Chapter 5 Jack
The silence after Daisy's voice faded pressed against my eardrums like deep water.
Please... stay.
Two words. The first in two years. And they weren't for me.
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't process what I'd just heard. My daughter's voice, the voice I'd listened to in home videos until I'd memorized every inflection, every giggle, every word, had just torn through the silence of this penthouse like a thunderclap.
She had spoken.
Daisy had spoken.
The shock was physical, a blow to my chest that left me gasping. Two years of specialists, therapists, gentle coaxing, desperate prayers—all of it useless. And now, in this moment, terrified of losing the cleaning woman I'd been surveilling for nine months, she'd found her voice again.
From the hallway, I heard a sharp, choked sob.
Mrs. Rosa stood in the shadows, one hand pressed over her mouth, tears streaming down her face.
She'd been Daisy's nanny since birth, had held her through Elena's funeral, and had witnessed every silent day since.
Her eyes met mine; they were wide, disbelieving, joyful.
And she gave a small nod before melting back into the darkness, granting us privacy for this impossible moment.
My mind was a whiteout. Static. Those two words echoed in the vacuum, impossible and devastating. My daughter's voice, which existed only in memory and home videos, had just shattered the silence of this cold penthouse. It was a miracle. It was a disaster.
I took a step forward, my bare feet silent on the floor. I knelt, my focus entirely on the small, trembling form wrapped around Anna.
"Daisy?" My voice cracked. I reached for her, needing to touch her, to confirm this was real. "Sweetheart, can you say it again? Anything. Please, baby, just—"
She flinched. Not from my hand, but from the pressure of my expectation. She buried her face deeper into Anna's jeans, her small body going rigid.
A fresh wave of helplessness, sharp and bitter, washed over me. I had just heard her speak, and already I had ruined it.
"She's overwhelmed." Anna's voice was barely a whisper. She wasn't looking at me; all her focus was on Daisy. "I've seen this before. With my father, after bad episodes. When you finally get the courage to speak, to ask for something..." She trailed off. "It takes everything."
"I know my daughter," I said, my words were automatic, defensive.
"I know you do." Her tone wasn't confrontational. "But look at her hands."
I did. Daisy's small fists were clenched so tight her knuckles were white. Her entire body was trembling, a fine, constant vibration of spent emotion and fear.
"She needs a minute to calm down," Anna murmured. "Pushing her now will just make her retreat further."
Every instinct in me rebelled. I was her father. I should be the one comforting her. But the evidence was undeniable: she had run to Anna. She had spoken for Anna. And now, in her overwhelm, she was hiding in Anna.
The truth was a blade, twisting. I gave a stiff, barely perceptible nod.
So we waited. Kneeling on the floor of my own foyer, a ridiculous picture-perfect painting.
The billionaire in a bathrobe, the cleaning woman in denim, and the silent little girl who held us both hostage.
The minutes stretched, taut and painful.
I watched as, slowly, the violent trembling in Daisy's shoulders subsided.
Her grip on Anna's legs loosened, just a fraction.
Anna began to stroke her hair, a slow, rhythmic motion. Daisy didn't pull away.
Then Daisy lifted her head. Her face was blotchy, tear-streaked. She looked at Anna. Then at me. Back to Anna. Back to me.
Her small chest rose and fell with quick, panicked breaths. She was trying to solve an impossible problem: how to keep both of us.
Then, she did something that stopped my heart.
She reached out. One small hand remained fisted in Anna's jeans, an anchor. The other stretched across the gap between us, fingers trembling.
Asking if she could have both.
Her tiny fingers wrapped around two of mine, and I felt the circuit complete. The current that ran through that connection, from her to me to Anna and back, it was pure, agonizing hope.
"Hey, super helper," Anna whispered, her voice thick. "Mrs. Rosa is probably waiting to hear all about the tea party. Should we go find her? I bet she saved a cupcake for you."
Daisy looked at Anna, then back at me, her hand still holding mine. She gave the smallest of nods.
