Chapter 5 – Enya
Ren is warm and sticky against my shoulder, his arms hanging limply around my neck. His shorts are streaked with garden mud, and there’s a chocolate smudge on his cheek that I forgot to wipe off before we came inside. He still has the paper crown we made this morning in the sunroom crumpled in one fist, its edges bent and glitter clinging to his sleeve.
“I think the worms liked your singing more than the plants,” I whisper as I carry him up the winding staircase.
He huffs a sleepy laugh. “You said worms help things grow.”
“They do. But not if you keep shouting your knock-knock jokes at them.”
“They liked the one about the banana.”
I smile. “Only because you told it four times.”
The sun cuts through the tall windows, laying gold ribbons across the marble floors. My sneakers squeak softly against the polished surface, and I suddenly feel too loud in this place of quiet grandeur.
“You’ll still be here when I wake up, right?” he mumbles, voice muffled against my sweater.
I press a kiss to the top of his curls. “Every day,” I whisper.
Ren’s room looks like it’s out of a dream. Ocean-blue bedding, more pillows than a child could ever use, and a soft lull of scent from some ridiculously expensive linen spray. It’s too big for him. The bed swallows him up. But the pile of plush animals at the edge, the finger-painted canvas on the wall, and the battered storybooks we read each night make it feel smaller. More his.
I lay him down gently, tucking the crown beside his pillow. He curls in on himself, thumb slipping into his mouth as he sighs through his nose. I sing to him a few bars of the lullaby he likes, just enough to make sure he doesn’t wake up.
At the door, I pause.
He looks so small in this world of giants.
But he’s fighting to bloom anyway.
The descent back downstairs feels like crossing into another universe.
Gone is the softness of Ren’s room, replaced by the buzz and clang of a house coming to life. The staff move through the halls with purpose. Housekeepers drape linens across long tables. Florists gently argue in Italian near the base of the stairs, their hands full of calla lilies and baby’s breath.
“Piu’ a sinistra—left, not right,” one huffs, adjusting a towering centerpiece with a frustrated shake of her head.
I dodge around a stack of polished silver trays and barely avoid a server with a towering crate of imported wine. My sneakers squeak again, and I resist the urge to apologize to every priceless antique I pass.
“God, it’s just a party,” I mutter under my breath. “Not a coronation.”
But the Carfano estate has other ideas.
The chandeliers gleam like constellations. The polished silver on the buffet tables shines with blinding clarity. Even the garden outside has been trimmed and reshaped into a place out of Versailles. It’s chaos, but the expensive, choreographed kind. Like the house is flexing its muscles.
And I’m just trying not to get in the way.
I slow as I pass the main parlor. A trio of event coordinators speaks in hushed tones near the fireplace, poring over a set of floor plans and lists. One of them looks up at me and smiles briefly before returning to her clipboard.
Every inch of this house is preparing to dazzle. Even the mood feels lively, coated with the scent of orchids and lemon balm. It’s beautiful. Breathtaking. A world apart from anything I’ve ever known.
And completely unreal.
I slip into the private staff kitchen tucked behind the east wing, the one reserved for upper residence staff. Far from the bustle of the main catering crew, it smells faintly of lemon and fresh herbs, a soft sanctuary of calm.
The counters are marble, and the kitchen is cleaner than any hospital room I’ve ever seen.
I grab a chilled sparkling water from the fridge and lift the lid off a covered tray prepared for me. Inside, there are small plates of salmon tartare, crostini, and slices of imported cheese arranged like artwork.
I blink.
Okay, then.
I take a plate and settle onto one of the high stools at the island, eating slowly. My stomach doesn’t quite know what to do with raw fish at lunchtime, but it’s better than nothing.
The house is quiet again, at least in this corner.
This place is as much a fairytale as it is a fortress.
It’s beautiful. Majestic, even. But it’s curated and controlled: every fresh orchid, every gold-trimmed mirror, every hushed hallway lined with priceless art. Nothing happens here by accident.
And in the middle of all of it, I exist like a misplaced Post-it note.
I glance down at my hands. There’s still paint under my nails from finger-painting with Ren this morning. A splotch of yellow near my cuticle. Green smudged into the corner of my thumb.
I’m not part of this world. I’m just borrowing space in it.
And I have no idea how long I’ll be staying. With the passing days, I’m getting more and more comfortable here—with everyone. Ren. The housekeepers. Cyril.
My phone buzzes just as I’m rinsing glitter off my hands in the staff kitchen sink. I dry them on a towel and glance at the screen.
Sienna.
A smile spreads across my face before I even swipe to answer. “If this is about another dating app suggestion, I swear to God, I’m hanging up.”
Her laugh bursts through the speaker, bright and unapologetic. “Rude. First of all, no. Second of all, you’re welcome for Trevor the vegan architect, even if he turned out to be scared of bees.”
