AURORA:
The iron gates were taller than anything Aurora Reyes had ever stood in front of.
They rose toward the gray Milan sky like silent guards, black and cold and expensive. Everything about this place screamed money—old money, powerful money, the kind that didn't need to introduce itself.
She tightened her fingers around the strap of her small handbag, forcing herself not to turn around.
This was a mistake. It had to be.
Men like Luca De Santis did not hire women like her.
She glanced down at the paper in her hand again, even though she had memorized the address hours ago.
Via della Spiga. Milan.
One of the richest streets in Italy.
Her stomach twisted.
Three months ago, she had still been living in Madrid, working double shifts at a private daycare while sharing a cramped apartment with two other girls. When the daycare closed unexpectedly, she lost everything overnight—her job, her stability, her plan.
Bills piled up. Rent became impossible.
And then came the email.
A private nanny position. Live-in. Excellent salary. Immediate start.
She had almost deleted it, convinced it was a scam. But the agency was real. The contract was real. And the name attached to it…
Luca De Santis.
Even in Spain, she had heard whispers of him.
Italian businessman. Billionaire. Untouchable.
Dangerous.
Aurora didn't know why he needed a nanny so urgently, but she hadn't asked questions. She couldn't afford to.
Not when this job meant survival.
The intercom crackled suddenly, making her jump.
"Yes?"
The voice was deep. Male. Suspicious.
Aurora swallowed. "Aurora Reyes. I'm here about the nanny position."
Silence followed. Long enough to make her heart pound harder.
Then—
"Wait."
A sharp buzz echoed as the gates slowly opened.
Aurora stepped forward.
The driveway curved through perfectly trimmed hedges toward a massive villa of white stone and glass. It didn't look like a home. It looked like a fortress.
She could still turn back.
But she didn't.
Because she had nowhere else to go.
The front door opened before she could knock.
A tall man in a black suit stood there, his posture rigid, his dark eyes studying her carefully.
Not Luca.
Security.
"This way," he said.
Aurora followed him inside, her soft shoes barely making a sound against the marble floors. Everything was quiet. Too quiet.
Cold.
She expected warmth in a house with a child.
Instead, it felt… empty.
They stopped outside a large office.
The man knocked once, then opened the door.
"He's here."
Aurora stepped inside—
—and forgot how to breathe.
He stood near the window, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Controlled power in every line of his body.
Luca De Santis.
He turned slowly.
His eyes were darker than she expected. Cold. Observant.
They swept over her—not rudely, not kindly. Simply assessing.
Calculating.
Aurora suddenly became very aware of her simple cream blouse. Her nervous hands.
Her entire existence.
"You're late," he said.
His voice was calm. Deep. Dangerous in its quiet.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "The tram—"
"I don't care about excuses."
Heat rose to her face.
He walked toward her, each step measured.
Up close, he was even more intimidating. Taller. Stronger. The air around him felt heavier.
"You worked in a daycare," he said.
"Yes."
"You've never worked for a private family."
"No, sir."
He studied her face longer this time.
Aurora forced herself not to look away.
"I don't need perfection," he said finally. "I need reliability."
Her chest tightened.
"I am reliable."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Not warmth.
Interest.
Behind him, the office door opened slightly.
A small girl peeked inside.
Golden-brown hair. Large, cautious eyes.
Aurora's heart softened instantly.
The girl looked at her—not Luca, not the guards.
Her.
Aurora gave her a gentle smile.
The child didn't smile back.
But she didn't hide either.
And somehow, Aurora knew—
Everything was about to change.
LUCA:
Luca De Santis did not trust easily.
And he trusted strangers even less.
Especially strangers standing inside his home.
He watched Aurora Reyes carefully, searching for signs—fear, greed, weakness.
She looked nervous.
But not fake.
That mattered.
Behind him, Matteo stood silently near the door, waiting.
His second-in-command had been the one to push him into hiring a nanny.
"You cannot run an empire and raise a child alone," Matteo had said.
Luca disagreed.
He had done it for three years.
But lately…
Meetings ran longer. Enemies grew bolder. Security risks increased.
And Isabella—
His jaw tightened at the thought of his daughter.
She deserved stability.
Not a father constantly pulled away.
Not a mother who showed up smelling like alcohol and lies.
His ex-wife was still alive. Still breathing. Still disappointing them both.
The last time she visited, she could barely stand straight.
Isabella had seen it.
That was unforgivable.
"I don't want her here anymore," Luca had told Matteo afterward.
Matteo hadn't argued.
No one argued when Luca made decisions like that.
Now his gaze returned to Aurora.
She was smaller than he expected. Soft-looking.
Not weak.
Soft.
Dangerous in a different way.
People underestimated softness.
His daughter stepped into the room behind him.
He felt it immediately.
Her presence always grounded him.
Aurora noticed her too.
And unlike every other applicant—
She didn't force a smile.
She didn't try to impress.
She simply looked at Isabella like she mattered.
Luca noticed.
He noticed everything.
"This job," he said slowly, his eyes never leaving Aurora's, "is not temporary."
Aurora nodded.
"I understand."
"Your priority is my daughter. Nothing else."
"Yes."
Silence filled the room.
He could hear Isabella breathing behind him.
Waiting.
Watching.
Trusting him.
Luca made his decision.
"You start today."
Aurora's eyes widened slightly.
Relief. Surprise.
Gratitude.
Dangerous emotions.
Matteo shifted beside the door, already moving to handle the logistics.
Aurora exhaled quietly, like she had been holding her breath for weeks.
Luca turned toward the window again, staring out at the guarded gates of his empire.
He had built walls to keep threats out.
He did not realize—
He had just let one in.
And she had soft eyes.