Page 2 of Ruthless Daddies

I take a breath, trying to muster all the confidence I have left. “I’ve worked with children in various capacities since I wasa teenager—babysitting, tutoring, and more recently, during a summer internship running historical programs for kids at the museum.”

“What about any recent experiences,” Marta says. “Do you have any letters of recommendation?”

I shake my head no.

“But I know how to keep them engaged, and I’m not easily rattled. I take my responsibilities seriously, and I understand that working for a high-profile family requires discretion. I can promise that.”

Marta studies me, her eyes narrowing slightly as if testing my honesty. “That’s a good start. But we do require someone with prior experience. You need to understand that this job won’t be like anything you’ve experienced before. The family has young children—twins, age six. They are…unique, and sometimes challenging.”

I nod, though I’m curious what she means by “challenging.” But I keep my face neutral, trying to show that I’m up for anything. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

“Are you sure?”

My stomach sinks. I can already feel her rejecting me. But I can’t lose this. “I can prove myself, I promise.”

She considers this, then taps a few things on her tablet. “The family also values boundaries. It’s important that you respect their privacy.”

“Of course,” I reply, my voice steady.

“Very well.” Marta pauses, glancing at the screen again. “Wait here. I’ll be back shortly.”

She stands, leaving me alone in the room. As the door clicks shut, I feel a ripple of nerves again. This place feels like something out of a dream—both beautiful and a little intimidating, like it’s hiding secrets behind every door.

A few minutes pass, though it feels like an eternity. Just as I’m beginning to wonder if I’m about to be sent away, the door opens, and a figure steps inside. A tall man, with a dark, commanding presence that immediately fills the room. He’s dressed in a tailored suit that fits him perfectly, his face carved with sharp features and piercing blue eyes that seem to look right through me.

“Miss Parker.” His voice is deep, smooth, with a slight accent I can’t quite place. He holds out a hand, and I take it, surprised at how warm and firm his grip is.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I’m Ivan Morozov.” He releases my hand but doesn’t look away, those ice-blue eyes assessing. “I understand you’re here for the nanny position.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

His gaze is intense, almost unnerving, but there’s something magnetic about it too. He’s not just looking at me—he’s measuring me, as if deciding whether I’m worthy of being here at all. “This position requires more than just childcare skills. We need someone who will protect our children, who can stay calm under pressure. Do you believe you’re capable of that?”

I meet his gaze, trying to push aside the nerves fluttering in my stomach. “Yes, sir. I believe I am.”

What the fuck is this supposed to be? It feels less like a nanny position and more like a CIA interview.

Ivan’s gaze flickers, and I feel my heart start to race. But then his phone starts to ring and he steps away. “I need to take this.”

I nod.

As Ivan leaves, I find myself staring after him, momentarily stunned. He’s tall—easily over six feet—with a powerful, broad-shouldered frame that fills out his suit perfectly. The dark fabric clings to his physique, emphasizing his strength and control in a way that’s both intimidating and…undeniably attractive.

He has one of those faces that would make anyone do a double take—sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a straight nose that could have been sculpted from marble. His hair is dark, almost black, combed back with an effortless sophistication that feels just a little dangerous. But it’s his eyes that keep me rooted to the spot—pale, icy blue, striking against his tanned skin. They hold a kind of quiet power, a cold intensity that makes it clear he’s not someone to be crossed.

And yet, there’s a flicker of something else there too, something that feels almost…haunted.

The seconds stretch as I sit, hands folded neatly in my lap, waiting for Marta to return. Time ticks by, and the silence starts to feel…loaded. Am I supposed to just sit here and wait? The walls are decorated with intimidating portraits, stern faces staring down at me, almost like they’re warning me to mind my place. I start to wonder if I’ve been rejected already, and this is their way of making it clear without saying a word.

Maybe they looked into my resume and realized I’m not their ideal candidate. I mean, a degree in history and a few babysitting gigs aren’t exactly nanny-of-the-year qualifications. The longer I sit here, the more I feel my confidence slipping. With a sigh, I decide I can’t just sit around forever. Marta would probably be horrified, but a little peek around won’t hurt, right? If they’re sending me away anyway, I might as well see a bit of this gorgeous place.

I step out of the room, moving down the hall and taking in the grand decor—the pristine artwork, marble floors, and hallways that seem to go on forever. The place is even bigger than I first thought, with high ceilings and elegant chandeliers, exuding an opulence that’s both beautiful and a little overwhelming. I can just make out the shimmering surface of a pool through a pair of glass doors up ahead, and I drift toward it, momentarily distracted by the sun-dappled water.

As I pass by, I catch a quick flash of movement—a figure disappearing around the far end of the pool. Before I can process who it might be, I hear a sound that jolts me to attention. The unmistakable splash of water, followed by a shrill, panicked scream.

My heart stutters, instinct kicking in before I can even think. I drop my bag and rush to the pool, not hesitating for a second as I dive straight in. The cold water shocks my system, but I push forward, my eyes scanning until I see her—a tiny figure thrashing in the water, struggling to stay afloat.

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