Chapter 2
Sarah
“Traffic,” I said, which was technically true if you counted underground trains as traffic. “The subway was packed, then there was a delay, and by the time I got to street level—”
“I don’t care about your commute.” Hector set his coffee cup down with the kind of precision that made it clear he cared about many things—just not my excuses. “I care about consistency. Lily needs consistency.”
The way he said her name made something in my chest tighten. Like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, and everything else, including me, was just background noise that better not get too loud.
“I understand that,” I said, keeping my voice level. “It won’t happen again.”
“You’re right. It won’t.” He looked at me like I was a problem he was still deciding whether to solve or eliminate. “Because if it does, we’ll need to reconsider this arrangement.”
This arrangement. Not my employment. Not my position. Just an arrangement—like I was a temporary solution to a permanent problem.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something that would definitely get me fired. But the words slipped out anyway, quieter than I planned but still there.
“You’ve really never had a day where everything fell apart? Where you did everything right and the universe messed with you anyway?”
His expression didn’t shift. Not even a flicker. “I don’t let external circumstances dictate my performance, Ms. Tinsley. I expect the same from anyone working in this household.”
“Must be nice,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Excuse me?”
I should have backed down, apologized or retreated. Instead, something stubborn rose in my chest. Maybe it was the exhaustion or six months of walking on eggshells around a man who treated basic human struggles like personal failings.
“I said it must be nice,” I repeated, meeting his gaze. “Having drivers and private cars, never worrying about trains breaking down or being at the mercy of the MTA. Must make punctuality a lot easier.”
For a long moment, he just stared at me. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed by my audacity or calculating which bridge to dump my body off of.
“Are you finished?” His voice was flat.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He picked up a folder from his desk, opened it with deliberate calm. “Lily is waiting. I suggest you don’t waste any more of her time with excuses.”
Dismissed. Just like that.
I left before my mouth could get me into more trouble.
The hallway felt longer than usual. My heart was still racing from the confrontation, frustration mixing with the familiar anxiety of almost losing something I couldn’t afford to lose.
I forced myself to breathe. To compartmentalize.
By the time I reached the living room, I’d managed to shove Hector’s coldness into a mental box labeled “deal with later.”
Lily was exactly where I expected her to be.
Curled up on the oversized couch, sketchbook in her lap, completely lost in whatever world she was creating. Her dark hair fell forward, hiding most of her face. One leg tucked under her, the other dangling off the edge. She looked so small in this enormous room with its floor-to-ceiling windows.
The tension in my shoulders eased. This part made sense. This part was easy.
“Hey, Lily bug,” I said softly, settling onto the couch beside her—but not too close. Always leaving space, letting her control the distance between us. “What are you working on today?”
She didn’t respond. Didn’t even look up. But after a moment, she shifted slightly, angling the sketchbook so I could see.
The movement was careful—measured. Not quite an invitation, not quite hiding. Just letting me into her world at her own pace, on her own terms.
I leaned forward just enough to see properly. A figure in a flowing dress, arms stretched upward in a graceful arc, one leg extended in a perfect line. The colors were bold and alive. Pink and purple and gold all bleeding together in a way that shouldn’t have worked but somehow did.
“Oh, Lily.” Warmth slipped into my voice before I could stop it. “A ballerina. This is absolutely beautiful.”
Her fingers paused on the purple crayon she held, just for a heartbeat. But I caught it. That tiny acknowledgment that she’d heard me.
“I love the way you did her dress,” I continued, keeping my voice gentle. “All those colors swirling together. And her arms reaching up like that. She looks like she’s flying, doesn’t she?”
Lily’s hand moved again, adding small details to the dancer’s skirt. The crayon moved with more confidence now, like my presence had given her permission to be bolder.
“You know what I think?” I shifted slightly closer, slow enough that she could move away if she wanted to. She didn’t. “I think she’s dancing to her favorite song. The kind of song that makes you forget everything else and just move.”
Lily tilted her head slightly, considering the drawing. Then, so carefully I almost missed it, she reached for the gold crayon and added small stars around the ballerina. Little points of light surrounding the dancer like magic.
My throat went tight. “Perfect,” I whispered. “Those stars are perfect.”
She didn’t smile. Didn’t look at me. But she shifted closer. Just an inch. Maybe less.
Progress.
This was how it always worked between us. Quiet moments building into trust. Small movements that meant everything.
I’d learned this with Colin—back when his stutter was so bad he’d choose silence over the risk of stumbling over words while other kids laughed.
I used to watch people try to help by finishing his sentences or rushing him through, and every time they did, he’d retreat further into himself.
I learned then that silence wasn’t always emptiness; sometimes it was the only control you had when everything else felt broken.
Lily needed control. A space to exist without expectations or pressure. So I gave her that.
She kept coloring, adding more details to the ballerina’s world. A stage beneath her feet. Curtains framing the edges. She was building something complete, something whole.
“She’s really talented, isn’t she?” I said softly. “Your dancer. I bet she practices every day. I bet she loves it more than anything.”
Lily’s hand slowed. She stared at the drawing for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across her face. Then she carefully turned the page and started something new.
I stayed beside her, comfortable in the quiet.
Mrs. Pearson appeared like clockwork, carrying a tray of apple slices and cheese cubes arranged in precise rows.
She set it down on the coffee table without a word, gave me a small nod that might have been approval, and disappeared back into whatever part of the penthouse she managed with terrifying efficiency.
