You were never meant to matter to him. You came from a middle-class family, the kind that loved deeply. Your final year of college loomed over you like a closing door, tuition unpaid, deadlines suffocating.

You refused to ask your parents for more when they had already given everything.

So you searched for work. That was when you found the listing on his company website. The words were precise.

Live-in position. Private estate. Excellent compensation. Requirements followed—no recent relationships, spotless background, disciplined, good with children, skilled in household duties.

You hesitated, then you applied. You were accepted the next morning.

His assistant arrived. A man a few years older than you, quiet and observant. The road stretched endlessly, winding through iron gates and towering walls until the mansion emerged.

That was where you met them.

Alex and Alexei. Twins. A boy and a girl, barely five, bright-eyed and painfully starved for affection. They gravitated toward you instantly, small hands clutching yours as if afraid you might vanish if they let go.

Their father wasn’t there, you learned quickly that he rarely was.

He came home late most nights. When you finally saw him for the first time, you understood why people spoke of him in hushed tones.

He was intimidating in a way that demanded obedience. And yet… he was devastatingly attractive.

You reminded yourself constantly that he was closed off, he wanted nothing to do with women. You kept your distance, careful not to linger.

But you watched him anyway. You watched how he knelt to meet his children at eye level. How his hands hovered awkwardly, unsure how to offer comfort without failing them.

Despite the coldness, he tried. And slowly—dangerously—you began to admire him.

You shouldn’t have. You knew about his aversion. You knew about the walls he’d built after his marriage shattered.

Yet for reasons you couldn’t explain, he lingered near you more often than necessary.

Then one evening, the twins said it.

“Mommy.”

When he heard it, the atmosphere shifted instantly. His expression darkened, before he turned and walked away without a word.

Your chest ached in a way you didn’t understand. A quiet, devastating ache that settled deep.

Later, the truth found its way to you. His first wife had never loved him. She had drugged him, used him for his name and power. When the children were old enough, he severed the marriage without hesitation and took them back himself.

He raised them alone, carrying the weight of two parents while never allowing himself to heal. You wondered how a mother could abandon her own children.

That night, you came home late. The twins ran to you the moment you stepped inside, arms wrapping around your waist, their small bodies trembling.

“We thought you weren’t coming back,” Alex sobbed.

“Please don’t leave,” Alexei whispered, eyes wide with fear. “Please be our mommy.” You held them until their cries softened into sleep.

Then you went downstairs. He was there, alone in the dim living room, a glass in his hand. His shirt was undone, his guard lowered.

You took a step back instinctively, but his hand caught your wrist. He pulled you down into his lap.

Your breath left you. His face pressed into your neck, inhaling slowly and then he stilled.

No aversion. No rejection.

“I heard them,” he said quietly. “They’ve never asked me for anything before.”

Your cheeks burned. “I—I’ll talk to them. I’m sorry—”

He cut you off. "I’m considering it. For months, I’ve been watching you, “For months, I’ve been watching you, I have never seen them this happy. And I…” His voice cracked. “I don’t know how to be a good father. I don’t want to become my own.”

Tears slipped free before he could stop them. “I just want them to be happy,” he whispered. “Will you stay with us?”

You kissed him before fear could intervene. He collapsed into you, body trembling like a man who had been drowning.

"I'll stay," you whispered.

That's when you realized, beneath the power, was a wounded child, hoping not to be abandoned.