Chapter 11 – Enya
The rain taps softly against the tall glass windows of the sunroom like a warning too quiet to hear. It hasn’t stopped all afternoon. Clouds hang low over the city, thick and gray, pressing against the sky like they’re trying to suffocate the light. The Carfano estate is quiet in that eerie, post-storm kind of way. Too calm. Like the house is waiting for another storm to approach.
Ren is curled in my lap, a picture book open in his hands, but his eyelids keep drooping. We’ve read the same story twice now, his favorite, about a talking train who saves the day, and the words are starting to blur in my mind. His body is warm against mine, soft breaths rising and falling as he fades.
I shift gently, letting the book fall shut with a muffled thud.
Kai has been distant. Ever since the gala, he’s been…somewhere else. Busy. Distracted. Absent. Every excuse is a meeting. Every missed call is brushed off. And every sweet message he sends lately feels like it was written by someone else.
I should feel at peace here, with Ren sleeping in my arms and a warm fire crackling in the hearth. But I don’t. I feel like I’m on the edge, toes hanging over the ledge, waiting to fall.
The sound of footsteps behind me pulls me from my thoughts.
I glance up, startled.
Cyril stands in the doorway, a shadow in black, barely lit by the light streaming through the windows. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but he looks detached in a way I haven’t seen since the first day we met.
“He’s asleep,” I whisper, brushing a strand of hair from Ren’s cheek.
“Come with me,” Cyril says. His voice is low.
There’s no explanation. No warmth. Just command.
My pulse stumbles, a stutter-step of dread.
I shift, gently easing out from beneath Ren’s body. His small fingers twitch in his sleep as I tuck the blanket around him, sealing him in that cocoon of innocence I’m terrified will be ripped apart.
Cyril waits as I rise. Still as stone. Watching.
We walk side by side, silent, except for the soft click of my heels on the polished floors. Past portraits that glare down at me like witnesses. Past floral arrangements still wilting from the gala. The deeper we move into the estate, the darker it feels.
His study is dimly lit. Firelight flickers, but it doesn’t warm the space. It casts warped shadows instead.
Papers are scattered on the desk. His iPad glows. And I know, before he even speaks, I know I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.
“What the fuck, Enya?” he growls.
My stomach drops.
“Who sent you here?” he asks, stopping an inch away from my face.
The words feel unreal. Like they’re aimed at someone else. Like I’ve wandered into the wrong script.
I blink. “What?”
“Don’t play innocent,” he says. “I looked into it and found it a little suspicious how you sent an email out of nowhere the very day we found our nanny’s real identity.”
He stabs a finger toward the screen. I look.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Application – Full-Time Nanny Position
My heart stutters to a stop. What. The. Hell.
“I never sent this.”
“That’s your email.”
“Yes, but I never applied for this position. Not like this. Your secretary called me. I thought it was some referral, some fluke.”
“We traced the application,” he growls. “It came from your account. The metadata checks out.”
“Why are you looking into the application anyway?”
“Because I don’t like certain people that you’re connected to.”
I know who he’s talking about. Kai.
The screen blurs. My eyes sting. I open my mouth, close it again.
“But I didn’t….” My voice breaks. “I didn’t send that.”
And still, his eyes burn. Like he’s looking straight through me. Like everything we’ve built is ash.
“You’re lying,” I say, but the words feel flimsy.
“So was the last nanny,” he ignores my remark. “She fed photos to Fiore. We found her out too late.”
“I’m not her.”
“Then prove it!”
“I can’t prove what I didn’t do!”
He circles me. One step. Two. Like a predator testing the fence line. Then, he closes in, and I see how red his eyes are. I can’t help taking a step back, but he grabs the back of my head and keeps me in place. We’re inches apart now, and his hold on my head is hurting, but I refuse to say anything. With his other hand, he takes both my wrists and tightens his grip. Tears escape my eyes, but he’s unaffected.
“You came into this house. Slipped into my son’s life. Into mine. And you expect me to believe that’s all just coincidence?”
“Yes!” I cry. “I didn’t ask for any of this!”
His grip grows stronger as he takes my wrists into his other hand. I bite my lower lip to stop myself from screaming.
“Who else knows you work here?” he asks.