Lily ate a few apple slices, then colored some more. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, her eyes started getting heavy.
I watched her fight it for maybe thirty seconds before surrendering completely. Her head settled against the armrest, one hand still loosely holding a crayon—and she was out.
Just like that.
It was the strangest thing. Lily could fall asleep anywhere, anytime, like her body had learned to steal rest whenever possible.
On the couch, once even on the floor of the therapy room with her head on a pile of stuffed animals.
Mrs. Pearson said she’d been like this since the accident.
Like sleep was the only place she felt completely safe.
I stood quietly, careful not to wake her, and headed toward the kitchen. I needed coffee. Or water. Or possibly something stronger, even though it was barely noon.
Gianna was already there, leaning against the counter with her phone, looking like she’d been waiting for entertainment.
“So,” she said without looking up. “How badly did he rip into you?”
I grabbed a mug from the cabinet. “On a scale of one to unemployed? Solid eight.”
“Yikes.” She finally glanced up, grinning like my professional near-death experience was the highlight of her day. “What’d you do—tell him his tie was ugly?”
“I was only thirty minutes late, and it’s the first time. He didn’t even try to ask why.” I sighed.
“Only thirty minutes?” Her eyebrows shot up. “And you still have a job? I told you last week he fired the gardener for arriving five minutes late.”
“That sweet girl Lily is literally the only reason I’m still here.” I poured coffee that was probably from this morning and definitely too strong. “The second she decides she’s done with me, I’m gone.”
“I don’t think so. I think Mr. Valdez might like you too.”
“Girl, please,” I shot her a look.“Speaking of…” I continued, settling onto one of the counter stools. “Why do you keep scheduling my sessions when he’s home? You know he makes everything awkward.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her expression was pure innocence, which meant she was absolutely lying.
“Gianna.”
“Sarah.”
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Maybe I just think you two should interact more.” She waggled her eyebrows in a way that made me want to throw my coffee at her.
“What I need is to not get fired,” I said slowly. “Which gets significantly harder when he’s lurking around watching me work like I’m about to pocket the silverware.”
“He doesn’t think you’re stealing. He’s just protective. Of Lily. Of everything, really.”
“Protective is one word for it.” I took a sip of coffee and immediately regretted it. Way too strong. “Controlling and emotionally unavailable are a few others.”
“He’s been worse lately,” Gianna admitted, her usual brightness dimming a little. “Since his last trip. Mom says he barely eats, works until like three in the morning. She found him asleep at his desk twice last week.”
Something uncomfortable stirred in my chest. I pushed it away. Sympathy for Hector Valdez wasn’t on my agenda.
“Maybe running fourteen restaurants is finally catching up with him,” I said.
“Maybe.” Gianna shrugged. “Or maybe it’s just easier to work than to deal with everything else.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Then, because I couldn’t handle heavy topics for too long, I straightened up. “Anyway, you need to stop scheduling me during his home hours. Seriously. Who needs enemies when I have you?”
Gianna grinned. “You love me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“Same thing.”
“Not even remotely.”
She laughed, and I felt the tension from earlier finally start to ease. Then, because apparently I couldn’t leave well enough alone, I set my mug down and dropped my voice low.
“You want to know how it went in his office?” I squared my shoulders, making my face as blank as possible. “I don’t care about your commute, Ms. Tinsley.” I kept my expression completely flat, mimicking Hector’s perpetual lack of emotion. “I care about consistency. Lily needs consistency.”
Gianna started laughing, but then her face changed. Froze.
“What?” I said.
She wasn’t looking at me anymore. She was looking behind me.
Dread dropped into my stomach like a stone.
I turned around slowly.
Hector stood in the kitchen doorway, empty coffee mug in hand, face completely expressionless.
Every word I’d just said replayed in my head at maximum volume. The impression. The mocking tone. The absolutely unprofessional imitation of my employer who could end my career with a single sentence.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look directly at me. Just walked past like I was furniture, set his mug in the sink with that same deliberate precision, and walked out.
The second he disappeared, I whipped around to Gianna. “How much did he hear?”
Her face said everything. “All of it.”
“All of it?”
“Every single word.”
“Oh my god.” I pressed my hands over my face. “I’m so fired.”
“Maybe he thought it was funny?”
“Does that man look like he finds anything funny?”
“Okay, fair point.”
I groaned and seriously considered just walking out and never coming back. Except I needed this job. Needed the money. Needed to not be unemployed with a mountain of debt and a brother depending on me.
“I have to apologize,” I muttered.
“How?”
“I don’t know. Grovel? Beg? Offer my soul?”
“Pretty sure he doesn’t accept souls as payment.”
“Then I’m out of options.”
I left the kitchen before Gianna could make things worse. I followed the path Hector had taken at a careful distance, trying to figure out what I could possibly say that wouldn’t make this catastrophe even worse.
I found him standing in the living room doorway, looking at something on the coffee table.
Lily’s drawing. The ballerina with stars.
Then his gaze moved to the couch. To Lily, small and asleep, crayon still loosely held in one hand.
His expression changed. Just for a second. Something passed across his face—something that looked like pain.
His hand went to the back of his neck. Gripped there. That gesture I’d noticed before.
Then he turned and walked away.
I stood there in the hallway, watching him disappear, and couldn’t bring myself to follow him, nor could I stop thinking about that expression on his face.
Hector Valdez had looked human.