Chapter 6 Claire
Two weeks into my new job, I'd learned three important things about the Sterling mansion: the morning room had excellent natural light, Mrs. Lee made the best coffee I'd ever tasted, and Victoria Sterling could make "good morning" sound like a death threat.
"You're here early," she'd said that morning, finding me in the kitchen reviewing lesson plans. Her smile was pleasant. Her eyes were not.
"Millie wanted to start a new book series. I thought I'd prepare."
"How dedicated." She poured herself sparkling water, the fizz unnaturally loud in the quiet kitchen. "I do hope you're not getting too comfortable. Tutoring positions can be so... temporary."
"I'll keep that in mind."
She'd glided out, leaving behind the faint scent of expensive perfume and the distinct impression that I'd been warned. Again.
This was our routine now. Victoria never attacked directly when Nathaniel might hear; she was far too smart for that. Instead, she waged a quiet war of cuts and implications, death by a thousand paper cuts delivered with a society smile.
"Millie's penmanship is still quite messy," she'd observed yesterday, examining homework I'd left on the counter. "I suppose public school standards are different."
"She's seven," I'd said evenly. "Her penmanship is age-appropriate."
"If you say so. You're the expert." The way she said expert made it sound like a disease.
But none of it mattered when I was with Millie.
In the morning room, with its bay windows and bookshelves, we existed in our own world.
She was blooming; there was no other word for it.
The quiet, cautious child I'd met that rainy night was slowly being replaced by someone brighter, louder, and more willing to take up space.
"Miss Claire, I'm bored," she announced that Thursday afternoon, flopping dramatically across the reading couch. Rain streaked the windows, trapping us inside.
"You just finished an entire chapter. That's not boring, that's impressive."
"But now I have wiggles." She squirmed for emphasis. "Too many wiggles."
I laughed. "Wiggles are serious business. What do you usually do about them?"
"Daddy used to let me wrestle him sometimes." Her face fell slightly. "But we haven’t done that since mommy..."
"Well." I set down my papers. "I don't know how to wrestle, but I'm an excellent dramatic loser. Does that count?"
Her eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Really. But we need rules. No actual violence. Pillows only. And if I say 'uncle,' you have to stop."
"What's uncle?"
"It means I surrender. It's a wrestling thing."
"Okay!" She grabbed a throw pillow, bouncing on her toes. "I'll be The Undertaker. He's my favorite wrestler."
"The Undertaker. Sounds terrifying."
"He is. He does this." She made a throat-cutting gesture and attempted a menacing face that was mostly adorable.
We ended up on the family room couch, the massive TV playing an old wrestling match Millie had found while I dramatically pretended to be defeated by her pillow attacks. The Undertaker stalked across the screen in his black coat, and Millie provided enthusiastic commentary.
"He's going to do the chokeslam! Watch, watch!"
"I'm watching! This is very educational!"
She giggled and whacked me with the pillow again. I grabbed her and tickled her ribs, and her shriek of laughter echoed off the high ceilings. For a moment, the house actually felt like a home.
"Who is making all that noise in my living room?"
Victoria's voice sliced through our laughter like a blade through silk. She stood in the doorway, immaculate in cream silk, her expression one of pained distaste, as if she'd discovered rodents on her furniture.
The change in Millie was instantaneous. All the bright, giggling energy drained from her body. She scrambled off the couch, shoulders hunching, eyes dropping to the floor. The pillow fell from her hands.
"We were just watching TV," I said, sitting up and keeping my voice steady. "Millie had energy to burn after lessons."
"This is a home, not a gymnasium." Victoria's gaze swept the room like she was cataloging damages. "And this is my living room. I'd appreciate it if you remembered that."
The way she said ‘my’ like Millie was a stray who'd wandered in and shed on the furniture, ignited something reckless within me.
"It's also Millie's home," I said, standing. "She's a child. She's allowed to laugh. She's allowed to play in her own house."
"I don't recall asking for your opinion on how my household is run." Victoria's smile sharpened. "Your domain is the morning room. Not my personal spaces."
"Your personal spaces include a seven-year-old who lives here." I stepped forward, putting myself between Victoria and Millie. "Speaking to her like she's an inconvenience isn't acceptable."
"How I speak to my stepdaughter is none of your concern." Victoria's composure cracked, frost giving way to heat. "You are an employee. You would do well to remember your place."
"My place is wherever a child needs somebody to stand up for her."
"How dare—"
"What's going on?"
Nathaniel's voice cut through the escalating tension.
He stood in the hallway entrance, tie loosened, briefcase still in hand.
His eyes swept the scene: Victoria rigid with fury, me flushed and defiant, Millie shrinking against the couch.
A scowl immediately appeared on his face and I could tell from the hand into a fist that he was beyond angry.
I didn't wait for the explosion. Millie didn't need to witness whatever was coming.
"Hey, sweetheart." I crouched to her level, keeping my voice soft. "Let's go upstairs. You can show me that new chapter book."
