Chapter 3 - The Broken Rule
The following Thursday afternoon, Marcus sat in an executive board meeting on the forty-fifth floor of Delgado Tower, reviewing quarterly financial projections. But his mind wasn't on multi-million-dollar tech acquisitions or global market shares. His thumb repeatedly tapped the corner of his smartphone screen, where the encrypted surveillance application ran in the background.
For the past four days, he had watched Pia through the hidden lenses. He had watched her teach Ben how to paint with watercolors—violating the rule against messy creative projects. He had watched her bake oatmeal cookies with him—violating the no-sugar policy. And worst of all, he had watched his son laugh out loud twice during a game of indoor hide-and-seek.
Every violation stoked a cold ember of resentment in Marcus's chest, mingling bizarrely with a desperate, agonizing envy.
"Mr. Delgado? Do you concur with the expansion strategy?" the chief financial officer asked, breaking Marcus from his thoughts.
Marcus blinked, pulling his focus back to the mahogany boardroom. "Yes. Proceed with the European acquisitions. Meeting adjourned."
He didn't wait for responses. He grabbed his tailored suit jacket, strode out of the boardroom, and took the private express elevator straight down to the subterranean parking garage. Sliding into his black Mercedes sedan, he ordered his driver to take him home immediately—two hours earlier than his usual departure time.
As the car navigated the upscale suburban streets of Vlysse, Marcus pulled up the live camera feed on his phone.
The screen displayed the backyard patio. It was 3:45 PM.
Pia was sitting on the wooden deck bench. Ben was standing in front of her, holding a small plastic watering can, pouring water directly over a row of potted marigolds they had apparently planted together.
Marcus frowned deeply. Gardening? That certainly wasn't on the structured academic curriculum he had printed out for her.
He watched as Ben accidentally tipped the can too fast, splashing muddy water all over the clean white sneakers Pia was wearing.
Marcus braced himself, waiting for the inevitable reprimand. In his experience, nannies hired by wealthy families had zero tolerance for ruined wardrobe items. He waited for the sharp voice, the scolding, the cold withdrawal of affection.
Instead, on the screen, Pia burst into sudden, musical laughter.
Ben looked up in panic, his bottom lip trembling slightly, expecting punishment. "I... I'm sorry, Pia. I made a mess."
Pia didn't scold him. Instead, she reached down, dipped her fingers into a puddle of muddy water on the patio floor, and playfully flicked a tiny drop of mud right onto the tip of Ben’s nose.
Ben gasped, his eyes going wide with shock, before a bubble of unrestrained giggles burst from his chest—a bright, ringing laugh that Marcus hadn't heard echo across this property since Victoria passed away.
"Oh, so it's war, is it, General Ben?" Pia teased gently, wiping her sneaker with a paper towel.
"War!" Ben squealed, clapping his hands together and splashing more water toward her.
Marcus felt the breath leave his lungs. He stared at his phone screen in absolute bewilderment. She wasn't just breaking his rules; she was systematically dismantling the ironclad emotional walls he had painstakingly built around his son. She was teaching him how to play, how to laugh, and how to be a normal three-year-old boy again.
And it terrified him.
When the Mercedes finally pulled through the wrought-iron gates of the estate and parked in the circular driveway, Marcus stepped out with heavy, purposeful strides. He didn't enter through the front foyer; instead, he walked around the side of the mansion toward the backyard patio.
Hearing footsteps on the wooden decking, Pia looked up. The playful smile vanished from her face, replaced instantly by calm, professional composure.
"Mr. Delgado. You're home early," she said, standing up and brushing a speck of dirt off her jeans.
Ben stopped playing with the watering can, his small shoulders tensing up as he looked back and forth between his father’s cold expression and the muddy shoes on Pia’s feet. The bright, joyful energy in the air evaporated in a single second, replaced by the familiar, suffocating tension that defined this household.
Marcus walked over, stopping two feet away from Pia. His gaze dropped to her ruined white sneakers, then flicked up to meet her steady, unblinking eyes.
"I see my rules are merely suggestions to you, Ms. McKenzie," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, clipped register.
Pia didn't flinch. She held her ground. "Which rule specifically are you referring to, Mr. Delgado?"
"Let's see," Marcus ticked off on his fingers, his anger flaring hotter by the second. "No unstructured outdoor play during learning hours. No tracking mud across the property. And a total absence of professional boundaries."
"Dad..." Ben’s small, timid voice piped up from behind Pia’s legs. The boy wrapped his tiny fingers around the fabric of her jeans, hiding half his face. "It was my fault. I spilled the water. Don't be mad at Pia."
Hearing his son defend the nanny over him felt like a physical knife wound to Marcus's ego. A dark, ugly surge of jealousy twisted inside him.
"Go to your room, Ben," Marcus ordered sharply, pointing toward the sliding glass patio doors. "Now."
Ben’s eyes filled with sudden, terrified tears—the first time Marcus had seen him cry in months. The boy didn't argue; he turned around and ran inside toward the house, his little footsteps echoing hollowly against the kitchen floor.
Once the glass door clicked shut, Marcus turned his full, unbridled fury onto Pia.
"You were hired to educate and discipline him, not to turn him into an undisciplined, emotional wreck who talks back to his father," Marcus hissed, stepping closer. "You are crossing lines you have no business crossing."
Pia looked at him, not with fear, but with a profound, stinging pity that infuriated Marcus even more.
"I am teaching him how to be a child, Mr. Delgado," Pia said quietly, her voice steady as a rock. "Something you forgot how to let him do the day his mother died. You're not raising a son here, Mr. Delgado. You're building a prisoner in a glass cage."
Marcus’s face flushed dark red. The raw truth of her words hit too close to home, exposing the very insecurities he fought every day to suppress. "You cross the line again, and you'll find yourself out on the street within five seconds. Am I understood?"
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Pia stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. Then, she reached into her backpack resting on the bench, pulled out her jacket, and slung it over her shoulder.
"You don't need to fire me, Mr. Delgado," Pia said evenly, walking past him toward the front gates. "I resign. Find yourself nanny number fourteen. Good luck finding someone willing to love a child whose own father is too cowardly to try."
