Chapter 2 - The Mercy of a Monster
The rain began to fall just as Ruby was packing her small canvas bag in the carriage house. It was a cold, driving New England rain that beat against the glass with a relentless, metallic sound.
Her hands were still stained with Ollie's blood. She had tried to wash it off in the small sink, but the red pigment seemed to have settled into the lines of her palms, a permanent reminder of the five-year-old boy who had looked at her as if she were his only lifeline in a vast, dark ocean.
Forty-three dollars, she thought, looking at her wallet on the small wooden cot. I have forty-three dollars, and the train back to Bridgeport costs twelve. I’m done. I failed.
She closed her bag and pulled her worn denim jacket over her shoulders. She was about to reach for the door handle when the lock clicked from the outside.
The door swung open.
Nathaniel Cross stood on the threshold.
He had discarded his suit jacket, wearing only his white silk shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and his dark trousers. He was wet from the rain, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, but he did not look like a man who had been caught in a storm. He looked like the storm itself.
Behind him, two security guards stood in the shadows, their hands resting near their earpieces.
“Leave us,” Nathaniel commanded, not taking his eyes off Ruby.
The guards vanished into the rain, pulling the door shut behind them.
The carriage house room was tiny—barely big enough for the cot, a single chair, and a wardrobe. With Nathaniel standing inside, the space felt microscopic.
“You have a lot of nerve, Miss Lane,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of the fury he had shown in the nursery. He walked over to the small window, looking out at the main house. “No one enters the south wing without my permission. No one speaks to my son.”
“He was bleeding, Mr. Cross,” Ruby said, her voice rising despite her fear. “He was about to cut his own throat. Were you just going to stand there and watch him do it to prove a point about obedience?”
Nathaniel turned around slowly. His gray eyes were like chips of ice. “You know nothing of my son. You know nothing of what he has done, or what he is capable of.”
“He’s five!” Ruby snapped, stepping forward. “He’s a five-year-old boy who lost his mother. He’s not a monster. He’s terrified. Anyone with eyes can see that.”
“The last three nannies required medical treatment after trying to 'comfort' him,” Nathaniel said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register. “The one before them lost two fingers to a door he slammed. He does not want comfort, Miss Lane. He wants to destroy everything around him. Just like his mother did.”
Ruby frowned. “What does that mean?”
Nathaniel didn't answer. He walked closer to her, his presence commanding the entire room. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a check, sliding it onto the small wooden table beside her bag.
Ruby looked down.
The check was made out to her name. The amount was fifty thousand dollars.
Her breath caught. “What is this?”
“An advance,” Nathaniel said. “You will return to the main house tomorrow morning. You will be Oliver's nanny.”
Ruby stared at him, her heart hammering. “You just fired me. You told me I was a liability.”
“You are a liability,” Nathaniel agreed, his eyes locking onto hers with a cold, businesslike intensity. “But you are also the only person in two years whom my son has not tried to kill upon contact. He dropped the glass for you. He let you touch him. In my world, Miss Lane, we do not ignore anomalies. We exploit them.”
“I’m not a tool for you to exploit, Mr. Cross,” Ruby said, though her eyes kept drifting back to the check. Fifty thousand dollars. That was Miles’s surgery. That was his life.
“Everything is a tool, Miss Lane,” Nathaniel said softly. “You need this money. I know about your brother. I know about the clinic in Bridgeport. I know you have until the end of the month before they cut off his treatments.”
The sheer coldness of his research sent a shiver down her spine. He had dissected her life in the span of a few hours.
“If I take this job,” Ruby said, her voice shaking, “I do it my way. No clinics. No behavioral consultants who treat him like an animal. And I want access to his medical files. I want to know what happened to his mother.”
A shadow passed over Nathaniel's face—something dark, ancient, and violent. For a second, Ruby thought he was going to strike her.
“His mother died in a car accident,” Nathaniel said, his voice dropping so low it was barely a whisper. “That is all you need to know. Do not ask about Eleanor again, Miss Lane. If you do, fifty thousand dollars will be the least of your concerns.”
He turned and walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the brass knob.
May you like
“Be in the nursery at seven o'clock tomorrow. Do not be late.”
The door closed behind him, leaving Ruby alone with the sound of the rain and the piece of paper that had just bought her soul.