She nodded mutely, her small hand finding mine with desperate trust. I led her past Nathaniel without meeting his eyes, past Victoria without acknowledging her existence. Behind us, I heard the low rumble of his voice beginning, sharp and dangerous, and Victoria's defensive reply.
I stayed with Millie until the tension drained from her body, reading aloud until her eyes grew heavy. When I was sure she was drifting toward sleep, I slipped out and closed her door softly.
The house was quiet now. Too quiet.
I found Nathaniel in the kitchen, alone. The overhead lights were off, the space illuminated only by under-cabinet LEDs and the gray twilight through the windows. He stood at the island, two crystal glasses and a bottle of whiskey already waiting.
"Is she asleep?" His voice was rough.
"Almost."
He poured amber liquid into both glasses and pushed one toward me. "Sit. Please."
I hesitated, then took the stool across from him. The whiskey burned going down, a trail of fire that settled warm in my stomach.
"Victoria's gone to her room," he said, answering the question I hadn't asked. "We shared a few words."
"I'm sorry if I made things worse."
"You didn't." He stared into his glass. "You defended my daughter. That's not something I need to forgive."
Silence stretched between us, but our unsaid words were loud enough. I watched him swirl the whiskey, his shoulders carrying a weight that had nothing to do with the briefcase he carried home every day or the pressure of running a company.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"How did this happen? You and Victoria. You don't seem like..." I trailed off, unsure how to finish.
"Like what? A match?" His laugh was hollow.
"We're not. We never were." He took a slow drink.
"After Michaela died, I was drowning. Millie needed a mother figure, or I convinced myself she did.
Victoria and I knew each other from high school…
we used to be good friends. When she came back from Paris, offered condolences, started coming around. .. it felt like a solution."
"A solution."
"That's what I do. You heard it before, I can’t help but solve issues. Even if it’s.
.." His voice trailed off, and he took another swig of his glass.
"It wasn't love. It was more like an unspoken transaction. I offered stability and a chance to maintain her name within her elite circles despite her family’s declining fame.
She offered a facade of a family. I thought it would be enough. "
"When did you realize it wasn't?"
"On several occasions, for example, the day I came home and found Millie crying with a scraped knee.
Victoria told her to stop being dramatic and walked away.
Another day, when Millie wanted them to play together, Victoria shooed her away without giving her as much as a side glance.
" His voice went flat. "If she could leave my daughter bleeding and hurt, without being bothered. .."
I felt really sorry for Millie, for him, for the whole tangled mess of grief and bad decisions.
"Millie told me," I said quietly, "the night she came to my apartment. That her aunt said you wouldn't care if she disappeared."
He closed his eyes. When he opened them, they glistened in the low light. "I'll never forgive myself for not seeing it sooner."
The sincerity in his voice made me want to offer him a comforting embrace, and I had to use all my might to fight it. Before I could stop myself, I was speaking.
"I understand. What it's like to feel disposable."
He looked up, waiting.
I shouldn't do this. This wasn't professional. But his eyes, his tired, honest, patient eyes, made it impossible to stop.
"My mother left when I was twelve. Just a note on the table saying she needed air.
" I wrapped my hands around the glass, grounding myself.
"She came back six months later, but she was broken.
And I spent years thinking that if I could just be good enough, helpful enough, I could fix her. Make her stay."
"Did it work?"
"She died when I was nineteen." The words came out steady, steadier than I felt. "So no. It didn't work. But I still catch myself trying to earn things that should just be given."
I failed to find the words to describe what happened with mom, but I could feel the distance between us collapsing into something more intimate.
I became suddenly aware of how close our hands were on the granite countertop, of the way he was looking at me like I'd handed him something precious, fragile, and real.
"Claire..." He said my name with so much meaning, more than I ever could’ve imagined.
"Nathaniel." I didn't know why I said it back. All I knew was that in this moment, we were both suspended in time, electric, and full of possibilities I couldn't afford to explore.
Then something moved.
My eyes flickered past his shoulder, through the glass wall into the darkening garden. Near the hedgerow, a shadow. Or the suggestion of one. Too deliberate, too human-shaped, before it melted into the deeper darkness.
You're imagining things. You're exhausted and emotionally raw.
But my mother had taught me that sometimes the paranoia was justified.
The moment shattered. I slid off the stool, suddenly desperate for distance.
"I should go." My voice came out too bright, too forced. "Long day. I'm exhausted."
Confusion flickered across his face, maybe a trace of hurt. "Of course. I'll have Simon—"
"No, I have my car." I was already moving toward the door. "I'll see you Saturday."
"Claire."
I paused at the doorway.
"Thank you," he said. "For today. For all of it."
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and left.
The night air slapped my face like cold water as I hurried to my car. My hands shook slightly as I started the engine, and not just from the chill.
I was getting in too deep. With Millie, that was my job; that was inevitable. But Nathaniel Sterling was something else entirely. Something I hadn't planned for and couldn't afford.
In a house where Victoria weaponized every weakness, I'd just shown him all of mine.
And someone might have been watching when I did.