The car stopped in front of a tall gate. The gate swung open and we pulled through. The engine rumbled for a moment before going silent, and I felt my heart race like it wanted to escape my chest. The property was massive — it took up practically an entire block, surrounded by white walls, tall and immaculate. A place that felt like another world compared to the narrow, potholed streets of my neighborhood.
The driver got out and opened my door.
"We've arrived, miss."
I stepped out, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.
I swallowed hard.
The Roman-style architecture, with marble columns supporting the main entrance, enormous windows and heavy curtains — everything radiated wealth and power. Never in my life had I imagined I'd set foot in a place like this. It looked like a movie set, except it was real, and I was inside it.
The front door opened slowly, creaking softly, and behind it appeared Patricia, the recruiter, ready to greet me. Impeccable as always, with that cold, calculated smile.
"Welcome back." She didn't waste any time.
"Although I wanted to hire someone with strong references, it seems Pedro took a liking to you. So Mr. Enrico decided to give you a chance."
I nodded, gripping my bag strap tighter.
"Okay."
She led me through the hall. Now I took everything in more calmly. The floor was pale marble, reflecting the light from a massive crystal chandelier that hung from the towering ceiling. Every detail screamed perfection — the paintings aligned on the walls, the vases of fresh flowers, the scent of cleanliness mixed with a woody cologne I couldn't identify.
From a wood-paneled wall, a door appeared. We descended a staircase until we reached a corridor. We stopped in front of the second door and she opened it.
"This will be your room. Same one from the day of your test," Patricia said, pushing the door open beside the main corridor.
"You'll use it only on your days off. You'll keep your belongings here and use it when you're sick — since you won't be able to have contact with the boy. Otherwise, you'll sleep in the boy's room."
I stepped inside. I still couldn't get used to how big it was. The double bed with white linens, the built-in wardrobe, a writing desk, and that enormous private bathroom. I sighed, amazed.
"You can put your things in the wardrobe. The uniform is on the bed. Get dressed."
I nodded, and once she left, I started unpacking my bag. I stored my simple clothes inside the enormous wardrobe — which seemed to mock how little I owned — and set my purse on the desk. Last, I carefully pulled out my stuffed frog, a gift from my dad. I held it against my chest for a moment before placing it on the bed.
I put on the uniform. It felt oddly stiff, as if the fabric wasn't made for someone like me.
I took a deep breath, picked up the frog, and tucked it into my bag. Then I walked out.
Patricia led me to the TV room — the same one where Pedro had been when I first met him.
"The house is big. But you'll get used to it."
On the way, I passed a mirror and studied myself for a few seconds.
When we reached the TV room, there he was — sitting on the plush carpet. Pedro looked even smaller than last time. Two years old, but so fragile, with sad eyes fixed on the screen. He sucked his pacifier while clutching his toy — his little green crocheted frog.
My heart squeezed.
I sat down slowly next to him, without making a sound. I pulled my stuffed frog out of my bag and held it up, smiling.
"Hi, Pedrinho. Look who came back."
He didn't look at me right away. His eyes stayed glued to the cartoon on the TV. But I noticed his tiny hand grip his toy a little tighter.
I stayed quiet for a few seconds, then started talking to my frog.
"Look, Cri-Cri, what a cool cartoon."
"Yeah! I love this show, Clarinha," I said in a squeaky kid's voice, as if the frog were talking.
Pedro turned his gaze from the screen and stared at me, curious. His small brown eyes — but with an intensity that felt almost adult — studied me.
"I love this cartoon too," I said brightly, like it was our secret.
He blinked slowly. Then, almost shyly, he lifted his crocheted frog and showed it to me.
My heart soared.
"Hi there, little green buddy," I said, and gently patted the toy's head.
He gave a faint smile and hugged his frog again.
And that was when I felt it. The presence.
Behind me, a shadow fell across the room. I turned my head and saw him.
A man, older, but not by much. Wearing a flawless black suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and rigid posture. He was handsome — no question. His neatly cut hair gave him an air of even greater authority. But it was his eyes that commanded the most attention: cold, calculating, assessing everything.
My heart lurched, and I swallowed hard.
He walked toward us with firm steps, stopping near the couch. The boy ran to him — he knelt, opened his arms, and hugged his son.
Then Pedro pulled away and sat back down on the carpet in front of the TV.
"Clara, is it?" His voice was deep, commanding.
I nodded, standing quickly.
"Yes, sir."
"I'm Enrico. Your employer. And Pedro's father."
I smiled and extended my hand to greet him.
"It's a pleasure to meet you." He didn't smile. Didn't return the gesture.
The way he said "your employer" — it should've sounded like a warning. Almost a threat.
"Smooth move, Clara. You really can't read a room."
The smile vanished from my face, and he began to speak.
"I want to make things clear." He stepped closer and handed me a sheet of paper.
"This is Pedro's routine. You'll follow it to the letter."
I took the paper with trembling hands.
"He has a set time to wake up, eat, play, watch TV, and sleep. Not a single minute of delay will be tolerated."
I nodded.
"Diet: only what's listed. No sweets, no artificial juice. If you have a question, ask first."
He paused, his gaze boring into mine.
"You'll sleep in his room. In case he needs something — or you — during the night."
I blinked, surprised.
"But... every night?"
His tone hardened.
"Every night. Except on your day off."
I felt my face burn, but I kept quiet.
"You're not here on vacation. Whatever gets dirty, you clean. You're responsible for washing your own clothes and uniforms."
"Hair always combed and tied back. Nails clean and trimmed short. No perfumes or scented lotions. They could irritate Pedro's sensitive nose."
"The house is full of artwork. Don't touch anything. And be careful not to knock over or damage anything. Some pieces cost thousands of dollars."
"One more thing. Your phone. I don't tolerate distractions. If you need to use it, only during your meals or when Pedro is asleep. Otherwise, it stays off."
I raised an eyebrow without thinking. It was instinctive. I rolled my eyes before I even realized it.
And then his voice changed. It got harder, sharper.
"I demand respect. No woman rolls her eyes at me."
My eyes went wide, startled.
"Sir, I... that wasn't my intention..."
He stepped closer, so close I could smell his cologne — woody, intense.
"If you have a problem with my rules, you can leave right now. Save me the trouble of firing you."
My heart hammered. My legs nearly buckled. I thought about my mom, my brothers and sisters. About the little frog in my bag. I breathed deep, fighting back tears.
"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again. I... I need this job."
He stared at me for a long time, as if testing my resolve. Then he stepped back, straightening his suit and tie.
"We'll see."
He turned and walked out without looking back.
I stood there, trembling, trying to catch my breath.
That was when I felt two small arms wrap around my legs.
I looked down. Pedro was hugging me, pressing himself against me as if he wanted to protect me.
My heart shattered. I crouched down and hugged him back, hiding my face against his shoulder so he wouldn't see my tears.
"It's gonna be okay, Pedrinho," I whispered, more to myself than to him.
"It's gonna be okay," I repeated.
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