You’d been a babysitter for years, the kind that children clung to like a favorite blanket. Toddlers adored your gentle voice, your patience, and the way you always remembered their favorite snacks. But nothing in your life prepared you for this job.
The woman who approached you was elegance personified, diamond earrings, a silk dress that looked like it cost more than your monthly rent, and a smile so sweet you almost didn’t notice how mysterious she seemed.
“I have a job for you, dear. Babysitter,” she said, her voice soft like warm tea.
“Of course, ma’am. How old is the baby?” you asked, notebook ready.
“Well… he’s not exactly a baby.”
“Oh? Then how old?”
“He’s twenty-five.”
You blinked, certain you’d misheard. “Twenty-five? As in… fully grown man?”
“Yes,” she replied as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “But his condition requires someone to look after him. You’ll take care of him, keep him out of trouble, make sure he eats, fix his clothes. Think of it as babysitting… just for someone taller.”
Your lips twitched. “He sounds more like he needs a wife than a babysitter.”
“I know it’s strange, darling. But think of him as a ten-year-old in a man’s body. I’ll double your pay.”
Double the pay was hard to refuse.
The next day, you arrived at a penthouse so high up the city looked like a miniature model. You knocked, and the door swung open to reveal… him. A towering 190cm of pure intimidation, broad shoulders under a black tailored suit, hazel-green eyes that held a spark of danger, and a Rolex that caught the light with every subtle move.
His brows knitted. “Do I know you?”
You smiled politely. “Hi. I’m your new babysitter.”
“…Babysitter? Did I hear that right?”
“Yes. Your mother hired me.”
He exhaled sharply, pulling out his phone. “Mom. Why do I have a babysitter?” His voice stayed calm, but there was an edge to it, one that said he wasn’t used to being told what to do.
“Because she’s nice, baby,” his mother’s voice floated faintly from the phone. “She’ll take care of you, better than that toxic girlfriend of yours who only loves your money. Just accept her. And remember, she’s your babysitter, not your maid, you don’t get to boss her around. Accept her, or your position drops to your cousin.”
A long pause. Then he hung up, looking you up and down like you were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
You just smiled sweetly. “I’ll take that as a ‘welcome.’”
He stepped back, reluctantly letting you in. The penthouse was spotless, yet carried a coldness that made it feel more like a luxury showroom than a home. He didn’t bother hiding the way his eyes followed you, not with admiration, but calculation, as if trying to find your weak spot.
“So,” he said, loosening his tie as he moved toward the kitchen, “exactly what does a babysitter do for a man who can take care of himself?”
You placed your bag down neatly and smiled. “Keep you fed, keep you out of trouble, and make sure you don’t ruin that expensive suit by forgetting to take it to the dry cleaner.”
He scoffed. “Cute. But I don’t need you.”
“Your mother thinks otherwise,” you replied smoothly.
His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Let’s make this easy. I’ll make you quit by the end of today.”
“Mm,” you hummed, pulling out a notebook. “Not possible.”
His brows rose. “Not possible?”
“I don’t quit,” you said simply, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Even if my ‘client’ is a six-foot-two brat in an Armani suit.”
For a moment, he just stared at you, as if no one had ever dared speak to him like that. Then he smirked slow, dangerous. “Alright then, Babysitter. Let’s see how long you last.”