Ruthless Daddies (Reverse Harem Daddies)

4. Alice

4

ALICE

L uka refuses to look at me. Again.

I try to catch his eye, leaning forward slightly, attempting my warmest, most encouraging smile. But his focus stays glued to his plate as he meticulously pushes his eggs into a perfect circle, pretending I’m not even here. Mila, on the other hand, is a different story. She’s all chatter, bouncing in her chair and peppering me with questions about everything from breakfast to why I have “such big eyes.”

“Luka, don’t you want to tell me about your favorite game?” I ask, hoping for even the smallest spark of interest. But he just shrugs, barely glancing up, and mumbles something under his breath that I can’t quite catch.

Mila pipes up, “He likes dinosaurs, but only the scary ones. The ones that eat people!”

“Luka!” I say with a smile, trying to coax him. “Is that true?”

This time, he doesn’t even mumble. He just frowns at his eggs and pushes them around again, as if they hold all the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. Mila giggles and takes a big bite of her toast, crumbs scattering everywhere. She’s a handful, but at least she’s friendly.

I sigh inwardly, keeping my expression patient. I get it. I’m the new person, the stranger in their world, and trust isn’t something that comes easy for kids.

Just as I’m about to try another topic to break through Luka’s walls, I hear footsteps approaching. I glance up, and my breath catches. Nikolai.

He strides into the room like he owns it—and well, he does—but there’s something in the way he moves, an effortless, confident grace.

He’s…distractingly handsome. Even in a simple black T-shirt and dark jeans, there’s something about him that’s almost magnetic. His dark hair is tousled, as though he just rolled out of bed, but it works for him. His eyes, a striking dark brown, scan the room before landing on me, and he gives me a slow, easy smile that sends a flutter straight to my stomach.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he says.

“Hey,” I say.

“Looks like you have your hands full.”

“You can say that.” I glance between Luka and Mila who runs over to hug her uncle. He seems to be her favorite.

As if sensing my apprehensions, Nikolai steps closer to Luka, leaning over to ruffle his hair, which Luka tolerates with a quiet scowl. “Ah, don’t worry about him. He’s just shy, right, Luka?” He lowers his voice, as if sharing a secret, but loud enough for us all to hear. “But don’t let him fool you—he’s secretly a softie.”

Luka huffs, though I see a faint smile twitch at the corners of his mouth before he catches himself, glancing away quickly.

Nikolai turns his attention back to me, his gaze warm and appraising. “Alice, isn’t it?”

I nod, trying to keep my composure, though his gaze feels like it’s burning right through me. “Yes.”

“Thank you for taking on this challenge. We Morozovs don’t make things easy,” he says with a wink. “Though I’m sure you’ve figured that out already.”

I chuckle. Marta arrives, towels in hands. “Let’s go. It’s time for a shower.”

“I can take them,” I say, rising from my chair.

“There’s no need for that. I can handle it,” Marta says, her tone clipped.

There’s an edge to her voice that I can’t quite ignore, and I feel like I’ve overstepped somehow. I offer her a quick nod, feeling that prickly sensation that I’m somehow unwelcome.

She gathers the kids, herding them down the hallway, her posture straight, movements precise. I watch her leave, a hint of tension settling between my shoulders. It’s obvious she knows her way around the family and her role here—and that she doesn’t see me as an essential part of that. Yet.

Once she’s gone, I turn back to find Nikolai watching me, his arms crossed, that easy, knowing smile still playing at his lips.

“Something on your mind?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I hesitate, not wanting to make too much of it, but I let out a small sigh. “I think…I think Marta doesn’t like me much,” I say.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Don’t take it personally. Marta’s protective of the kids, maybe more so than anyone else in this house.”

“Protective?” I repeat. “I can see that…but it feels like more than that.”

Nikolai’s expression softens, and he nods thoughtfully. “She’s been with us a long time. She actually came over from Elena’s family when Ivan married her.”

The mention of Elena catches me off guard, and I glance at him with renewed curiosity. “Elena. That’s Ivan’s late wife, right?”

Nikolai’s gaze shifts, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression, but he nods. “Yes. Elena was…well, she was everything to Ivan. And to the kids. Marta was close to her, almost like family. When Elena…passed, Marta stayed on.”

“She must have meant a lot to her.”

Nikolai’s smile fades, replaced by something quieter, deeper. “She did. And Marta—she’s loyal. To Elena’s memory, to Ivan, to the kids. She takes it seriously, making sure they’re safe. That’s why she might come off as…a bit standoffish. She’s just protective of her own.”

The way he says it, there’s a respect there, an understanding that speaks to the bond within this family.

“I see,” I say softly, glancing toward the hallway where Marta disappeared with the kids. “It makes sense. I just…I want her to see that I’m here for the right reasons too.”

