Chapter 155: Traces of the Past

"Emily, put that toy down right now and sit in your dining chair," Casey said in a flat tone, almost devoid of inflection.

Standing behind a pillar on the second floor, Evan held his breath. His hand gripped the wooden staircase railing tightly. That tone of voice, the way she emphasized each syllable without shouting, sounded terribly familiar in his ears.

Down below, Emily hesitated for a second. The little girl looked at Casey with innocent, round eyes. "But Emily still wants to play with the doll, Miss Casey."

Casey did not yell. She merely tilted her head slightly, staring down at Emily with an intensely sharp, cold glare. "Sit. Right now."

The little girl obeyed instantly. Emily lowered her doll slowly, walking submissively toward the dining chair without another word. Casey's sweet smile returned in a fraction of a second, as if that flash of ice had never occurred.

"Good girl," Casey praised softly, stroking Emily's hair.

Upstairs, Evan's heart beat faster. That rigid facial expression, that piercing gaze, and that cold cadence stirred memories of a past he had spent over a decade trying to bury. The gesture was identical to how someone from his past used to speak, someone who had once destroyed his life.

Evan stepped backward silently, moving away from the corridor pillar. He could no longer ignore his instincts. Something was deeply wrong with this new nanny.

By afternoon, the house was quiet. Emily was taking a nap in her room, while Alan was still at school until late afternoon. Evan walked toward the back kitchen area where Madam Miska was compiling the daily grocery list.

"Madam Miska," Evan called out calmly.

Madam Miska turned, adjusting the glasses perched on her nose. "Yes, Mr. Evan? Is there something I can help you with?"

Evan sat in one of the wooden chairs near the preparation counter. He rested his chin on one hand, adopting a relaxed posture as though making casual conversation.

"About Casey. How did you come across her at the agency initially?" Evan asked.

Madam Miska offered a small smile. "Oh, Casey? She was recommended directly by the head of the agency we usually hire from, Sir. Her file was exceptionally complete. Her track record as a nanny in several prominent households is quite impressive."

"Did you chance upon verifying her family background before she started working here?" Evan interrupted gently, his eyes fixed on Madam Miska.

Madam Miska frowned, looking somewhat puzzled by the direction of his question. "Her family? According to the documents I received, she has been an orphan since her teenage years. She grew up in an orphanage out of town before eventually moving here to work."

"Did you ever meet the person who provided her work references in her hometown?" Evan pressed on.

Madam Miska shook her head slowly. "Not directly, Sir. All verifications were conducted over the phone and through official documentation from the agency. Besides, her performance here is remarkably tidy. The children took to her quickly, especially Emily."

"Yes, I know," Evan said softly, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the wooden table surface. "But haven't you ever felt there was something strange about her gestures or the look in her eyes? Sometimes she turns cold in an instant."

Madam Miska let out a soft laugh, waving her hand dismissively. "You are overthinking, Mr. Evan. Casey is very polite and obedient. It is only natural for a nanny to be firm with the children to keep them disciplined. Furthermore, she is meticulous in taking care of all the household needs."

"Being firm and being cold are two completely different things, Madam," Evan stated, his voice turning increasingly serious.

Madam Miska stopped laughing. She looked at Evan with concern creeping across her face. "Did Casey make a grave mistake that I am unaware of, Sir?"

"Not yet," Evan replied curtly. "I just want to be certain about the person we are allowing to live under the same roof as my children."

Later that afternoon, Evan stood in his study overlooking the backyard garden. From behind the glass window, he watched Casey accompanying Emily as she painted with watercolors at a wooden garden table.

From a distance, Casey looked like the picture-perfect nanny. She laughed with Emily, wiped a speck of paint off the girl's cheek, and clapped as Emily displayed her painting. Yet Evan was no longer fooled by the pleasant display. Every single movement Casey made now appeared like a meticulously rehearsed scene.

A soft knock at the study door broke Evan's train of thought. Casey entered holding a tray with a cup of warm tea.

"Excuse me, Mr. Evan. I brought you some afternoon tea," Casey said pleasantly.

Evan turned around, crossing his arms in front of the window. He allowed Casey to approach and set the cup on his desk.

"Thank you, Casey," Evan said, his eyes tracking every movement of her fingers as she arranged the saucer.

"You're very welcome, Sir. If there is anything else you need, I will be in the garden with Emily," Casey replied, bowing politely.

Just as Casey turned toward the door, Evan deliberately uttered a name that had not been spoken inside that house for a very long time.

"How is Sarah doing?" Evan asked in a low, heavy voice.

Casey froze in her tracks instantly. Her body went rigid in the middle of the room for two full seconds. Her shoulders stiffened slightly before she slowly turned around to face Evan again.

Casey's face remained pleasant, yet a strange flick of emotion passed through her eyes before vanishing behind a look of artificial confusion.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Evan? Who is Sarah?" Casey asked, her tone dripping with innocence.

Evan stepped closer, closing the distance between them until he stood just two steps away from her. He stared into the nanny's eyes without blinking.

"The name I just mentioned. You looked startled when you heard it," Evan said coldly.

Casey let out a quiet laugh, a sound that was smooth and calm. "I was merely confused, Sir. There is no one named Sarah in this house. I assumed you misspoken my name."

Evan offered a faint smile, one entirely devoid of warmth. "Perhaps I did. But your knee-jerk reaction told a different story."

Casey slowly clenched her fingers behind her apron folds, looking back at Evan with a clear gaze. "You seem very suspicious of me lately, Mr. Evan. Does my presence make you uncomfortable?"

"I never trust someone who pretends to be someone else in my house," Evan whispered right in front of Casey's face.

Casey did not back away. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, looking at Evan with the exact same gaze she had used on Emily at the dining table that morning.

"If you are truly suspicious," Casey whispered back in an icy tone, "why don't you find out for yourself who I really am?"