Chapter 1 - The Eighteenth Nanny
A four-year-old boy threw a bronze statue across the room, screaming: "Don't let them take me away!"
When Adrian Vale arrived, he found a broken nanny badge beside his son's chair.
But three words were scratched into the back: "He knows everything."
Adrian suddenly realized this wasn't a child's tantrum.
The first thing I learned about Noah Vale was that nobody lasted long enough to understand him.
The second thing I learned was that everyone was afraid to try.
I had heard the rumors before I ever stepped inside the Vale mansion.
Eighteen nannies.
That was the number people whispered about.
Eighteen women who had entered the mansion believing they could handle a difficult child.
Eighteen women who had left with the same terrified expression.
Some quit after one day.
Some lasted a week.
One lasted only six hours.
The last nanny had left with a cut on her forehead and tears streaming down her face.
She stood outside the mansion gates, refusing to look back.
"He isn't normal," she had told the reporters waiting outside.
"That boy knows things he shouldn't know."
Nobody believed her.
At least, nobody outside the Vale family.
But I was never the type of person who believed rumors without seeing the truth myself.
My name was Emma Carter.
I was twenty-eight years old, and for the last six years, I had worked as a professional childcare specialist for wealthy families across Chicago.
I had cared for children with anger issues.
Children dealing with trauma.
Children who had lost parents.
Children who screamed, broke things, and pushed people away because they were scared.
I had always believed one thing.
A child was never born cruel.
A child was shaped by what happened around them.
That belief was the reason I accepted the job.
That, and the fact that the person who called me wasn't a normal employer.
It was Adrian Vale.
The name alone carried weight.
People didn't say Adrian Vale's name casually.
He was a businessman.
A billionaire.
A man connected to powerful people.
A man many believed controlled more of Chicago's underground world than anyone would ever admit.
But when he spoke to me on the phone, he didn't sound like a dangerous man.
He sounded like a desperate father.
"I need someone who won't give up on my son," he said.
His voice was quiet.
Almost exhausted.
"Everyone else sees a problem. I see my child."
Those words stayed with me.
So three days later, I walked through the front doors of the Vale mansion.
And I immediately understood why people were intimidated.
The place felt less like a home and more like a fortress.
The marble floors were spotless.
The walls were covered with expensive paintings.
Security cameras watched every hallway.
Two men in black suits stood near the entrance, completely silent.
But none of that caught my attention.
No.
It was the silence that bothered me.
A house with a four-year-old child should have noise.
Laughter.
Running footsteps.
A television playing in the background.
Something.
Instead, everything felt frozen.
Like everyone inside was waiting for something bad to happen.
A woman in her fifties led me through the hallway.
"Mr. Vale is upstairs," she said.
I noticed she avoided looking toward the second floor.
"Is Noah here?"
She stopped walking for half a second.
Then she forced a smile.
"He's in the sitting room."
The way she said it made my stomach tighten.
Not "playing."
Not "waiting."
Just...
"in the sitting room."
When I entered, I saw him immediately.
Noah Vale.
Four years old.
Sitting alone in a large leather chair that looked too big for his small body.
He wore a dark navy outfit, perfectly pressed.
His brown hair was neatly combed.
He looked like a child from a family portrait.
Except his eyes didn't match.
There was something in them.
Something older.
Something tired.
I slowly walked closer.
"Hi, Noah."
He didn't answer.
He stared at me.
Not like a child meeting a stranger.
Like someone studying a threat.
I smiled gently and lowered myself onto the floor.
"I’m Emma."
Silence.
Then he spoke.
"You're the eighteenth one."
I froze slightly.
I hadn't told him that.
"Who told you that?"
He looked toward the hallway.
Nobody was there.
"They always come in smiling."
His voice was small.
"But they leave angry."
I tilted my head.
"Why do they leave angry?"
Noah looked down at his hands.
Because he didn't answer immediately, I thought maybe he wouldn't.
Then he whispered:
"Because they think I'm hurting them."
That sentence confused me.
"You think you're not?"
He looked at me.
And for the first time, I saw something different.
Not anger.
Fear.
"I don't hurt people."
His fingers tightened around the armrest.
"I try to stop them."
Before I could ask what he meant, a loud crash came from the hallway.
Noah immediately stood up.
His entire body changed.
The calm child disappeared.
His breathing became faster.
His eyes moved toward the dark hallway behind me.
"He's here."
I turned around.
Nobody was there.
I looked back at Noah.
"Who is here?"
But Noah didn't answer.
He was staring at something behind my shoulder.
Something only he could see.
Then suddenly, the door opened.
A tall man stepped inside.
Adrian Vale.
I recognized him immediately.
He was exactly how people described him.
Tall.
Powerful.
Controlled.
His dark hair was perfectly styled, and his white shirt looked expensive without trying to show it.
But the thing I noticed most wasn't his appearance.
It was his eyes.
Because the moment he saw Noah standing there, his expression changed.
Not anger.
Fear.
A father seeing something he didn't understand.
"Noah."
The boy looked at him.
"Don't let her leave."
Adrian stopped.
"What?"
Noah pointed at me.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"She's the first one who listened."
Nobody moved.
I didn't know what to say.
Adrian looked at me carefully.
Then he walked closer.
"I apologize."
His voice was calm.
"My son has been through a difficult time."
I studied him.
"Mr. Vale, your son isn't the problem."
The room became completely silent.
Even Adrian seemed surprised.
"Then what is?"
I looked toward the hallway.
The place Noah had been staring at.
"I don't know yet."
Adrian's expression hardened.
"That's exactly why I hired you."
For the next few hours, I observed Noah.
And slowly, I realized something.
The rumors were wrong.
Noah wasn't violent.
He wasn't cruel.
Every strange thing he did had a reason.
When a staff member entered the room suddenly, Noah panicked.
When someone raised their voice, he covered his ears.
When a certain door in the hallway opened, he became terrified.
It wasn't anger.
It was fear.
A child afraid of something inside his own home.
That night, after Noah finally fell asleep, I found Adrian standing alone near the staircase.
"You knew," I said.
He looked at me.
"Knew what?"
"That something was wrong."
He remained silent.
Then he answered:
"I know my son better than anyone."
"Then why didn't you help him?"
His jaw tightened.
"Because every person who tried to investigate disappeared."
The words made me look at him carefully.
"Disappeared?"
Adrian looked toward the upper hallway.
"My son keeps saying someone is watching him."
A cold feeling moved through me.
"Do you believe him?"
For the first time, Adrian looked uncertain.
"I didn't."
He paused.
"Until last week."
"What happened last week?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he walked away.
Leaving me with more questions than answers.
The next morning, I started searching Noah's room.
Not because I thought he was dangerous.
Because I thought someone else was.
Under his bed, I found drawings.
Hundreds of them.
Most were normal.
A family.
A house.
A father holding his son.
But hidden among them were drawings of a dark hallway.
A locked door.
And a person standing behind the door.
Then I found one drawing that made my hands go cold.
It showed me.
Standing beside Noah.
Behind us was the same locked door.
And underneath it, written in a child's handwriting:
"She will open it."
I slowly turned toward the hallway.
Because I knew exactly which door Noah had been afraid of.
The one nobody was allowed to enter.
I reached for the handle.
May you like
It was already unlocked.
Someone was inside.
