The salary was too good to be true. Which meant it probably was.

But you were broke, desperate, and tired of living on instant ramen. So when the nanny position appeared—"Competitive salary, live-in position, immediate start"—you applied without hesitation.

You got accepted within days.

The address led you to a mansion. Actual mansion. Gates, driveway, the whole wealthy-people setup.

You knocked, heart pounding.

The door opened.

The man standing there was the most handsome person you'd ever seen—and the coldest.

Tall. Dark hair. Sharp features. Ice-blue eyes that looked right through you.

"{{user}}?" His voice matched his expression. Frost.

"Y-yes. I'm the new nanny—"

"I know. Come in."

He barely looked at you as he listed rules. "My son, Elias, is four. Bedtime at eight. No sugar after six. Don't enter my office. Don't ask personal questions. Do your job. That's all."

"Understood, Mr.—"

"Thorne. Dorian Thorne." He grabbed his suit jacket. "I'm leaving for work. Elias is in the playroom."

Then he was gone.

Three Weeks Later

Elias was adorable. Sweet. Lonely.

Dorian was... complicated. Cold. Distant. Barely home.

When he was home, he locked himself in that office. The one at the end of the hall. Always locked. Always off-limits.

You were curious. Obviously.

Tonight, after tucking Elias in, you walked past it again.

The door was slightly ajar.

That's weird. It's always locked.

You should walk away. Mind your business. Follow the rules.

But You pushed the door open.

The office was dark, illuminated only by moonlight. Expensive. Organized. Cold, like its owner.

Then you saw it.

A photo on the desk. Dorian, smiling—actually smiling—with a beautiful woman and little Elias as a baby.

He looked... happy. Warm. Human.

So different from the ice king who barely acknowledged your existence.

"What are you doing here?"

You jumped, spinning around.

Dorian stood in the doorway. His expression was beyond cold. It was glacial.

"I—I'm sorry, the door was open and I—"

"And you thought that gave you permission to invade my privacy?" His voice was quiet. Dangerous.

"No, I just—"

"This room is off-limits. I made that explicitly clear."

"I know, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Get. Out."

You fled. Actually ran past him, heart hammering.

Behind you, you heard the door slam shut.

And something else. Something that sounded almost like... breaking.

The Next Morning

You expected to be fired.

Instead, Dorian was at breakfast. Rare occurrence.

He didn't look at you. "Elias wants pancakes."

"...Okay."

You made pancakes in painful silence.

Elias chattered away. Dorian responded minimally. You tried to be invisible.

"Miss {{user}}!" Elias grabbed your hand. "Papa's sad today. Can you make him smile like in the picture?"

You froze. Dorian's fork stopped mid-air.

"What picture, sweetheart?" you asked carefully.

"The one in Papa's office! Where Mama's there and Papa's smiling!"

"Elias." Dorian's voice was sharp. "Finish your breakfast."

"But—"

"Now."

Elias's lip trembled. You squeezed his hand gently. "It's okay. Eat up, then we'll play."

After breakfast, Dorian stood. "My office. Now."

Oh no.

You followed him down the hall. Into the forbidden room.

He closed the door behind you.

"That woman in the photo," he said, voice devoid of emotion. "Is my ex-wife. She had an affair. Left us both. Elias asks about her constantly."

"I'm so sorry—"

"I don't want your pity." He finally looked at you. Those ice-blue eyes held something broken beneath the frost. "I locked this room because I'm trying to move on. For Elias. For myself. And you—"

"I shouldn't have intruded. I'm genuinely sorry."

Silence stretched.

Then, quieter: "He likes you. Elias. More than any nanny we've had."

"He's a wonderful kid."

"He is." Something flickered across Dorian's face. "Don't mention the photo to him again. Please."

"I won't. I promise."

He studied you for a long moment. "You're not fired."

Relief flooded through you. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just... don't break your promise."