Part 3: The Third-Floor War Zone
The third floor of the Vale townhouse resembled a war zone.
When Mara reached the landing, she stepped over a pile of shredded art books and avoided a puddle of spilled juice near the ornate mahogany banister. From behind a pair of heavy white double doors, she could hear yelling and the distinct sound of a heavy wooden chair being dragged across the hardwood floor.
Mara took a deep breath, adjusted the cuffs of her navy dress, and turned the brass handle.
The room was expansive, designed to be a shared playroom and study for the twins, but right now it looked like a tornado had touched down. Toy blocks were scattered everywhere, cushions were torn open with white stuffing billowing out like snow, and two identical eight-year-old boys were currently wrestling in the center of the room, their faces flushed and tear-streaked.
“I hate you! I wish you never broke my plane!” the one on the left screamed, pinning his brother down.
“You started it, Julian! You threw my comic book in the toilet!” the other shrieked back, trying to bite his arm.
“Noah! Julian! Stop right now.”
Mara’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the chaos with absolute authority. It was the tone of a woman who had managed thirty hyperactive kindergartners without raising her voice once.
Both boys froze.
They turned their heads simultaneously, blinking at her with identical big, watery eyes framed by messy dark curls that looked exactly like their father’s.
“Who are you?” Noah demanded, scrambling off his brother and wiping a dirty forearm across his cheek. “Are you the new one? The lady with the blonde hair cried and ran away five minutes ago.”
“I’m Mara,” she said, walking slowly into the room without making any sudden movements. She kept her posture relaxed, her hands visible. “And I’m not crying. At least, not yet.”
Julian sniffled, scrambling backward until his back hit the bookshelf. “My dad’s going to fire you. He fires everyone. We’re bad. Evelyn said we’re driving him crazy.”
“Evelyn didn’t say that,” Mara said calmly, kneeling down so she was at eye level with them. She didn't try to touch them; she gave them space. “And you aren't bad. You’re angry. And you’re sad. Those are heavy feelings, boys. They’re too big to carry around, so they come out as fighting and breaking things.”
Noah glared at her, his lower lip trembling despite his tough exterior. “You don’t know anything about us. You’re just like the others. You’re going to pretend to be nice, and then you’ll leave when dad tells you to.”
“I haven’t gone anywhere yet,” Mara said gently. She looked around the wrecked room. “Tell you what. I just got hired five minutes ago, and my first official task as your nanny is to clean up this disaster zone. But I can't do it alone. Are you going to help me, or am I going to have to do all the heavy lifting while you watch?”
The twins exchanged a suspicious glance. Adults usually yelled at them, lectured them, or fled in terror. No one had ever asked for their help while acknowledging how overwhelming the room was.
“The red blocks go in the bottom bin,” Julian mumbled finally, pointing a finger at the corner.
“Good to know,” Mara smiled. “Start sorting.”
By six o’clock, the playroom was remarkably tidy.
It hadn't been easy. There had been plenty of stubborn silence, a few muttered insults, and a half-hearted attempt by Noah to lock Mara in the walk-in closet—which she gently intercepted and turned into a lesson on boundaries. But by the time the evening shadows stretched across the room, the three of them were sitting cross-legged on the rug, eating crackers and drinking milk.
“Did you really get fired on TV today?” Julian asked, his mouth half full of graham cracker.
Mara sighed, leaning back against the sofa. News travels fast, even in elite households.
“I didn't get fired, Julian. Someone lied about me,” Mara explained carefully, choosing her words so an eight-year-old could understand. “They made it look like I did something wrong because they wanted to hurt me.”
“That’s not fair,” Noah said fiercely, his dark eyes flashing with a sudden, intense loyalty that looked terrifyingly like his father’s. “Who did it?”
“A bad man,” Mara said simply. “A man who didn’t want to get caught doing the wrong thing himself.”
“If he comes here, our dad will throw him out the window,” Noah declared matter-of-factly. “Dad is super strong. He can lift heavy weights and he never loses arguments.”
Mara smiled faintly, thinking of the cold, rigid billionaire downstairs who hadn't smiled once since she walked in. “I have a feeling your dad has plenty of battles to fight. We don’t need to add a wrestling match to his schedule.”
Just then, the door clicked open.
Adrian stood in the doorway. He looked into the room, expecting to find chaos, tears, or an empty space. Instead, he saw his sons sitting quietly on the rug, eating snacks, and talking calmly with the woman he had hired less than two hours ago.
His gaze swept over the pristine room, then fixed on Mara.
“Dinner is downstairs in twenty minutes,” Adrian said stiffly, hiding his profound astonishment behind his usual mask of authority. “Evelyn prepared something simple. Don't be late.”
With that, he turned and walked away down the hall.
Noah watched him go, his small shoulders slumping. “He never eats with us anymore. He just eats in his office while looking at papers.”
May you like
Mara looked at the doorway, a sudden determination settling deep in her chest.
“Well,” Mara said, standing up and dusting off her skirt. “Looks like we have a new project for tomorrow. Because starting tonight, the Ice King is joining us for dinner.”
