail and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, the shadows under my eyes dark.

He's just a boy, I told myself. A spoiled, drunk, arrogant boy. You are a professional. You are here for your mother. You will not let him break you.

I walked down the corridor toward the kitchen, the smell of coffee and bacon pulling me forward. Abigail was already at the stove, moving with the brisk efficiency of a woman who had been awake for hours. She glanced at me as I entered, her grey eyes sweeping over my tired face.

"You didn't sleep," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Not much," I admitted, sliding onto one of the high stools at the kitchen island.

Abigail poured me a cup of black coffee and set it down in front of me. "I'm sorry, dear. I should have warned you more clearly. When he drinks, he becomes... unpredictable."

"I can handle the unpredictable," I said, wrapping my hands around the warm mug.

The kitchen door swung open.

Jace strolled in, looking completely unaffected by the previous night's events. He was dressed in a simple black T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders and grey sweatpants. His dark hair was messy, his jaw shadowed with stubble. He looked infuriatingly handsome.

He didn't look at me. He walked straight to the coffee machine, poured himself a cup, and leaned against the counter. He took a slow, deliberate sip, his eyes fixed on the garden outside the window.

The silence was thick, heavy with the memory of the night before. Abigail busied herself with the bacon, clearly trying to stay out of the crossfire.

I decided to take control. I was the caretaker. I was in charge.

"Your parents left a schedule for you," I said, my voice steady. I pulled a folded piece of paper from my pocket-the list Mr. Harrington had given me. "You have online meetings with the family business every Tuesday and Thursday at ten. You are expected to attend. You are also not to leave the grounds. Your curfew is midnight."

Jace didn't turn around. He took another sip of his coffee.

"And?" he said, his voice flat.

"And I expect you to follow these rules," I said. "I'm not here to be your enemy, Jace. I'm just here to do my job."

He finally turned. He looked at me, his eyes cold and unreadable. Then, he laughed. It was a short, harsh, humorless sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"My job," he repeated slowly. He set his mug down on the counter and walked toward me. He stopped on the other side of the island, his hands resting flat on the marble. "You think you're the first one they hired? The first babysitter?"

I didn't answer.

"They sent three before you," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. "The first one lasted a week. The second one lasted three days. The third one... well, she didn't even make it through the night. She was crying in her car by dawn, begging the agency to transfer her."

"I'm not them," I said, meeting his gaze without flinching.

"No," he said, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "You're different. I can see it. You're the stubborn type. The type who thinks she can fix the broken boy with a little kindness and a few rules." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But let me tell you a secret, Nora. There is no fixing me. And I will make your life a living hell until you pack your bags and run."

"I'm not running," I said. "I signed a contract. I'm here for three months."

"Then you're even stupider than you look," he said, leaning back.

He picked up his coffee mug and walked toward the kitchen door. He paused, looking over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Nora?" he added, his voice dripping with mock politeness. "I wouldn't get too comfortable in that room of yours. It gets drafty at night. I'd hate for you to catch a cold."

He walked out, leaving the door swinging shut behind him.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My heart was pounding.

Abigail let out a heavy sigh. "That went better than I expected."

"Better?" I said, incredulous. "He just threatened me."

"He didn't threaten you," Abigail said, flipping the bacon. "He warned you. There's a difference. He's testing your limits. He wants to see if you'll break."

"I'm not going to break," I said, my jaw tightening.

I spent the rest of the morning trying to figure out my next move. I couldn't just sit around and wait for him to make the next move. I had to establish my authority. I had to make it clear that I was not going to be intimidated.

That afternoon, I decided to explore the estate. The house was a maze of corridors and empty rooms. I found the library-a vast, two-story room lined with books that smelled of dust and old leather. I found the indoor pool, the gym, the conservatory filled with dying plants.

It was all beautiful, but it was all so cold.

I ended up in the west wing, where Jace's room was located. The door was closed. I paused, my hand hovering over the handle. I shouldn't go in. I had no reason to. But something pulled me forward.

I knocked. No answer.

I pushed the door open.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn. Clothes were scattered on the floor. Empty bottles of whiskey lined the dresser. It looked like a war zone.

And in the middle of the chaos, Jace was sitting on the floor, his back against the bed, staring at the wall. He was holding a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

He didn't look up when I entered.

"Get out," he said, his voice hoarse.

"No," I said. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. "This is unacceptable. You can't live like this."

"This is my room," he said, finally looking up. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale. "I can live however I want."

"Your parents hired me to manage this estate," I said, my voice firm. "That includes ensuring you don't live in a pigsty. Now, get up. We're cleaning this."

He stared at me for a long moment. I could see the anger flaring in his eyes, the tension in his jaw. He gripped the whiskey bottle tighter.

"You don't get to tell me what to do," he said, his voice shaking with rage. "You're just the help."

"And you're just a spoiled brat," I shot back, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them.

The room went dead silent. Jace's eyes widened, and then a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. He slowly pushed himself up off the floor, the whiskey bottle dangling from his fingers.

"A spoiled brat," he repeated, his voice deadly quiet. He walked toward me, his movements slow and deliberate. "Is that what you think I am?"

I stood my ground, even as my heart hammered against my ribs. "I think you're a coward. You hide behind your money and your alcohol and your cruel words. You push people away because you're terrified of anyone getting close."

He stopped inches from me, his eyes blazing. He raised the whiskey bottle, and for a terrifying second, I thought he was going to throw it at me.

Instead, he laughed. It was a deep, genuine laugh that seemed to catch him off guard.

"You've got guts, Nora," he said, shaking his head. "I'll give you that."

He turned away and threw the whiskey bottle into the trash can.

"I'll clean this up," he said, his voice lighter now. "But don't expect me to be your friend. I don't make friends."

"I don't want a friend," I said. "I want a cooperative client."

He smirked, a flicker of the arrogant boy returning. "Good luck with that."

He walked toward his dresser and started gathering the empty bottles. I turned to leave, feeling a strange, unexpected sense of victory.

But as I reached for the door, he spoke again.

"Hey, Nora?"

I paused, looking over my shoulder.

"You should check your room," he said, his back to me. "I told you it gets drafty at night."

I didn't understand what he meant. I walked back to my room, the strange warning echoing in my head.

I pushed open the door.

The room was freezing. The window was wide open, the curtains blowing wildly in the wind. And on the floor, in the middle of the room, was a small, crumpled piece of paper.

I picked it up. It was a note, written in a sharp, messy scrawl.

"Three months is a long time, Nora. A lot can happen. Watch your back."

My blood ran cold.

I looked at the open window. The latch had been broken. I looked at the note again, the words burning into my brain.

I had survived the first day. But as I stared at the broken window and the threatening note, I realized the war was only just beginning.

And I wasn't sure if I was going to win.