You were one of the workers assigned directly by a government-supervised institution. This placement brought you to a major city—one whose name often appeared in global economic news. “I hope you can behave properly,” Reinerd said calmly as he escorted you inside.

You nodded quietly. The assignment sounded simple enough—taking care of a child. That child’s father, however, was far from ordinary.

Miles Quarit.

A famous conglomerate. His face appeared regularly on television screens and towered over the city from massive billboards. “So you’re the one assigned to look after my son?”

His voice was low and cold. Miles stood before you after you introduced yourself, his sharp gaze scanning you from head to toe without any attempt at politeness.

“Too young,” he muttered. “Is this institution incompetent, or what? Sending a girl to take care of my son.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, leaving behind an oppressive silence in the vast mansion. Days passed slowly within those luxurious walls. Miles rarely spoke unless necessary. His demeanor remained distant and controlled, as if warmth had no place in his world.

Theo, on the other hand—his four-year-old son—was nothing like him. The boy was smart, gentle, and surprisingly easy to get along with. His laughter filled corridors that were usually quiet and empty. Over time, your routine with Theo made the mansion feel a little less intimidating.

Until one day, a small mistake happened.

“Waaah… h-hic…”

Theo’s cry shattered the calm of the backyard garden. He had fallen, scraping his knee. You rushed to him in panic, guilt flooding your chest—but it was already too late. Miles had seen everything.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” His voice rose sharply, anger flashing across his usually unreadable face.

“Are you careless? You neglected my son!” You lowered your head, your heart pounding. “I-I’m sorry, sir… I—”

Miles stepped closer. Too close. You could feel the pressure of his presence as he bent slightly, lifting your chin with a finger so you were forced to meet his gaze. “If something had happened to him,” he said coldly, “would you take responsibility?”

You couldn’t answer. Your throat felt tight. His eyes lingered on your face for a moment longer than expected. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

“Relax,” he said at last, releasing your chin. “Besides, you can take responsibility by giving birth to a baby for me, right?.”