"Can you go with her?" Anna asked gently. "I need to talk to your daddy for a little bit more. Grown-up talk. But I'll be right here."
The fear flashed back into Daisy's eyes. Her grip on both of us tightened.
"It's okay," I heard myself say, my words still rough. "We're just talking. We'll be right here."
It was the promise that did it. That 'we'. She searched my face, looking for a lie. I tried to keep mine as honest as I possibly could.
Slowly, she released us. She stood up, swaying a little.
Anna gave her a soft, encouraging smile.
Daisy took two steps toward the hallway, then paused.
She turned back, her gaze sweeping over both of us.
It wasn't a look of fear anymore. It was a look of profound, five-year-old seriousness.
A silent, unmistakable command: Fix this.
I'd built empires with less pressure than that five-year-old's stare.
Then she was gone.
The silence she left was different. Charged. Heavy with expectations and wishes that I now feared breaking.
"I need to dress." My words came out hoarse. "Don't leave."
It wasn't a request. It wasn't quite an order. It was something closer to a plea, and I hated the sound of it.
I didn't wait for an answer. I retreated to my bedroom, closing the door behind me with exaggerated care, as if Daisy could hear, as if she'd think I was angry if I slammed it.
I leaned against the door, my legs suddenly unsteady. My daughter had spoken. My daughter had spoken. For Anna. To keep Anna.
The choice was no longer hypothetical. It was here, immediate, undeniable: vengeance or Daisy's healing. My rage or my daughter's voice.
I dressed quickly in dark trousers and a simple black sweater, my movements automatic. When I returned to the living room, Anna was standing by the window, her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold. She turned as I entered.
"I can leave the city." The words tumbled out before I'd fully entered the room, as if she'd been rehearsing them. "If that's what you need. I'll go. Tonight. Right now." She swallowed hard. "I'll find somewhere new. I've done it before. I can—" Her voice cracked. "I can do it again."
She meant it. I could see the resignation in her posture. She was ready to vanish, to become a ghost again.
"Daisy spoke for the first time in two years," I said, stating the irreducible fact.
"She spoke because she was terrified of losing you.
We've had speech therapists, child psychologists, and play therapists.
For twenty-four months. Nothing worked. You, in nine months, did what an army of experts could not. "
I walked to my desk, needing the solid barrier between us. Needing professional distance. "I'm going to make you an offer."
She waited, her arms still wrapped around herself.
"You will not like it." I gripped the edge of the desk. "I certainly don't. But my preferences stopped mattering the moment Daisy spoke."
A pause. She deserved to know what was coming.
"I'm going to hire you. Not as a cleaner. As Daisy's full-time assistant nanny."
I saw the conflict on her face. She looked relieved for Daisy, but horrified at the prospect of being bound to me.
"The terms." I pulled out my phone, opened a new note. Made it official. Professional. "Five days a week. Monday through Friday. Eight a.m. to six p.m."
She nodded once.
"Four thousand dollars a week. Deposited directly to your account. You quit your other jobs. This is your sole employment."
Her eyes widened slightly. That was probably more than she made in a month across all three jobs, but she said nothing.
"Your focus is Daisy. Her development, her comfort, her routine. You are my employee. Nothing more." I looked up from the phone. "We are not friends. We are not allies. We are not even acquaintances working toward a common goal. We are employer and employee. Do you understand?"
"You don't trust me," she stated quietly.
"No."
"You still blame me."
"Yes."
"Then how—"
"Because she needs you!" The words burst out, sharper than I intended. I reined it in, forcing calm. "This isn't about forgiveness, Anna. It's not about trust. It's about a five-year-old girl who means the world to me."
I leaned forward, planting my hands on the desk. "You made a promise to her. A promise about tea parties and funny voices. Are you going to break that promise? To a child who has already lost everything?"
It was manipulation, low and calculated. I used her obvious affection for Daisy as a lever. I saw it land, saw the flicker of pain in her warm brown eyes.