“Nobody…just my friend Sienna and…and Kai…. That’s all.”
He squints and leans in. “Did he ask you to do this?”
“No,” I breathe. “I just told Kai about the job. He told me to take it. He encouraged it.”
Cyril stops. Still as stone.
“Your boyfriend,” he says. “The one who showed up at the gala uninvited. The one with shell companies near my docks.”
His voice is venomous, and his face looks like he’s swallowed a bitter pill.
“Do you even know who he is?” he asks.
I shake my head. My breath is shallow. “He’s a real estate developer,” I say, but the words are ashes. “We’ve been together for two years. He’s kind. He’s not….”
“He put you in my house, Enya.”
That stops me.
He can’t seriously be accusing my boyfriend of this?
“Whether you knew it or not,” he continues.
“That’s not true,” I say. “Why would he do that? He doesn’t even know who you are!”
Cyril chuckles. The man actually laughs, but I can sense that he doesn’t find this situation funny. He looks up at me, meeting my eyes with a deadly grin on his face. “There is not one person in this city who doesn’t know who Cyril Carfano is.”
I don’t respond to that.
“There’s a chasm opening under my feet. And I don’t know who to trust.”
“I didn’t know,” I whisper. What else can I say? What can I even say to get out of this situation, especially when it seems like Cyril’s adamant on making Kai the villain?
“Then say it again.” Cyril’s voice is closer now. Rougher. His grip on my wrists is deadly. “Say it like you mean it.”
I lift my eyes to his. My chest aches, and I whisper again, “I didn’t know.”
He gives a satisfied smile and finally lets go of me. His hands curl into fists at his side before he turns, raking a hand through his hair like it might hold the fury in.
He doesn’t say anything for what feels like forever. I rub my wrists where he had held them; the skin has turned red, and I pray to heaven it doesn’t bruise.
When he finally speaks, it’s low. Measured.
“We’re already at war. And you just became a variable I can’t control.”
My throat tightens.
“So, what? Are you going to fire me?”
“If I wanted to cut you out,” he says, not looking at me, “I wouldn’t have brought you in here. You’re lucky Ren’s fond of you because….”
He doesn’t need to finish that sentence for me to understand what he means.
He meets my eyes. His voice is softer now, but not gentler.
“Do you want me to sort this out? If you’re innocent, you shouldn’t have a problem.”
I want to say no. I want to scream until the walls crack, until he believes me, until I believe me. I want to defend Kai, to protect the life I thought I had. The man I have trusted with my every thought, every part of me. I want to believe that the late-night phone calls, the silly texts, the lazy Sundays tangled up on his couch, they were all real.
But another part of me, the quiet, traitorous voice I’ve been ignoring, won’t shut up.
Because if he really loved me, if I really knew him, then why does this all fit too perfectly?
Why does that email look too clean, too timed? The grammar is impeccable, and there’s just something about the wording that screams Kai.
Why does Cyril’s fury feel justified in ways I’m afraid to admit?
My hands curl into fists at my sides. My throat burns, and I hate this. I hate that doubt is coiling through my chest like smoke I can’t cough out.
But I nod.
I don’t know what else to do.
Cyril looks at me for a minute too long, then turns around without a word. I let out a long breath and shut my eyes.
“You can leave,” he says.
Without a word, I start walking toward the exit, tears threatening to fall from my eyes. Right when I reach the door, Cyril’s voice reaches me. “Put something on your wrists so they don’t bruise.”
I don’t reply. I lean against the door and let the tears fall, finally. I don’t want to go home.
Not to that home, anyway.
The one where everything feels too arranged and clean. Kai is probably asleep in his half-unbuttoned shirt, one arm thrown over the pillow I barely sleep on anymore, phone face-down like he’s got nothing to hide, or maybe too much.
I want to be anywhere but there.
I take a deep breath and wipe my face as I pull out my phone and text Sienna.
Me: Can I crash at yours tonight?
She replies almost immediately, like she was already halfway expecting it.
Sienna: Of course, duh.
That’s the thing about Sienna. She never needs a reason. She just opens the door.
I stare at her message for a second longer than I should, then fire off another to Kai.
Me: Staying at Sienna’s tonight.
I wait.
Five minutes later, my phone buzzes.
