Chapter 3 The Boy with Hazel Eyes

The room fell quiet after Mr. Vance's words.

"Mrs. Montrel, meet Master Leo."

For a moment, neither of us moved. Leo stared at me, small and still, his wide hazel eyes full of curiosity.

Mr. Vance cleared his throat gently. "We'll leave you two to get acquainted," he said, gesturing for the younger man to follow.

As they reached the doorway, Mr. Vance leaned closer and murmured, "He needs a mother, Mrs. Montrel. Not another caretaker."

Then he left, closing the door softly behind him.

The silence that followed was awkward and delicate. Leo fidgeted with a toy car, pretending not to look at me.

I stood frozen, shocked that Damien Montrel, the feared mafia boss, had a son no one had ever heard about.

I forced myself to move. Crouching down, I tried not to seem too forward.

"Hey there," I said gently. "You've got quite the collection of toys."

He didn't answer. His little lips pressed together in a pout.

After a pause, he asked, almost accusingly, "Are you another nanny?"

The tone caught me off, guard. It wasn't rude, just sad.

"I told Papa I don't want another one," he added, crossing his small arms.

Something inside me tugged. His voice carried a loneliness no five-year-old should know.

I smiled, slipping into the calm tone I used at the daycare. "Oh? You don't like nannies? Why's that?"

Leo glanced at me, wary. "They always get mad at me. They say I don't listen."

"Maybe you don't," I teased lightly.

"I do!" he protested, defensive. "It's not my fault they didn't like my pranks."

I blinked. "Your pranks?"

He nodded toward the big TV mounted on his blue wall. "Sock Man likes pranks."

Under my breath, I muttered, "I guess we'll have to do a little digging into the cartoons you watch."

I turned back to him, biting back a laugh. "Well," I said softly, "good thing I'm not your nanny, then."

His eyes widened, his head snapping up. "You're not?"

I shook my head, still smiling.

For a second he looked confused, then hopeful. "Then... are you my mama?" He whispered, "Papa said Mama was coming back soon."

The question hit harder than I expected. My smile faltered.

I could have corrected him. I could have said something safe. But when I looked at his face, at the way he was searching for an answer he desperately wanted to believe, my chest ached.

So I nodded. "Yeah," I whispered. "I'm your mama."

Leo's face lit up instantly. He ran straight to me, small arms wrapping around my waist. The sudden warmth made my breath hitch.

"Where were you?" he asked against my shirt, his voice trembling. "Papa said you were gone."

I froze, unsure how to answer, but his hold only tightened. Slowly, I hugged him back.

"It's okay," I murmured, resting my chin on his soft curls. "I'm here now."

For the first time since I'd arrived at this mansion, my fear faded, replaced by something gentler and something far more dangerous.

Damien POV

I watched the security screen in silence.

Rachel knelt beside Leo, the boy clinging to her as if he'd known her forever.

Mr. Vance stood beside me, arms folded. He was my most trusted man.

"You were right about her," he said quietly.

"At least the old drunk managed to raise one decent child," I muttered, tapping my finger against the thick folder marked Owens Family.

Mr. Vance's mouth curved into a small smile. "One parent's mistakes don't decide a child's future. You, of all people, should know that."

I exhaled sharply, tired of his lectures. "Enough, old man. Go check on the father and make sure he remembers our deal."

He nodded and left the room.

Alone, I turned back to the screen.

Rachel was still there, holding my son.

And for reasons I didn't want to name, I didn't look away.

Rachel POV

I sat on the carpet among Leo's toys as he stood in front of me, waving his hands while telling an animated story. His whole face glowed with excitement.

"And then the hero used his powers and saved the day!" he finished with a dramatic pose.

I laughed softly and clapped. "That was amazing, Mr. Storyteller."

Leo grinned proudly, then grabbed my hand and tugged. "Come on, Mama-let's go steal some extra cookies!"

I blinked. "No stealing."

He gave me a mischievous smile. "Papa doesn't have to know. He's always working anyway."

The mention of his father made my stomach twist. I forced a light smile. "Oh? What kind of work does Papa do?"

Leo hummed, already pulling me toward the door. "I don't know. But it's boring. He's too serious."

His honesty made me smile, half amused and half uneasy. Maybe it was better that he didn't know what his father really did. He was just a child, after all.

We stepped into the long hallway of the manor, the floor shining like glass beneath the morning light. As we walked, I noticed two men in suits a few paces behind us. Their eyes followed our every step, and the reminder of where I was made my heart race again.

Leo didn't seem to notice. He skipped ahead, giggling, until we reached a massive iron gate guarded by three more men.

"Mama, watch this!" he said, laughing.

Before I could stop him, he ran straight toward the gate. One of the guards caught him easily, lifting him into the air. Leo squealed with laughter as the others chuckled.

"He's impossible," one of them said, shaking his head with a smile.

The guard carrying him turned to me. "Boss doesn't appreciate the kid coming near this area, Mrs. Montrel."

The name Mrs.Montrel still felt strange. I nodded quickly, nerves tightening in my chest as I looked past them at the heavy doors behind the gate.

The east wing.

So this was the place they warned me about.

Leo wriggled in the guard's arms, pouting. "They always say that, Mama. Papa says the east wing is boring, too!"

The man set Leo back on his feet, and I gently took his hand. His fingers were small and warm against mine, grounding me.

As we turned to leave, I couldn't help glancing once more at the massive iron doors. The guards' eyes followed me until we disappeared around the corner.

A strange chill ran through me.

What could be so secret in there that even a child wasn't allowed near it?

Leo tugged on my hand, breaking my thoughts. "Mama," he said softly, "can we still get cookies?"

I smiled, pushing the unease aside. "Of course, sweetheart."