Chapter 3 - The Contract of Two Mothers
The news echoed through the Vance compound like a thunderbolt.
By noon, the household staff was buzzing with bitter, bewildered gossip. The kitchen staff whispered near the industrial refrigerators; the groundskeepers paused their mowers near the east garden; even the security guards at the outer gate exchanged stunned looks over their radios.
A twenty-six-year-old housekeeper from the suburbs had been handed the keys to the kingdom.
Inside the grand study, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.
Elias, Julian’s trusted fixer and legal strategist, leaned over the massive marble desk, placing a thick stack of legal documents between Julian and Elena.
“Mr. Vance, with all due respect, this is unprecedented,” Elias urged, his voice tight. “Ms. Rostova has not undergone a federal background check. Her son’s presence introduces liability issues regarding the Vance trust fund. If the board of directors discovers that you’ve replaced certified medical caretakers with an unvetted house cleaner—”
“The board doesn't raise my children, Elias,” Julian snapped, signing the bottom of the first page with a gold fountain pen. “I do.”
He slid the contract across the desk toward Elena.
Elena sat in the high-backed leather chair, holding Toby tightly on her lap. Toby was currently occupied trying to bite the ear off a plush velvet throw pillow, blissfully unaware of the millions of dollars swinging in the air above his head.
Elena looked down at the contract.
The number printed on the line marked Annual Compensation made her gasp out loud. It was more money than her grandmother had made in a decade of working double shifts at the diner. It was enough to buy a new car, pay off her debts, fix her glasses, and secure Toby’s future for years to come.
Yet, Elena didn't reach for the pen.
She looked up, meeting Julian’s intense, unblinking gaze.
“I have conditions,” she said quietly.
Elias scoffed. “Conditions? Ms. Rostova, you are being offered a life-changing sum—”
“Let her speak,” Julian cut in, raising a hand to silence his fixer.
Elena straightened her back, her voice firm despite the nervous knot in her chest. “First, my son is not a therapeutic tool. He is a little boy. If I ever feel that this environment is unsafe, overwhelming, or toxic for Toby, we walk away. No non-disclosure agreement will stop me.”
Julian nodded once. “Agreed.”
“Second,” Elena continued, “you will interact with your sons.”
The room went dead silent. Elias looked as if he might faint.
Julian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Excuse me?”
“You sit in your study three floors up while your boys scream their lungs out down below,” Elena said, her candidness striking like a slap to the face. “Money didn't break their hearts, Mr. Vance. And money won't fix them. They don't just need Toby. They need you. If I take this job, you spend at least one hour a day in the nursery with them. Uninterrupted. No phone, no laptop, no business calls.”
Elias stepped forward angrily. “Ms. Rostova, Mr. Vance manages a forty-billion-dollar global infrastructure firm—”
“I don't care if he manages the moon,” Elena fired back, her eyes flashing with a mother’s fierce instinct. “A father who hides behind marble walls is just a stranger with a credit card. Do we have a deal, Mr. Vance?”
Julian stared at her. For twelve long months, everyone around him had walked on eggshells. His staff bowed, his executives agreed with his every word, and his doctors offered gentle, clinical sympathy regarding his late wife’s tragedy.
No one had spoken to him like this since Clara died.
A slow, dark ember flared back to life in Julian’s chest. He picked up the gold pen, flipped to the final page, and signed his name in bold, sweeping strokes.
“One hour a day,” Julian whispered, looking directly into her eyes. “Starting today.”
Two hours later, Elena and Toby were moved into the east guest suite—a luxurious three-room apartment featuring floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Puget Sound, a private balcony, and plush king-sized beds.
As Elena unpacked her faded tote bag, setting her taped glasses on the nightstand, she looked out at the ocean.
She had come here to scrub toilets. Now, she was holding the reins of Seattle’s most powerful family.
A soft knock sounded at the open connecting door.
Elena turned to see Julian standing in the doorway of the nursery. He had taken off his tailored jacket and rolled his white dress sleeves up to his elbows, revealing strong, corded forearms marked by a faint silver scar on his left wrist.
In his arms, he was clumsily holding Leo, while Lucas clung to his trousers leg, pulling himself up.
Julian looked utterly out of his depth, like a warrior handed a delicate glass porcelain vase he didn't know how to carry.
“It’s 4:00 PM,” Julian said, his voice husky. “My hour begins now.”
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Elena looked at the formidable billionaire standing awkwardly in a room scattered with wooden blocks and plastic dump trucks, and for the first time all day, a small, genuine smile touched her lips.
“Rule number one, Mr. Vance,” Elena said, stepping toward him and gently correcting the way he was holding Leo’s hips. “Loosen your grip. They’re babies, not corporate takeovers.”
