Chapter 2 - First Blood and Broken Rules
The marble whistled through the air, missing Nia’s ear by less than two inches before smashing into an antique porcelain vase on the entryway table. The vase shattered into a hundred glittering pieces across the marble floor.
The security guard near the door reached for his holster out of instinct. Nia held up a single hand, stopping him dead in his tracks.
She didn't scream. She didn't gasp. She didn't look at the broken porcelain. Instead, she kept her eyes locked directly on Caleb, who was already reloading his slingshot with a look of stunned surprise.
“Poor aim,” Nia called up casually, taking her first step up the stairs. “If you’re going to attack an intruder, Caleb, you should always account for velocity and wind resistance indoors.”
The four boys shrank back slightly as she reached the top of the landing. Up close, their clothes were disheveled, their hair unbrushed, and their eyes filled with a defensive, feral energy. They looked like four little wild animals waiting for the whip to fall.
“Who told you my name?” Caleb demanded, backing up against his brothers.
“Your father,” Nia said, setting her suitcase down. “He also told me you launched a model airplane into a woman’s face. Honestly, I expected better craftmanship from a nine-year-old.”
“You’re supposed to yell at us!” seven-year-old Noah piped up, his hands still holding the bucket of ice water. “The last lady yelled and called us monsters!”
“I don't waste breath yelling,” Nia said smoothly. She reached out, took the heavy bucket from Noah’s trembling arms, and set it calmly on a side table. “And you’re not monsters. You’re just bored, filthy, and entirely out of practice with basic manners.”
Evan stepped forward, putting himself between Nia and his younger brothers. His jaw was set in a hard line that mirrored his father’s terrifying resolve. “We don't want you here. We don't need a nanny. We don't need anyone.”
“I’m not here to be your mother, Evan,” Nia said softly, her voice dropping into a tone of absolute truth that made all four boys go quiet. “I’m here because it’s my job. But while I am here, this house stops being a battleground. Go to your rooms, wash your hands, and meet me in the kitchen in twenty minutes.”
“And if we don't?” Evan sneered.
“Then you don't eat dinner,” Nia replied without hesitation. “And trust me, I am a fantastic cook, but I only cook for people who respect the kitchen.”
She turned her back on them—a huge psychological risk with four unruly boys—and walked down the hall toward her assigned bedroom. Behind her, she heard Caleb whisper, “Is she crazy?”
“She’s bluffing,” Evan muttered back. “We’ll make her quit before bedtime.”
Twenty minutes later, Nia walked into the massive, commercial-grade kitchen. It was spotless, stainless steel, and utterly devoid of warmth. The estate’s private chef looked up in surprise as Nia tied an apron around her waist and began pulling fresh vegetables, chicken, and herbs from the walk-in refrigerator.
“Miss Carter,” the chef warned softly. “Mr. Vale prefers the boys to eat in the formal dining room at six.”
“Mr. Vale isn't eating with them,” Nia said, slicing garlic with practiced speed. “Tonight, we eat in the kitchen. And we eat together.”
By six-fifteen, the aroma of garlic-butter roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and roasted carrots filled the cold stone house. The smell drifted up the grand staircase and down the long hallways.
At six-twenty, six-year-old Luke appeared in the kitchen doorway, sniffing the air like a hungry pup. He was still sucking his thumb, his small face smeared with dirt.
Nia didn't turn around from the stove. “Wash your hands at the sink, Luke. Plates are in the lower cabinet.”
Luke hesitated, looking back toward his brothers who were lurking in the hallway shadow. But hunger proved stronger than rebellion. He walked quietly to the sink, dragged a stepstool over, washed his hands, and pulled a plate from the cabinet.
One by one, lured by the scent of warm, homemade comfort food, the other three followed. They sat at the stainless-steel island in complete silence, waiting for the trap to spring.
Nia set four generous plates down in front of them. She sat opposite them with her own plate.
“No rules?” Caleb asked suspicious, peering down at his food. “No lectures?”
“One rule for dinner,” Nia said, picking up her fork. “We say one good thing about our day, and one bad thing. I’ll start. The bad thing was almost getting hit by a marble. The good thing was meeting four boys who clearly have a lot of spirit.”
Noah looked at his brothers, then down at his chicken. He took a small bite, his eyes widening. “This is better than the box macaroni.”
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“That’s because it’s real food, Noah,” Nia smiled.
From the dark doorway leading to the dining room, a tall figure stood in the shadows. Adrian Vale watched his four sons eating together without yelling, without throwing plates, and without tears for the first time in four years. His dark eyes flickered over Nia Carter, a dangerous curiosity blooming in his chest.
