Page 6 of Ruthless Daddies

Her lips curve slightly. “I can handle that. I love a good challenge.”

Something in her tone, her slight smirk, sparks something within me—a desire that rises, sudden and undeniable. I turn away, trying to regain control, only to catch her reflection in the glass, her damp skin glistening in the soft light of the room.

“Good,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended. “As I mentioned, this is a live-in position. You’ll stay here, on-site, to be available to the children. It may require some…flexibility on your part.”

“Flexible. Right.” Her lips twitch in a subtle, almost teasing smile, and I feel my jaw tighten.

“Yes,” I say, taking a step back to keep some distance between us, though I can still feel the pull. “If this arrangement is acceptable to you, then I’ll have Marta finalize the details.”

She nods, but her gaze lingers on me, thoughtful. “It’s more than acceptable. I’m…grateful for the opportunity.”

As she says this, I see the resolve in her eyes falter, just a little. I wonder if she realizes how rare it is for someone to gain this kindof access to our family. And part of me—an irrational, foolish part—is secretly hoping she’ll last longer than the others did.

3

DMITRI

Idon’t expect anyone to be wandering the halls this early in the morning. The house is quiet, as it always is at this hour, and I prefer it that way—no distractions, no one watching, no one asking questions. I’m making my way to the east wing for a security check I like to conduct myself. Call it an obsessive habit, or just years of distrust, but I find it…reassuring to know everything is where it should be.

So when I round the corner and spot a figure I don’t recognize standing by the kitchen entrance, I stop. It’s a woman, her back turned to me, rummaging through one of the upper cabinets, completely unaware of my presence.

I study her from a distance, taking in the casual clothes—a simple, fitted sweater and jeans that hug her in a way that’s both modest and…distracting. She’s not dressed like any of the staff, and she doesn’t have the wary, submissive demeanor they usually carry. Her movements are unguarded, relaxed, as if she’s completely at ease in the house, which irritates me, because she shouldn’t be. I make it a point to know everyone who sets foot inour home, yet here she is, making herself comfortable, oblivious to the fact she’s being watched.

With measured steps, I cross the room. “Are you lost?” I ask, my voice cool, controlled.

She startles, practically jumping out of her skin as she whirls around to face me. Her green eyes—wider now with surprise—land on me, and she takes a step back, almost instinctively.

“Oh,” she says, recovering quickly, though her gaze is wary, cautious as she sizes me up. “I’m just…looking for some breakfast. For the kids. I didn’t realize?—”

“At six in the morning?” I say.

“They were hungry,” she says matter-of-factly. I’m not surprised. The children are known to make outlandish demands. So that must make her the nanny.

“I’m Alice,” she offers, lifting her chin. “The…new nanny.”

So this is Ivan’s new hire. I was skeptical when he mentioned her, certain he wouldn’t bring in someone inexperienced, but here she is, with a quiet confidence that doesn’t quite match the naivety I expected.

She’s different from what I expected, though I’m not entirely sure what I was expecting. Small-framed but sturdy, with dark hair that cascades over her shoulders in messy waves, and dressed in simple, unassuming clothes.

I step further in, crossing my arms as I watch her for a moment.

“I see. I didn’t mean to startle you,” I say, though that’s exactly what I had meant to do.

“You just caught me by surprise,” she says.

“You didn’t realize someone else lived here?” I interject, raising an eyebrow.

She frowns, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I mean…I haven’t met everyone yet, so I didn’t expect…” She trails off, flustered, and I almost smile.

“I see.” I allow a small smirk, watching as her confusion settles into a sort of quiet resolve. She straightens, her expression sharpening just a little, like she’s not one to be easily rattled, despite her initial reaction.

“Dmitri,” I say finally. “Ivan’s younger brother.”

“Oh,” she breathes out. “Marta mentioned you. The youngest Morozov.”

“Don’t look so surprised,” I say, my tone flat but amused. People rarely expect much from the youngest, assuming I’m either out of the picture or content to stay in the shadows. Fine by me. Let them underestimate me.

Alice glances away for a second, biting her lip, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

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