Chapter 2 A Stranger I Once Love

Lena sat stiffly in the black leather chair, hands clasped in her lap, her back impossibly straight. The office was silent, save for the quiet ticking of a sleek, modern clock mounted on the wall. She had rehearsed this moment over and over again, the possibility that Damien might recognize her. She had changed her name, her hair, the way she spoke all in preparation for the possibility of this day, but now, with his piercing gaze locked onto her, she felt stripped bare, as though all of her efforts over the past two years were made void.

His question-"Have we met before?" - hung between them like a balde.

Lena forced herself to smile, tilting her head slightly as if considering his words. "I don't believe so," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "I would have remembered."

Damien didn't blink. His amber eyes were sharp, calculating, as if he were peeling back layers, searching for something buried beneath the surface. She could feel the weight of his scrutiny, the way his stare lingered on her.

A second passed. Then another, then, just like that, he dismissed it.

"Hm." Damien leaned back in his chair, flipping through her file once more. "You have experience working with children?"

Lena exhaled silently, the tightness in her chest beginning to ease. She nodded quickly. "Yes. Ive worked as a private tutor and caregiver for a few families."

Silence

"Miss Carter," Damien finally spoke, his voice low but clear. "Tell me why you think you're the right fit for this position." His tone was detached, as if this was nothing more than a business transaction, and for him, maybe it was. Lena had spent hours rehearsing for this moment. She had anticipated every possible question, had memorized answers that made her seem perfect for the job while remaining generally unremarkable.

"I have over five years of experience working with children," she answered smoothly, keeping her voice even. "My last position involved tutoring and child development, particularly with children who struggle with social interaction. I understand that your son is-"

"You do not need to tell me about my own son." His interruption was sharp, cutting through her sentence like a blade.

She was startled, but didn't let her expression falter.

He was different, colder. She had known him as a man who commanded a room, but there had been warmth beneath that dominance, a flicker of something raw and real that had drawn her in all those years ago.

Now?

Now, he was cold and distant. A fortress built from ice and steel.

She inhaled slowly. "I just meant that I understand the importance of patience and structure."

Silence

"You're comfortable with live-in arrangements?"

"Yes."

His gaze lifted again. "Why?"

The question caught her off guard. Lena hesitated for a fraction of a second. She could not tell him the truth; that she needed a place to disappear, a safe space away from the people hunting her for debts she could no longer afford to pay.

Instead, she smiled. "I prefer a structured environment. It helps with my work, and being close by might help foster a better bond wit"---she hesitated, paused for a moment, and continued, "with Ethan."

Damien studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded and moved on. "Ethan is five. He doesn't respond well to strangers. He's selective about who he engages with."

Lena straightened in her seat. "I understand. Earning a child's trust takes time."

Something flickered across his face-approval, maybe? It was gone before she could be sure.

"He doesn't talk much," Damien continued, his voice dropping slightly. "I don't expect you to force conversation out of him. Just ensure his schedule is followed and that he's comfortable."

Lena nodded. "Alright, and what's his schedule like?"

"Structured," Damien said simply.

Of course it was.

He slid a neatly typed document across the desk. "Ethan's routine. I expect it to be followed."

Lena picked it up and scanned the contents of the document. Breakfast at precisely 7:30 AM. Reading and language lessons. Playtime was restricted to indoors and no more than 2 hours. No television during the week. Dinner at 6:00 PM sharp.

It was rigid. Almost military-like. The Damien she had known-or thought she had known-would have never been this distant with his own child. Had she been wrong about him all along, or had something changed?

She didn't know, but she intended to find out.

"I see," she said, carefully folding the paper. "And what about his mother?"

For the first time since the interview started, Damien's expression hardened.

"She's not in the picture."

The words were clipped, final, dismissive, like a door being slammed shut. Lena knew better than to push. "I understand," she said instead.

Damien exhaled slowly, as if releasing a tension he hadn't realized he was holding. He studied her once more, his gaze assessing, and she could swear the temperature in the room dropped.

Then, as if deciding she wasn't worth the effort, he leaned back slightly. "Do you have any questions for me?"

The question caught her off-guard, there were so many things she wanted to ask. Did you ever think about me? Did I ever mean anything to you? Why were you engaged to someone else while we-

No.

"Good. You seem competent," he finally said. "But I don't tolerate negligence. If you disappoint me, you're out."

"I understand," Lena repeated.

A long silence stretched between them. Then, Damien reached into a drawer, pulled out a folder, and slid it toward her.

"You start on Monday," he said.

Lena hesitated for a second before taking the folder. Her hands steady, her expression neutral, but inside, her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

Because now, she would be living under the same roof as the man she once loved and he had no idea who she really was, and that terrified her.