Chapter 2 - SHADOWS OF THE PAST
The study was a sanctuary of dark mahogany, leather-bound books, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the dark pools of the estate. A single desk lamp illuminated the room, throwing long, dramatic shadows across the Persian rug.
Naomi stood near the fireplace while Mrs. Adebayo applied a cooling ointment to her reddened forearms and wrapped them in light gauze. The housekeeper’s hands were trembling.
"You are a brave woman, Naomi," Mrs. Adebayo whispered in Yoruba under her breath so Ethan wouldn't hear from across the room. "No nanny has ever stood between Mr. Ethan and his anger. He is a good man, but since his wife, Victoria, passed away... he is like a shadow."
"Thank you, Mrs. Adebayo," Naomi whispered back. "I am fine."
Once the housekeeper packed her kit and quietly exited, closing the heavy doors behind her, the silence in the study became deafening. Ethan sat behind his massive desk, pouring two fingers of amber whiskey into a crystal glass. He didn't offer her a seat, nor did she ask for one.
"You saved my son tonight," Ethan began, his eyes fixed on the amber liquid in his glass. "The alarm system would have caught it eventually, but David could have been severely burned before security reached the kitchen."
"I did what any mother would do," Naomi replied simply.
Ethan raised his gaze. "Most people in your position would be demanding a bonus right now. Or using this incident to leverage a higher salary."
"I am here for the salary we agreed upon, Mr. Carter. Nothing more, nothing less. My daughter’s surgery costs twelve million Naira. Your pay rate allows me to cover the installments for her preliminary care. I do not need your charity; I need my wage."
Ethan leaned back in his leather chair, studying her with razor-sharp intensity. "You are an unusual woman, Naomi Johnson. Your background check says your husband was a schoolteacher who died three years ago in a road accident. You lost your home to his relatives due to customary inheritance disputes, yet you never filed a lawsuit."
A sharp pain flickered across Naomi's face, but she quickly masked it. "Customs in my village do not favor widows without wealthy backers. Fighting them would have taken money I needed for my daughter's food and medicine. I chose my living child over dead land."
Ethan’s eyes softened just a fraction, a micro-expression that vanished as quickly as it appeared. He pulled a thick folder from his desk drawer and opened it.
"Tomorrow night is the Annual Energy Summit Dinner," Ethan said, changing the subject with clinical efficiency. "I am hosting representatives from the French petroleum consortium and several government ministers. My late wife used to handle these events. Since her passing, they have become... chaotic."
"You want me to keep the children hidden upstairs?" Naomi asked.
"No," Ethan surprised her by saying. "The press will be outside. The ministers expect to see the Carter family line. Victoria always insisted that our children be presented as polished, perfect heirs. But as you have seen, polished is the last word anyone would use for Daniel, David, and Diana."
He stood up, walking toward the window, his back to her. "I want them presentable for thirty minutes during the opening toast. If they throw food, scream, or embarrass this family in front of Minister Olanrewaju, my firm loses a crucial offshore drilling license. Can you handle them?"
"I can," Naomi said directly. "On one condition."
Ethan turned around, an eyebrow raised in mild disbelief. "You are setting conditions?"
"Yes," Naomi said, stepping closer to the desk. "You must let me handle them my way. No grand promises of expensive toys if they behave, no threats of locking them in their rooms if they do not. And most importantly... you must stay out of the room while I prepare them."
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "You are asking me to step back from my own children?"
"You have been stepping back from them since their mother died, Mr. Carter," Naomi said, her tone smooth but cutting straight to the bone. "You give them money, toys, and private tutors, but you do not give them boundaries because you feel guilty that they do not have a mother. Guilt makes bad parents. And bad parents create miserable children."
The air in the room seemed to freeze. Ethan’s posture stiffened, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of his desk. For a moment, Naomi wondered if she had pushed too far—if this was the moment she would be tossed out into the dark Lagos night, losing everything she needed for Deborah.
"You speak with incredible nerve for someone whose job hangs by a thread," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"I speak with the authority of a mother who actually knows her child," Naomi countered, holding his line of sight. "Do we have a deal?"
Ethan stared at her for a long five seconds. Finally, he gave a single, curt nod. "One condition of my own. If they misbehave tomorrow night, you leave without a kobo of severance pay."
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"Deal," Naomi said.
She turned and walked out of the study, leaving Ethan standing alone in the dim light, staring at the closed door with a strange, unfamiliar pulse stirring in his chest.
