Chapter Eight

by Roxanne Rene

Rowan had always been wary of people who seemed too perfect, as if they were crafted from a mold that left no room for flaws or vulnerabilities.

Marie—the impeccably poised and polished nanny that Damien had hired—embodied that very archetype. With her perfectly coiffed hair and always immaculate attire, she exuded an air of confidence that set Rowan on edge.

Standing in the sleek, modern Cross Innovations executive lounge, Rowan gripped her steaming cup of coffee like a shield, desperately trying to summon the courage to engage in conversation. Marie lounged casually against the countertop, her gaze fixed on Rowan with an unnerving intensity.

“You know, Ms. Hart,” Marie said lightly, her tone deceptively charming, “I took the liberty of researching you before I accepted this position.”

Rowan blinked, taken aback. “Uh. Okay? Why is that necessary?”

Marie’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “It’s fascinating, really. You and Mr. Cross have quite the intricate past.”

A chill ran through Rowan, and her stomach plummeted at the revelation. A wave of vulnerability washed over her, pulling her under.

Forcing a laugh that sounded hollow to her own ears, she replied, “Yeah, well. That’s all ancient history.”

Marie took a delicate sip of her tea, her gaze never wavering. “Is that so?”

Rowan loathed how Marie spoke, as if she already held the keys to all of Rowan’s secrets.

Then, without warning, Marie struck.

“I wonder,” she mused, tilting her head slightly as if contemplating a riddle. “Did you leave because of him? Or because of them?”

At that moment, Rowan’s heart lurched painfully, her emotions crashing over her like a relentless tide. She felt an overwhelming blend of fear, anger, and a deep-seated hurt that she had fought so hard to suppress.

She knew exactly who Marie was referring to.

Her stepfather. Her stepsister.

Those were the very people who had spent an excruciating summer meticulously dismantling her self-worth, instilling in her a paralyzing doubt.

Rowan clenched her jaw, her resolve hardening. “That’s none of your business.”

Marie hummed softly, her expression inscrutable. “Perhaps not. But the past has a peculiar way of resurfacing, doesn’t it?”

Rowan felt a surge of anger. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

Marie’s gaze softened slightly, yet it remained probing. “I’m saying, Ms. Hart, that individuals like Damien Cross don’t easily forget the ones who shattered their hearts.”

Rowan’s stomach twisted painfully.

She wanted to retort with something sharp and cutting, to reclaim her power in this conversation.

But the unbearable truth weighed heavily in her chest.

Because she was the one who had broken Damien’s heart.

She had received that one fateful message—the message that confirmed every fear she had harbored—and, in an act of desperation, she had fled.

And Damien had never come looking for her, not even once.

Which logically meant that her choice had been the right one, hadn’t it?

Hadn’t it?

---

Meanwhile, just outside the door, Ivan Carrington stood frozen, fighting every urge to burst into the room and put an end to this unsettling conversation.

Because Rowan?

She might be too proud and stubborn to admit her pain, but he recognized the signs all too well.

If Damien Cross didn’t already know the entirety of Rowan’s story, Ivan was determined to ensure that he found out, his steadfast resolve to protect Rowan propelling him forward.

He cautiously leaned closer to the door, just as someone abruptly rounded the corner.

In a split second, Ivan barely managed to catch a large tray before it crashed to the floor, sending a brief wave of panic through him.

“Whoa—”

A pair of warm, flour-dusted hands clasped his arms, steadying him from the unexpected mishap.

Ivan inhaled sharply.

Because standing unnervingly close, holding onto him like something out of a romantic comedy disaster?

Was Louis.

The house chef.

The undeniably handsome, tattooed chef who always exuded the comforting aroma of caramel and cinnamon.

Ivan found himself frozen in place, unable to move under the intense gaze of Louis.

Louis raised a teasing eyebrow, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Everything alright there, sweetheart?” he drawled, the playful tone sending a shiver down Ivan’s spine.

Ivan’s breath hitched in his throat, caught somewhere between surprise and a rush of warmth.

With a sly smirk playing on his lips, Louis leaned slightly closer, clearly enjoying Ivan’s flustered state.

Great. Just great. Now, Ivan felt like his mind was short-circuiting, foggy and unresponsive.

“I—” Ivan stammered, his thoughts in disarray as he grappled for composure. “I was… just… existing?” His words stumbled over each other, like leaves caught in a sudden gust of wind.

Louis let out a rich, warm chuckle that wrapped around Ivan like a cozy blanket. “Looked more like you were snooping,” he retorted, his tone light yet teasing.

At that moment, Ivan felt his brain momentarily shut down, overwhelmed by the blend of embarrassment and intrigue.

Louis winked, his gaze sweeping over Ivan with an appreciative flair. “Cute,” he added, making Ivan’s heart race and his cheeks flare with heat.

In an instant, the door swung open with a creak, and Rowan nearly collided with them, her wide eyes reflecting surprise and confusion.

She blinked, momentarily disoriented, as she took in the scene. “Uh. What’s happening here?” she asked, her brow furrowing in uncertainty.

Panic surged through Ivan, his heart drumming wildly in his chest. “NOTHING,” he blurted out, the word escaping like a desperate plea.

Meanwhile, Louis remained unfazed, a relaxed smirk on his face as he casually popped a pastry into his mouth, savoring it as if the chaos surrounding them held no weight.

Ivan’s frustration boiled beneath the surface, a mix of embarrassment and a desire to regain control of this increasingly tangled situation.

---

In the next chapter, we’ll explore Rowan’s painful past and, of course, have a side-plot romance with Ivan (because why not?).

Return to Chapter 7 <— —> Continue to Chapter 9