Page 48 of Ruthless Daddies

It’s on Alice.

What is happening to me? I haven’t felt this way since…no, this is different from Elena. We had an arranged marriage, and I came to love her eventually. I liked the stability she brought me, the comfort. None of that is true for Alice.

Her name was the first thing I memorized when I saw her application. Alice Parker. Twenty-four years old. Born in Chicago but raised in the suburbs of upstate New York. She graduated college with a degree in early childhood education. Her parents are divorced, her mother remarried to some businessman out in The Hamptons. Her father? A mid-level accountant, struggling to keep up with alimony payments.

Alice worked her way through college, juggling two part-time jobs—one at a daycare and another as a waitress in a small diner.

I know so much about her, but I don’t know her at all.

And then she walks in.

Alice.

She’s wearing a soft yellow blouse that makes her hair glow in the morning light.

I steel myself, focusing on the coffee cup in front of me, pretending not to notice as she approaches.

“Good morning, Ivan,” she says softly, her voice gentle.

I grunt in response, refusing to look up. I tell myself it’s better this way. If I keep my distance, maybe I can get her out of my head.

She hesitates, and then her voice comes again, a little stronger this time. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.”

Her tone is cautious, like she’s afraid of setting me off. It only fuels the storm brewing inside me. Why does she have this effect on me? Why does everything she does feel like it’s clawing its way under my skin?

“Not now, Alice,” I say curtly, keeping my eyes fixed on the table.

“It won’t take long.” She steps closer. “It’s about Luka and Mila. I just thought?—”

I slam the coffee cup down harder than I intend, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “I said not now,” I snap, my voice harsher than it should be. “Do you ever stop? Always prying,always thinking you know better. You’re just the nanny, Alice. Know your place.”

The words hang in the air like a slap, and the second they’re out of my mouth, I know I’ve gone too far.

Alice stiffens, her eyes wide, her lips parting as if she’s going to say something. But she doesn’t. Instead, she turns on her heel and walks away quickly, her head down. I catch the glint of tears in her eyes before she disappears down the hall, and my stomach twists.

Damn it.

I sit back heavily, dragging a hand over my face. The bitter taste of regret is instant, sharper than the coffee. I didn’t mean it—not like that. I was angry, frustrated, and I took it out on her. I let my emotions get the better of me, and now I’ve hurt her.

I sit there for a few moments, staring into my now-cold coffee.

I stand, shoving my chair back with more force than necessary. My pride tells me to let it go, to give her space and let things blow over. But the memory of her tear-filled eyes gnaws at me, the way she didn’t even argue back, just walked away as if my words had crushed something inside her.

I can’t leave it like this.

I find myself searching the house, my steps echoing in the quiet hallways. The staff glance at me as I pass, but no one says a word. I check the playroom, the library, even the garden, but there’s no sign of her. It’s only when I pass by the second-floor balcony that I catch a glimpse of her figure through the open doors.

She’s standing at the railing, her back to me, her head bowed as she hides her face in her hands. Her shoulders shake faintly, and the sight sends a fresh wave of regret crashing over me.

I step outside, the cool breeze biting against my skin as I approach her. My footsteps are soft, hesitant, but she hears me anyway. Her back stiffens, but she doesn’t turn around.

“Alice,” I say quietly, my voice softer than I’ve ever used with her.

She doesn’t respond, her hands still pressed to her face.

I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair as I step closer. “I…I’m sorry,” I say, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I didn’t mean it.”

Still, she doesn’t turn.

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