Kai: Have fun, sunshine :)
That’s it.
Not a why? Not a you okay? Just a cute little fucking smiley face.
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. He doesn’t even ask. Or seem to care.
And somehow, that burns worse than any accusation Cyril Carfano could ever throw at me.
Have I made a mistake by telling him to look into Kai?
What difference does it make? He would’ve done it either way. At least now, I know what’s going on.
By the time I reach Sienna’s building, the city’s swallowed in the dark. She opens the door in an oversized hoodie, her curly hair knotted in a wild topknot and fuzzy socks with bunnies on them on her feet. Instead of hugging me, she gestures toward the couch with a knowing look and says, “I ordered your dumplings.”
I dump my bag by the armrest, kick off my shoes, and fall into the cushions with a sigh that could flatten a building.
I want to forget today.
Ten minutes later, we’re sitting cross-legged on the rug, cartons of lo mein and fried rice between us, reruns of Friends murmuring from the TV. It’s the Thanksgiving episode, the one where Ross gets high and everyone starts shouting confessions across the table.
Sienna laughs with her mouth full. I fake a chuckle and stab a piece of broccoli with my chopsticks, but I can’t eat. My stomach’s a knot of ice and heat and nausea.
I should say something. About Kai. About Cyril. About that goddamn email I never sent. About how I want to cry from today’s pain and humiliation.
But I fail to.
And Sienna, bless her, doesn’t ask.
We sit in the warm glow of her tiny apartment, in a living room that smells faintly of soy sauce and vanilla candles, while my mind spins like a washing machine on its worst cycle.
The email. Cyril’s voice. His grip on my wrist.
Cyril looked at me like I’d broken what was left of him. Like he’d been a fool to let me step through his front door.
Then there’s Kai. Who told me to take the job. Who said he was happy for me. Who kissed my forehead and asked what Ren liked for breakfast.
Who didn’t bother telling me he’d be at the gala.
And now I can’t even ask him. I don’t know how. I don’t want to know the answer.
Because what if it confirms everything I’m afraid to admit?
My fingers dig into the soft fleece of Sienna’s blanket. My body is here, curled in a friend’s safe space, but my brain’s still in the Carfano study, staring at that glowing iPad screen like it held the key to something I wasn’t ready to unlock.
How did that email get sent?
My account has two-factor authentication. No weird login attempts. Nothing flagged. I checked. I keep checking. The only access to my email other than my phone is from my personal laptop.
I checked my inbox; there was no email I sent.
And if I didn’t, who did?
Could someone have hacked me?
But I’m not important enough for that.
Am I?
Unless…someone made me important. Unless this was never about me.
Kai’s voice echoes in my head: “Why does it matter how they got your resume, sunshine? You’re a perfect nanny, and all these rich people are well-connected. Someone must’ve suggested you.”
He looked so proud of me. At the time, I thought it was love. Support. Now, it tastes like manipulation with a smile.
I lean back against the couch, blinking hard at the ceiling, trying not to cry. I refuse to.
Sienna tosses me a fortune cookie. I catch it without looking.
“I should start charging you rent,” she teases.
“You say that every time,” I mumble, cracking the cookie open and throwing the fortune onto the table without reading it.
“Yeah, and you still never bring wine.”
I smirk. It’s not much, but it’s better than sitting here moping.
Outside, the rain picks up again, tapping against the windows in angry fingers. Inside, the TV drones on. Monica’s yelling about the turkey, Joey’s got his head stuck, and somewhere in the laughter track, I hear my own heartbeat trying to make sense of a truth I don’t want to face.
I want Kai to be innocent.
I want Cyril to be wrong.
I want my life back, the one where the biggest choice I made in a day was whether to take an Uber or walk.
But I also want the truth. And right now, I’m starting to think they can’t all coexist.
Not without someone getting hurt.
I glance over at Sienna, who’s balancing a dumpling between two fingers like it’s a weapon.
“You’re staring at me,” she says, popping it in her mouth.
“You’re a menace,” I say back, quietly.
She just grins.
And right now, it’s enough. To be here. To not talk. To pretend everything’s okay.
Just for tonight.
Because tomorrow, everything will crack.
And I don’t know if I’ll survive the shatter.