Chapter 9 Dad, what did she call you?
Molly’s POV
“What are you up to, Molly?” Gianni asked in a low, serious tone, the kind that would normally make anyone freeze. But for some reason, I wasn’t afraid of him.
Folding my arms, I met his gaze defiantly and explained the situation as vividly as I could. “If you insist on handling Roger’s morning routine yourself, then I won’t have a job, right?” I said, meaning every word. I would rather work elsewhere than be a freeloader in his mansion.
There was a flicker of conflict in his eyes, something between guilt and pride. I pressed on, unwilling to let the silence swallow us. “How did he even get ready this morning? And don’t you ever travel?”
Someone like Gianni, wealthy, commanding, constantly in demand, surely traveled often. So who looked after Roger when he wasn’t around?
“When Dad’s not here, I do everything myself,” Roger announced with a strange sort of authority. “No one’s allowed to help me. Only him.”
I blinked. His words carried a weight far beyond his age. Commanding, self-assured, like a miniature version of his father.
“You’re too young to do everything on your own,” I said softly. “I’m here to help. If you won’t let me be your nanny or your friend, then at least let me be your personal maid.”
I was only trying to get him to accept me, even a little, but the mischievous sparkle in his eyes made me instantly regret my offer.
He sighed dramatically. “Alright, personal maid. Let’s eat. But you have to do everything I say.”
“Enough, Roger,” Gianni finally interjected, his patience thinning. “She’s not your personal maid.”
But I wasn’t done. My concern wasn’t with Gianni’s tone. It was with the fragile thread of trust between Roger and me. “Stay out of it, Gianni. This is between me and him.”
Roger turned sharply toward his father. “Dad, what did she call you? Why is she speaking to you so casually?”
The air thickened. Gianni’s jaw tightened, but he managed a calm explanation. “I told you already. She’s my friend.”
Roger’s frown deepened. “Alright then. I’m starving. But why weren’t you home last night?”
The question hit like a jab. For a moment, I realized who truly held power in this house. The boy who had become his father’s little emperor.
“There was an emergency,” Gianni replied gently. “I couldn’t come home. Let’s just eat together, alright?”
Gathered around the enormous dining table, I felt something unfamiliar stirring inside me, warmth. For the first time in a long while, it almost felt like family.
Back with Wesley, I never had this. His parents disapproved of me so openly that I often ate alone in my room, even after cooking the meals myself.
“Dad, this food is terrible,” Roger said after a single bite, his face scrunching up in disgust. The chef lowered his head immediately, shame washing over him.
This boy wasn’t just difficult. He was a tiny tyrant.
“This food is perfect,” I said, tasting it myself. “It’s delicious.”
But Roger crossed his arms stubbornly. “I said it’s horrible. So let’s eat out.”
I wasn’t an expert with children, but I couldn’t ignore what I saw. Roger was unusually tall for his age, his manners far too mature. He didn’t need a booster seat, or toys. There was something about him that didn’t fit the mold of a four-year-old.
“Roger, I’m tired,” Gianni said firmly. “And I have to leave early tomorrow for something important.”
Important? My heart stirred. Was it business… or the divorce? I couldn’t tell, but whatever it was, Roger didn’t like it.
“You said I could have anything I wanted! I don’t like the food. It’s awful!”
“Watch your language,” Gianni snapped, his voice edged with steel.
Roger froze, wide-eyed, then blinked rapidly as tears welled up in his eyes. Without a word, he pushed away from the table and stormed off.
“Should I go after him?” I asked softly, unsure whether to intervene.
Gianni shook his head. “No. He can’t always have his way. He’s too young for that.”
The way he said it, weary, almost regretful, made my chest tighten. I hesitated before asking the question I probably shouldn’t have. “Do you think his rebellion comes from growing up without a mother?”
Gianni’s expression darkened instantly. He dabbed his lips with a napkin and stood. “I need to rest.”
And just like that, he was gone.
The silence that followed was heavy. My appetite vanished. I decided to retreat to my room and take a shower, hoping to wash away the unease.
But when I opened the door, I froze.
The room was breathtaking, nothing short of a royal suite. I had never been poor, but this level of luxury was beyond anything I’d known. My clothes were neatly arranged, my shoes polished, even my nightwear folded with care.
For a moment, I just stood there, mesmerized by the chandelier glinting above and the soft hum of the air conditioner. The bathroom was the size of Wesley’s entire living room, complete with a jacuzzi, marble vanity, and a shower that seemed to adjust perfectly to my mood.
As warm water cascaded over me, I felt every worry dissolve. For the first time in forever, I let myself exhale. When I finally slipped into the soft sheets, the bed seemed to cradle me in silk.
I was drifting, floating somewhere between sleep and serenity, until I felt it.
Something moved across my leg.
At first, I brushed it off, half-asleep. Then it scurried across my arm.
My body stiffened. I reached for the lamp and turned it on, and froze.
A wave of terror crashed through me. Tiny, crawling creatures were everywhere, swarming across the floor, the bed, even the pillow.
A scream tore from my throat.