Chapter 2

I drive straight to the gated waterfront Rossi estate address printed on the flyer that same afternoon. A stoic head butler waits at the front marble doorway, scanning my wedding-stained dress with a skeptical frown.

“You’re the applicant for the boy’s caretaker position?”

I nod once, no extra pleasantries.

“Step inside. Forewarning—Master Jude’s temperament is volatile. He has to take a genuine liking to you to stay employed.” He steps aside to let me cross the foyer. “Dozens of women have applied before you, none lasted more than three full days. Mr. Rossi’s orders: only staff who survive three days get a formal audience with him and a long-term employment contract.”

Confidence settles steady in my bones. The hardships I endured growing up with Jesse, every brutal fight, every penny scraped together for medical bills, all beat dealing with a moody six-year-old boy by a mile.

I round the grand staircase and spot him instantly. Jude’s dressed in a tiny tailored black three-piece suit, sharp delicate features, but a cold, lonely edge no kid his age should carry.

“Hello, Miss. I brought you a gift.” He holds out a wrapped velvet box, wide innocent eyes masking whatever trick he’s cooked up.

The butler staggers backward a full step, panic flooding his face.

“Thank you so much, baby.” I take the box and flip the lid open without hesitation. A massive hairy tarantula leaps straight for my face the second the box opens.

The butler yelps and collapses onto the marble floor, hands flying to cover his eyes.

I pinch the tarantula gently between two fingers, turning it over to examine its abdomen with genuine curiosity.

“Wow, great size on this girl. You’ve been feeding her really well. This gift’s my favorite welcome present ever—thank you, Jude.”

Jude’s cocky smug expression crumples into pure shock. He blinks hard, voice tight with disbelief.

“You’re not scared at all?”

I grew up off-grid in a remote cabin with Jesse. Snakes, lizards, spiders, wild amphibians—none of them rattle me in the slightest.

“This is your first gift to me, of course I love it. No way I’d be frightened.”

I place the tarantula back inside its velvet box, then reach out to curl my hand around his tiny palm.

“C’mon. We can grab a glass terrarium to house her together. I can walk you through her molting cycle—they’re super fragile during that phase, I’ll teach you all the care tricks.”

His cheeks flush bright red, and he yanks his hand free instantly.

“I don’t need help taking care of my pets!”

He storms a few steps up the staircase, then twists back to glance over his shoulder at me.

“The terrarium room’s on the second floor. Follow me if you want.”

He leads me to a closed bedroom door, shoving it open to reveal walls lined floor-to-ceiling with sealed glass enclosures. Geckos, horned frogs, monitor lizards, every cold-blooded creature labeled with handwritten feeding schedules taped to each tank.

“Your collection?” I ask quietly.

He nods. “Butler helps with feeding sometimes. They never yell or lie to me. They keep me company all day.”

A sharp twinge of sympathy twists my chest. I set the tarantula tank down on an empty shelf, then drop to my knees and wrap my arms lightly around his small frame.

“Jude, my name’s Sage. Starting today, I’ll stay right here with you.”

His whole body stiffens, then he wriggles free of my hug and bolts toward the door.

“I don’t need anyone hanging around me! I’m a tough guy, I handle everything alone.”

I stay kneeled on the carpet, watching the tips of his ears burn bright red, and smile softly.

That night, a brutal thunderstorm rips through the neighborhood, lightning splitting the sky every few seconds. I get up to lock the floor-to-ceiling windows and hear glass shattering from Jude’s bedroom next door.

I burst through his door without knocking. A broken desk lamp lies shattered on the rug, and Jude curls tight against the bed frame, clutching a throw pillow to his chest, skin pale as chalk from terror.

When he sees me, he snatches a ceramic vase off his nightstand and hurls it straight at my head.

“Get out of my room! Who said you could barge in?”

This kid puts on such a tough front, but thunderstorms terrify him to his core. I catch the flying vase mid-air with one hand, then cross the room in two strides and slip under his duvet, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I’m terrified of thunderstorms too. Can I crash here with you just tonight? Please?”