“Terrified,” I correct, leaning against the counter. “He literally ran from a toddler holding a plush bumblebee.”
Sienna sighs dramatically. “It’s hard out here. Anyway, no new suitors today. I’m calling to make sure you haven’t been murdered by the Mafia Don you work for.”
I groan, laughing despite myself. “Sienna….”
“What? He’s literally called the Ghost, Ev. I Googled him. There are Reddit threads. Like, three different articles say he dissolved a guy in acid.”
“He hasn’t dissolved me yet,” I say, pulling open the fridge for another sparkling water. “Besides, I’m not even around him most of the time.”
“Lies.”
I grin. “What?”
“You said he showed up furious the other day and then just…watched you.”
“Yes, and then he left.”
“En,” she drawls. “You know that’s not normal boss behavior, right?”
“It’s fine. He was tense. But not threatening. Just…intense. Anyway, I’m here for the job. I’m not trying to get caught up in any drama.”
“You say that like you’re not already halfway in.”
I glance around the estate’s east wing as I pace. Gold trim, high-arched windows, and a fresh bouquet of orchids that definitely cost more than my rent. There’s a staff member polishing a mirror with a cloth and a focused frown.
“It’s just a job,” I say quietly.
“Mmm-hmm,” Sienna teases. “Sure. Just a job. In a literal fortress. With a child who adores you and a boss with cheekbones that could cut glass.”
“Stop.”
“I’m not wrong.”
I laugh again. “Look, it’s my break. I can talk to my best friend and sip lemon water in peace. Let me have this.”
She sighs dramatically. “Must be nice. Meanwhile, I’ve got three kids in my class who are possibly demon-possessed and one who thinks glue is a food group.”
I giggle. “Tell me you’re surviving.”
“Barely. I swear, if one more six-year-old sings ‘Baby Shark’ at me, I might fake a coma.”
“Tempting.”
“Very. Anyway, speaking of actual fun. Are you free Sunday? Brunch? I miss your face. You can tell me all about your dangerous new mafia-adjacent lifestyle.”
I smile softly, glancing at the tall windows as sunlight washes the corridor in gold. “I’ll check. If Ren’s schedule doesn’t eat me alive.”
“You’re too good,” she says. “Seriously. Take a damn break. Come get pancakes and overpriced coffee with me.”
“I’ll try.”
“You better. I already picked the place. Has all that matcha stuff and barely any seating. You’ll feel like you’re still trapped in rich people land.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I know. You love it.”
I lean against the wall, staring at a gold-framed painting of a landscape I’m certain is worth more than my student loans. “I really do.”
“Call me when you catch feelings,” she adds.
“I have a boyfriend,” I remind her, trying to keep my voice light.
“Oh, right. Kai.” Her tone flattens, and I can practically hear the eye roll through the phone.
Sienna has never liked Kai. She hasn’t exactly been subtle about it, either.
Last year, after one of our double dates, she pulled me aside in the restaurant bathroom. “I’m telling you,” she said, dabbing lip gloss onto her mouth while frowning at her reflection. “He gives me the chills. There’s something off about that guy.”
I laughed it off at the time. “You just don’t like him because he doesn’t talk much.”
She stared at me in the mirror, one brow raised. “No, En. I dislike him because he talks like he’s memorizing a script. Like he knows what people want to hear. I’m just saying…trust your gut. He’s too smooth.”
I brushed it off, told her she was being dramatic. That Kai was private, not shady.
I roll my eyes and end the call.
But the smile lingers.
So do her words.
Later that afternoon, I settle into the quiet reading alcove outside Ren’s room to check my email. I balance my laptop on my knees and scroll through the usual. A few notifications from Ren’s health tracking app, a reminder from my bank about a student loan payment, and one flagged as high priority.
From: Liliana Falco – Executive Office
Subject: Staff Presence Required – Gala Protocol
My stomach dips.
I click it.
Miss Hart,
You are required to be present for the Carfano Foundation’s annual charity gala this Saturday. Mr. Carfano has specifically requested that you remain on premises to ensure Ren Carfano’s comfort and care throughout the evening.
Formal attire recommended. Further details to follow.
– LF
I reread it. Twice.
Required.
Requested.
I close the laptop slowly.
“Can’t I just have one weekend to myself?” I mutter, rubbing my forehead. “I love the kid, but even superheroes need a damn day off.”
I stand and walk to the tall windows lining the corridor. I glance outside. The garden is being transformed, long banquet tables draped in linen, staff bustling between hedges with floral towers in their arms. The roses look like they’ve been grown just to impress royalty.
Maybe they have.
Behind me, the estate is alive with people. Doors open and close. Shoes click on marble. A chef shouts in French from the kitchen below.
In front of me, a world I never meant to enter opens its doors just a little wider.
And I step closer without meaning to.