The silence of the estate was usually the first thing that greeted Ethan Sterling. It was a heavy, expensive silence—the kind that only ten acres in Greenwich, Connecticut, and stone walls three feet thick could provide. Ethan froze in the threshold of the nursery, his grip tightening on the handle of his leather Tumi briefcase.
His tie hung loose around his neck, the top button of his dress shirt undone, a testament to the brutal eighteen-hour flight from Tokyo. He had returned three days early. The merger with Kaito Tech had closed faster than anticipated, but that wasn’t the only reason he was here.
A gnawing sensation in his chest—a strange, magnetic pull he couldn’t explain—had compelled him to skip the celebratory dinner and board the corporate jet immediately. Now, standing in the doorway of the West Wing, he understood why. On the floor of the expansive bedroom, his new nanny was kneeling on the plush, navy-blue carpet.
Her name was Sarah. He knew this only because his personal assistant had briefed him. He had never actually met her.
She wore a simple, professional black dress with a small white apron—a uniform requested by the agency, contrasting sharply with the modern, sterile elegance of the room. But it wasn’t the nanny who stole the air from his lungs. It was his sons.
Liam, Noah, and Mason. The triplets were kneeling beside her. They were five years old, yet in Ethan’s mind, they were still the screaming infants he had been too grief-stricken to hold after his wife, Elena, passed away during childbirth.
He had provided them with the best: the best doctors, the best food, the best toys, and the best staff. But he had never provided them with himself. Now, he watched as their small hands clasped together in front of their chests.
Their eyes were closed, their expressions holding a serenity that Ethan had never seen on their faces. Usually, when he saw them, they were chaotic, loud, or worse—fearful of the tall, stranger-like father who appeared only to inspect them. “Thank you for this day,” the nanny’s voice whispered.
It was soft, melodious, carrying a warmth that seemed to heat the chilly room. “Thank you for this day,” the boys murmured, their voices a jagged chorus of high-pitched innocence. “Thank you for the food that nourishes us and the roof that protects us.”
“Thank you for the food…” the boys repeated.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