A long pause. I watched her process it—the money, the terms, the surveillance, the daily proximity to the man who'd orchestrated her life for nine months. I watched her weigh her fear of me against her love for Daisy.
"I accept."
Two words. As binding as a contract. As final as a prison sentence.
"For Daisy," she added softly. "Only for Daisy."
"Only for Daisy," I confirmed. "Be here tomorrow at eight. Mrs. Rosa will handle the household. You handle Daisy."
She turned to go, heading again for the service entrance. My voice stopped her.
"One more thing." She stopped, her hand on the doorknob, the same door, the same position as when Daisy had run to her.
"You will not discuss this arrangement with anyone.
Not friends, not family, not support groups.
As far as anyone knows, you're a nanny who started today.
No history. No connection to Elena. Do you understand? "
Something shifted in her expression. "You're protecting yourself."
"I'm protecting Daisy. The last thing she needs is media attention about the miracle nanny who helped the tragic widower's daughter speak again." I held her gaze. "And yes. I'm protecting myself. If Carter finds out you're here, working for me..."
I didn't finish. We both knew what Carter might do with that information.
For the first time since the confrontation in the office, a spark of her earlier fire returned. She turned fully to face me, her chin lifting a fraction.
"I would never hurt her." Her voice was clear, firm.
"She is the best thing that has happened to me in years.
You can watch me all you want, Mr. Spencer.
Track my routes, read my texts, catalogue my groceries.
" She met my eyes. "You won't find anything.
Because there's nothing to find. There never was. "
Then she was gone, the door clicking shut softly behind her.
Alone. The penthouse settled back into its profound silence, but it felt different now. Charged. Waiting.
I pulled out my phone. Stared at James's name in my contacts. He deserved to know. He'd been there through everything. During Elena's death, Daisy's silence, and my descent into obsessive surveillance.
Jack
Daisy spoke today.
The three dots appeared immediately. Disappeared. Appeared again. I could picture him in his cluttered office, trying to find the right words.
Then my phone rang.
James's name lit up the screen. I stared at it, let it ring once, twice, three times. How could I explain what I'd just done? That I'd hired the woman I'd been stalking? That my plan for vengeance had transformed into... this?
I sent it to voicemail.
Jack
Not now. Later.
James
Jack, what the hell happened?
Jack
I'll explain tomorrow. She's okay. Daisy's okay.
James
And Anna Stewart?
I looked at the text for a long moment.
Jack
She now works for me… directly.
I walked down the hall to Daisy's room. The door was ajar. Mrs. Rosa was sitting in the rocking chair, knitting. Daisy was in bed, her stuffed dog in her arms. She was awake, staring at the ceiling.
Mrs. Rosa looked at me, her expression unreadable, and quietly stood, slipping out of the room with a gentle touch to my shoulder.
I stood in the doorway, unsure of my welcome. Daisy turned her head. Her eyes, in the dim nightlight, found mine. She didn't smile. But she lifted the edge of her blanket in a small, silent invitation.
The breath I'd been holding left me in a rush. I crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed. For a moment, we just sat there in the quiet. Then, she shifted, leaning her small body against my side, her head resting on my arm.
It was the first voluntary, affectionate touch she'd initiated with me in two years. My throat closed. I carefully put my arm around her, holding her slight weight. She didn't pull away. She sighed, a soft, sleepy sound, and settled in.
As I sat there in the dark, holding my daughter, the crushing irony of the situation wrapped around me.
Anna Stewart, the woman whose silence had haunted me, was the reason my daughter was now leaning against me.
To keep this fragile connection, I had to invite the source of my deepest rage into my home every single day.
I had traded revenge for Daisy's healing.
Daisy's breathing slowed, evening out into the rhythm of sleep. But she didn't let go of me. Even unconscious, she held on.
And downstairs, in my office, the monitors would still be recording. Still watching. Because even though Anna Stewart now had a key to my home, access to my daughter, a place in our broken routine...
I still didn't know if I was protecting Daisy from the woman who'd helped destroy our lives.
Or protecting Anna from the man who'd never stopped hunting her.