Amara's legs grew heavier with each step up the sweeping carpeted staircase. The higher she climbed, the sharper Kenzo's piercing cries became, mingled with the scrape of furniture being shoved across the floor. Lasmi, walking ahead, looked wound tight, smoothing her own uniform over and over as if preparing to enter a war zone.
"Wait here a moment," Lasmi whispered when they reached a massive closed door of dark oak.
She rapped lightly. "Sir... the new caretaker has arrived."
"Come in!" The voice wasn't merely deep — it vibrated with barely contained fury.
The door swung open, and the sight inside stopped Amara cold. The nursery was enormous, easily the size of her entire house back home, yet the atmosphere felt suffocating. In the center of the room, a man in a rumpled black dress shirt paced back and forth, cradling a baby who thrashed and screamed without pause.
"He still won't touch the bottle, Lasmi! We've tried three different formulas today!" Arlan barked without turning around. Exhaustion carved deep lines across his forehead.
Lasmi quickly motioned for Amara to step forward. She obeyed, head bowed as instructed, though her eyes stole a glimpse of Arlan up close. He was far taller than she had imagined, with a sharp jaw and a woody, intensely masculine cologne — now mingling with the sour tang of baby formula.
"This is Amara, sir. The girl from upstate I told you about," Lasmi offered quietly.
Arlan halted mid-stride. He pivoted and swept his gaze over Amara from head to toe, his stare so razor-edged it seemed to dissect every secret she carried.
"Her? She's still a child," he hissed. "Does she even know how to care for a baby? Kenzo is at his worst right now — I don't need an amateur in here."
Amara mustered the courage to lift her face an inch, though she dropped her eyes again the instant they met Arlan's dark, intimidating glare. "I... I've looked after my two younger siblings since I was little, sir. Please — give me a chance."
"Argh!" Arlan groaned as Kenzo erupted into an even louder wail, his tiny face flushing scarlet. Patience spent, Arlan thrust the baby toward Amara without another word. "Take him. Prove to me you're worth something, or you'll be on a bus home tonight."
Amara gathered the small body into her arms with practiced ease. The instant Kenzo's skin touched hers, an overwhelming wave of warmth surged through her. Her chest throbbed — the aching pressure of all that pent-up fluid suddenly finding its trigger.
And then, something remarkable happened. Cradled against Amara, Kenzo began to settle. His shrieks tapered into soft whimpers. He nuzzled his head against her chest, right at the spot that ached the most, and started sniffing — as though he recognized a scent he'd been searching for.
Arlan stood motionless. His eyes narrowed, watching a baby that no one had been able to soothe suddenly go docile in the hands of this village girl.
"Why did he calm down like that?" His voice had dropped lower, but it carried no less menace.
"Perhaps... he just needed a comfortable hold, sir," Amara stammered. Her pulse raced not only from fear but because the dampness at her chest was becoming impossible to contain. She could feel her undergarment growing soaked.
"Lasmi, leave us. Let her try the bottle one more time — in front of me," Arlan commanded, brooking no argument.
Lasmi shot Amara a worried glance before slipping out and pulling the door shut. Now, in this cavernous room, only three people remained: Amara, the baby squirming and rooting against her chest, and Arlan — standing just a few paces away, arms folded, watching.
Amara swallowed. She knew Kenzo wasn't searching for the plastic bottle sitting on the table. He was seeking the very source of life that was, at this moment, tormenting her body.
***
Cold sweat beaded at Amara's temples. Kenzo had grown more aggressive in her arms — his tiny fist clenching the front of her blouse right over the swollen ache, his head turning frantically side to side, nose hunting for that sweet scent driving his little senses wild.
The pain in her chest had become unbearable. She knew that if she didn't release the milk soon, it wouldn't just be Kenzo exploding into tears — her shirt would be drenched from the unstoppable flow.
"Sir... forgive me," Amara's voice quavered as she retreated a step. "Would you... could you please step outside for just a moment? I'd like to try calming Kenzo on my own. Maybe he needs a quieter environment without anyone else around."
Arlan's brows snapped together. His sharp eyes narrowed, boring into her as if he could see straight through to her hammering heart.
"You're kicking me out of my own son's room?" The question came low and lethally soft.
"No, sir — that's not what I meant... I just thought maybe Kenzo feels tense because the atmosphere is too... stiff," Amara scrambled for an excuse, clutching Kenzo tighter as the baby whined in frustration.
Arlan closed the distance between them. Amara caught his powerful scent full-force, and for reasons she couldn't fathom, the hormones in her body went haywire in response.
"Listen to me, Village Girl," Arlan said, his voice now inches from her face. "I met you ten minutes ago. You are a stranger. Do you honestly think I'd leave you alone with my son, unsupervised? Not a chance."
"But sir, Kenzo truly needs calm. I swear I won't do anything wrong," Amara pleaded, nearly begging. The baby had begun tugging at her collar, mouth open, searching.
"What exactly are you planning to do that I'm not allowed to see?" Arlan's suspicion sharpened. His gaze dropped to Amara's hand, which kept pressing against her own chest as though she were in pain. "Why is your hand there? Are you hiding something?"
Amara's face turned crimson. "No, sir. I... I'm just..."
"Don't lie to me!" The words came soft as a blade and twice as cutting. "Pick up the bottle and feed him. Now. Right here in front of me. I want to see how you work."
"He doesn't want the bottle, sir! Look — he's refusing it!" Amara cried out in desperation as Kenzo erupted into fresh screams, denied what he craved.
This time the baby's wails were agonizing. He kicked and flailed, and one tiny elbow jammed hard into her swollen chest. Amara whimpered, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes from the collision of physical agony and crushing pressure.
"Why are you crying? Just because I raised my voice?" Arlan looked startled by her tears, though his pride refused to bend.
"Please, sir... I'm begging you," Amara whispered through her sobs. "Let me try my way. I guarantee Kenzo will be quiet within five minutes. If he isn't, you can send me away on the spot. But please... just give us a moment of privacy."
Arlan fell silent. He looked at his son, suffering, then at the girl before him — clearly tormented by something he couldn't identify. Part of him wanted to snap at her again, but the raw vulnerability in Amara's face stirred something unfamiliar deep in his chest.
"Two minutes," Arlan ground out at last, turning on his heel toward the door. "I'll be standing right on the other side. If I hear anything suspicious, I'm coming in — and you'll regret ever setting foot in this house."
SLAM.
The heavy oak door crashed shut behind him.
Amara let out a shaky breath of relief. She rushed to lock the door from inside, knowing full well Arlan might be watching through the security camera — or standing with his ear pressed to the wood.
"Shh... shh, sweetheart. I'm sorry," she whispered to Kenzo.
With trembling hands, Amara sank into the rocking chair in the corner. She unfastened her blouse one button at a time. The moment the fabric parted, Kenzo went utterly still, his wet eyes locking onto her. When Amara guided him closer, he latched on with ravenous urgency, as if he'd found a treasure long lost.
Slurp...
Amara closed her eyes, her head falling back against the chair. The searing pain dissolved into a flood of exquisite relief. But on the other side of the door, Arlan stood frozen. The sudden silence inside the room didn't ease his mind — it only deepened his curiosity and set his pulse racing.
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