Chapter 2 - The Three Rules
The third-floor nursery suite was larger than Hannah’s entire apartment in Queens. It consisted of three individual bedrooms connected by a massive central playroom filled with every toy imaginable—custom electric cars, miniature arcade cabinets, and shelves lined with unopened Lego sets worth thousands of dollars.
Yet despite the wealth, the room felt hollow, like a luxury hotel suite that had never been lived in.
When Hannah entered the playroom at seven o'clock the next morning, dressed in dark denim jeans, a plain gray sweater, and non-slip work shoes, the boys were already waiting for her.
They sat in a row on a long leather sofa, their hands resting on their knees, their faces identical masks of cold indifference.
On the low oak table in front of them sat three plates of untouched, stone-cold pancakes covered in thick blue syrup.
"Good morning," Hannah said, walking straight to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows and pulling back the heavy velvet curtains, letting the gray morning light flood the room.
Mason squeezed his eyes shut with a dramatic sigh. "Close those! We like it dark!"
"You aren't bats," Hannah said, turning around to face them. She looked at the plates on the table. "Who made the pancakes?"
"Cook," Lucas said, his tone authoritative. "We don't eat them. We like waffles with strawberries. If we don't get strawberries, we don't eat."
"Is that right?" Hannah walked over, picked up one of the plates, smelled it, and set it back down. "Well, it's a good thing I'm not the cook."
She picked up all three plates, walked over to the small kitchenette in the corner of the playroom, and dumped the cold pancakes directly into the trash can.
The three boys sat up straight, their eyes widening in genuine shock.
"Hey!" Mason shouted. "That's our food!"
"You just said you didn't eat them," Hannah said, wiping her hands on a paper towel. "And since you don't like pancakes, you can wait until lunch at twelve-thirty."
"You can't starve us!" Lucas yelled, standing up from the couch, his tiny fists clenched at his sides. "We'll tell our father! He'll have his men lock you in the basement!"
Hannah walked over to Lucas until she was standing directly over him. She didn't look angry; her face was entirely calm, her hands resting loosely in her pockets.
"Your father pays me to take care of you, Lucas," she said softly. "Not to be your servant. In this room, there are three rules. Rule number one: We do not throw things at people. Ever."
"Or what?" Mason sneered, stepping up beside his brother. "You gonna hit us? The last nanny tried to pull my arm and my dad fired her before she reached the front gate."
"I don't hit children," Hannah said flatly. "Physical violence is for people who lack the intelligence to use their words. If you break Rule One, you lose your privileges. No screen time, no toys, no garden access."
"We don't care about your rules!" Lucas spat. "You're gonna leave like all the rest of them! You won't last two days!"
"Rule number two," Hannah continued, completely ignoring his outburst. "We eat what is served, or we wait for the next meal. No custom menus unless you help cook them."
Theo, who had remained silent on the sofa, finally spoke. His voice was lower than his brothers', calmer and more calculated. "And what's rule number three?"
Hannah turned her gaze to the third triplet. "Rule number three: If you have a problem with me, you talk to me like a human being. You don't scream, you don't throw pottery, and you don't hide behind your father's reputation."
The three boys stared at her. For six months—ever since their mother, Elena Vale, had died in a tragic car accident on the estate grounds—they had tested every adult sent into their orbit. They had used noise, destruction, and the terrifying weight of their father’s name to push everyone away before anyone could get close enough to hurt them again.
This woman wasn't yelling. She wasn't weeping. She wasn't bribing them with candy or cowering when they mentioned Dominic.
"We hate you," Mason declared, though his voice lacked its previous venom.
"That's fine," Hannah said, pulling a deck of playing cards from her cardigan pocket. "You don't have to like me. But you do have to respect me. Now, grab your coats. We're going outside."
"It's raining!" Lucas protested.
"It's misting," Hannah corrected, tossing a light raincoat toward each of them. "And ten minutes of fresh air won't melt you."
As the boys reluctantly pulled on their coats, Hannah caught sight of a figure standing in the doorway leading to the outer hallway.
Dominic Vale was leaning against the doorframe, a cup of black coffee in his hand. He was dressed in a dark turtleneck and black trousers, his dark eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made the skin on the back of her neck prickle.
He had been watching the entire exchange.
Hannah didn't say a word to him. She simply gestured for the boys to fall in line, leading them past their father and down the broad wooden stairs toward the rear gardens.
Dominic didn't stop them. But as Hannah passed him, he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her ear.
May you like
"Rule number two is going to cause a riot by four o'clock, Mrs. Reed," he murmured.
"Let them riot," Hannah replied without breaking her stride. "I've handled worse than three hungry six-year-olds."