Nikolai’s smile returns, and he gives me a warm, reassuring look. “Give it time. Marta may not be easy to win over, but she’ll see it eventually.” He tilts his head, his voice softening. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing just fine.”

“Well, I’m trying,” I manage, feeling the blush rise to my cheeks again. “But if you have any tips, I’m all ears.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of tips,” he says, his voice dropping just a little, a playful glint in his eyes. “But I’m not sure they’re all about the kids.”

My face heats up, and I laugh, half-nervous, half-amused. “I’ll take whatever advice I can get.”

He chuckles, a low, rich sound.

“Well, here’s one,” he says, his tone shifting to something softer. “Don’t try too hard. Luka’s the type who likes to come around on his own. Pushing him will only make him withdraw more.”

I nod, absorbing the advice. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The room they’ve given me is beautiful, far more luxurious than anything I could have imagined. It’s spacious, with high ceilings and elegant crown molding, painted a soft, calming shade of blue. A plush, oversized bed sits against one wall, with crisp white linens and a thick comforter that looks like it could swallow me whole. On one side, there’s a little seating area, a velvet armchair and a low table with a small vase of fresh flowers.

I’m curled up on the bed, phone to my ear, as Jenna’s voice crackles through the line.

“You have to tell me everything!” she says, her voice full of excitement. “You packed up and moved out so fast, we didn’t even get a chance to celebrate.”

I smile, feeling a pang of guilt. Jenna’s been my closest friend through thick and thin, and I left in such a hurry that we barely had time to say goodbye. “I know. It was all so last-minute. But how about this weekend? We can meet up in the city, maybe grab a drink somewhere?”

“Deal. And I know just the place,” Jenna says, excitement creeping into her voice. “There’s this club everyone’s been raving about. The kind of place that’s loud and dark, with drinks that cost too much and music that makes it impossible to think.”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, laughing.

“So, what’s it like? Are they treating you okay? And, more importantly, is this paycheck really as amazing as you said?”

I chuckle, relaxing a little. “Yes, it’s all real, and it’s honestly…overwhelming. I’ve only been here a day, and it feels like I’ve been dropped into a completely different world.”

“Yeah, well, you basically moved into a mansion with your mysterious billionaire employers,” Jenna says, laughing. “Come on, spill! I need details.”

I lean back, tracing my finger over the intricate stitching on the comforter. “Honestly, I don’t know too much about them yet. They’re…private. But they seem powerful.”

“Powerful? What do you mean?” Jenna’s tone is playful, but there’s a hint of curiosity beneath it.

“Just…like they’re not people to cross,” I say slowly, choosing my words carefully. “There’s something about them that feels intense, like they’re always in control. It’s hard to explain.”

Jenna snorts. “Sounds like mafia vibes if you ask me! Dark suits, private security, all that power? I mean, come on.” She laughs, clearly joking, but the sound doesn’t quite settle my nerves. “Imagine if you’re working for the actual mob! It’s straight out of a crime novel!”

Her words send a shiver through me. The thought has crossed my mind once or twice, especially with how guarded the family is, how intense Ivan and Dmitri seem, and the careful way Nikolai keeps things light, almost like a front. I don’t know what kind of business they’re in, and I’m definitely not in a position to ask.

“Yeah,” I say, forcing a chuckle. “Right out of a crime novel.”

The truth is, I don’t even know what I’d do if that were the case. It’s not my place to know, let alone discuss.

Jenna changes the subject, rattling off details about her week and her plans for our night out, and I let her voice wash over me, grounding me back to something normal.

And then I see him.

Ivan.

He’s shirtless, his powerful frame catching the light as he moves through a series of exercises, each motion controlled and precise. Muscles ripple across his back, and his skin glistens faintly with sweat. I can see the taut lines of his shoulders, the sculpted muscles of his arms flexing as he lowers himself into push-ups. I feel my breath catch, my heart stuttering for a moment as I watch him, unable to tear my gaze away.

“Uh-huh,” I murmur absentmindedly into the phone as Jenna keeps talking, but all my focus is on the sight outside my window. Ivan’s dark hair is damp, his jaw set in concentration, and his body…he’s all lean, sculpted muscle, tanned and strong.

The longer I watch, the more my pulse quickens, a low hum of awareness building in the pit of my stomach.

And then, as if sensing my gaze, Ivan suddenly pauses. He looks up, his sharp, ice-blue eyes zeroing in on my window, on me.

My heart skips a beat, and I duck away from the window, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. My pulse pounds as I press my back to the wall, hoping desperately that he didn’t actually see me staring. The last thing I need is for him to think I’m some kind of snoop—or worse, that I’m ogling him like a schoolgirl with a crush.