The day or Anna's resumption came quickly. She needed the job but the nervous pit in her stomach at the hostility of the environment hardly dissipated as she moved her things.
If arriving for the interview had been intimidating, moving in felt like stepping into enemy territory.
Anna stood outside the black iron gates, suitcase in hand, dressed in her most "friendly but professional" outfit—jeans, soft sweater, and a practical ponytail she'd re-tied three times since getting off the train. She adjusted the strap of her bag and exhaled slowly, watching her breath fog in the April air.
The gates opened on their own with a mechanical hum, and she rolled her suitcase up the long, stone-paved driveway alone.
It was barely noon, but the sky was overcast—gray swallowing gray, the clouds hanging low enough to press against her mood. The house ahead didn't just look cold; it looked like it preferred being alone. Like it had made a conscious choice to be uninviting.
There were no wind chimes. No welcome mat. Just towering stone, shuttered windows, and silence.
The door opened just as she reached it, revealing the same sharp-faced woman from before.
"Miss Rivera," she said. Not quite a greeting. Just a confirmation of identity. "You're early."
"Better than late," Anna replied with a polite smile.
The woman didn't return it.
"I'm Lora, Mr. Frost's personal assistant. I handle scheduling, staff communication, and household protocols. If you need something, you come through me."
Anna nodded. "Understood."
Translation: Don't go near Zane Frost unless summoned like a ghost.
Well that wasn't going to work. Anna thought.
Lora stepped aside. "Follow me. We've already prepared your quarters."
Anna crossed the threshold, pulling her suitcase behind her. The click of her wheels echoed on the black marble floor.
No warmth greeted her. No scent of cooking. No cozy throw blankets or family photos. Just sterile silence and gleaming surfaces.
They passed through the wide foyer, past a grand staircase that curved like a question mark. Still no sign of Isla.
"I'll be with her as of today?" Anna asked.
"You'll be on a probationary schedule. Full-time, live-in. One month, unless Mr. Frost extends."
"And Isla?"
"She's upstairs. She's had lunch. Mr. Frost prefers minimal disruption to her routine, especially when adjusting to new staff."
Anna frowned. "You say 'staff,' but I'm here to care for her, not just supervise her."
Lora didn't blink. "Call it what you want, Miss Rivera. Just don't call it personal."
Noted.
They climbed to the third floor. The hallway here was narrower, quieter. Less sterile, but still untouched. Lora opened a door at the end of the wing.
"This is your suite," she said. "Next door is Isla's room. You'll handle all her daily needs—meals, transportation, dressing, and supervised reading. Mr. Frost will communicate through me when necessary."
Anna stepped inside. The room was… beautiful. Muted ivory tones, tall windows, soft lighting. A writing desk, a small sofa, a full bed made with tight corners and hospital precision. There was even a reading nook tucked into the bay window. It should have felt peaceful.
But it felt like a suite in a high-end psychiatric ward—calm, neutral, sanitized.
"What about the kitchen?"
"You'll have access during set staff hours. You'll receive a weekly grocery budget for Isla's meals. Staff meals are prepared separately unless Mr. Frost allows otherwise."
Anna bit the inside of her cheek. "Of course."
Lora's expression softened just a fraction. "It's nothing personal. Mr. Frost is private. He prefers things… controlled."
"I've noticed," Anna said dryly.
That got the closest thing to a smile. A flicker at the corner of Lora's mouth. "You're not the first to try, Miss Rivera. But you might be the first to last. We'll see."
She handed Anna a sleek black binder.
"Schedule. Emergency protocols. Medical information. Isla's therapy history is limited, but what we have is in there. And your login credentials for the household app. Mr. Frost tracks punctuality and compliance closely."
Of course he does.
Lora left without another word.
Anna dropped her bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. The silence wrapped around her like static. She'd lived in strangers' homes before—nanny jobs, live-ins, crisis care—but this was something else.
This wasn't a family needing help.
This was a fortress hiring a caretaker for its only crack
_
Anna spent the next hour unpacking. She folded her clothes neatly, and then she made a mental note to add a splash of color to the room—maybe a plant, if they were allowed those. She peeked into Isla's room from the hallway, but the door was closed. No sounds inside.
She explored quietly, learning the layout: a silent kitchen with a stone island bigger than her old studio apartment; a library with high shelves, heavy chairs, and a full children's section—clearly curated by someone with money but not connection; and a classroom-style space with a whiteboard and a schedule taped to the wall in clean, typed font.
Everywhere she went, she felt eyes. Security cameras, motion sensors, polished surfaces that reflected her face.
He doesn't miss a thing, she thought.
Then, finally—soft footsteps. Small ones.
She stepped into the hallway and saw her.
Isla.
Still in pajamas. Bunny in hand. Cheeks pink from nap or nerves, Anna couldn't tell.
Anna knelt. "Hi, Isla."
The girl didn't respond but didn't walk away either.
"I was hoping I'd see you today," Anna said gently. "I wanted to ask—do you like blueberry muffins?"
Isla's fingers tightened around Clover. A tiny shrug.
Anna smiled. "Okay, we'll keep it a mystery then."
Isla blinked. Then—maybe—a twitch at the corner of her mouth.
Progress.
Then a new sound. Footsteps. Heavier. Slower.
Zane.
He came into view like a change in temperature. White shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearms, tie loose. No jacket. Still looked like a man built from rules and restraint.
His gaze fell on Isla, then shifted to Anna.
"She's not scheduled to be out of her room until after her quiet time," he said. Calm. Cold.
"She came out on her own," Anna replied. "I wasn't about to send her back like a prisoner."
Zane's jaw ticked. "Miss Rivera, I sent you the schedule an hour ago."
"I haven't had a chance to check it yet. I was unpacking. Reading through the binder. Learning your very detailed rulebook."
Silence.
He stared at her. She stared back.
Isla took a slow step backward.
Zane's eyes flicked to his daughter. "Isla. Room."
The little girl turned and padded back into her room without a sound.
Anna crossed her arms. "She didn't speak. She didn't touch anything. She just… existed."
"She needs structure," he said. "Not friendly exceptions."
"She needs safety," Anna said, voice low. "Not just systems."
Something shifted in his expression. Not anger. Something else. Something more dangerous.
"Let me be clear," he said. "You are here to maintain her stability. I do not want experiments. I do not want breakthroughs. I want consistency."
"And if consistency keeps her mute and scared?" Anna asked. "You're okay with that?"
His face stayed neutral, but his eyes were knives.
"This conversation is over."
He turned and walked away, leaving her standing there.
Anna exhaled through her nose, jaw tight.
Okay, she told herself. Let him stay ice. Let him be stone. I'll be the damn fire.
Let's see who melts first.