Chapter 4

Days blurred into weeks. Weeks into months.

She hadn't realized when it happened, but somewhere between the late-night massages and quiet conversations, they had become… something close to friends.

Or at least, as close as he would allow cause with only each other's presence day in and day out, she have no choice.

He was the first person she saw in the morning and the last at night. The only voice she spoke to in the long, lonely hours when the penthouse felt more like a cage than a home. And despite his walls—his aloofness, his sharp edges—he had started letting her in.

The way he started waiting for her before meals, even though he didn't need to.

The way he would listen when she spoke about her siblings, nodding at the little updates she gave.

The way his gaze softened just a little when she massaged his shoulders after a long, tense day.

And sometimes, when he wasn't being a stubborn ass, he would even laugh.

Not often. Not fully. But enough for her to notice.

She found herself watching him more. The way his green eyes would linger when he thought she wasn't looking. The way his lips would press into a frown when she talked about struggling to support her siblings.

He had changed, too.

Or maybe—maybe he was just getting used to her.

One evening, after an exhausting day, she leaned against the couch across from him and sighed. "I think you secretly like me now."

He arched a brow, unimpressed. "What makes you think that?"

"You haven't fired me yet," she teased. "And I think you'd actually miss me if I left."

Something flickered in his gaze, too quick for her to catch.

"You think too highly of yourself," he murmured, but there was no real bite to it.

She grinned. "No denial, though."

He exhaled, shaking his head. "Don't push your luck."

But she saw it—the smallest twitch of his lips. Something that made her stomach twist in a way it shouldn't.

They were friends now.

But sometimes, in the quiet moments when the space between them felt too small, too charged—she wondered.

How much longer would they be just that?

Silly. That's what she was because what was she even thinking?

A man like him—even in a wheelchair, even with his quiet coldness—was still untouchable.

Powerful. Dangerous. Breathtakingly handsome.

A man who, despite everything, could have any woman he wanted.

And she?

She was just… his nurse.

A woman paying off a debt.

So when her day off finally came, she took the break she desperately needed.

She went home.

Her real home—the small apartment her brothers lived in.

It was tiny, barely enough for the four of them, but it was theirs.

John, the eldest of the three boys, was already waiting for her at the door. He was seventeen now, trying so hard to be the man of the house while she worked.

"You're back!" he grinned, pulling her into a hug before stepping aside to let her in. "They're behaving, I swear."

"They better be," she teased, ruffling his hair before looking around.

The younger two—Mark, twelve, and Leo, ten—were sprawled across the couch, playing some game on the ancient console she had bought secondhand.

They looked good. They look healthy, well-fed, happy and safe.

That was all that mattered.

She exhaled, dropping onto the couch with them. "How's school?"

Leo barely looked up. "Boring."

Mark snorted. "He got a crush on his seatmate."

"Shut up!" Leo kicked at him half-heartedly, cheeks flushing.

She laughed, the sound light, real, free in a way it hadn't been in months.

Here, with them, she wasn't someone's nurse. She wasn't trapped in a penthouse with a man who made her question things she had no right to question.

Here, she was just sister.

"Have you been taking care of yourself?" John asked, his tone too serious for his age.

She softened, ruffling his hair again. "I'm fine, Johnny. You don't have to worry about me."

He rolled his eyes. "That's my job now, isn't it?"

Her heart ached.

She should be the one taking care of them, not the other way around.

But that was why she was doing this. Why she endured everything.

For them.

"So, this rich guy you're working for," John started, eyeing her. "Is he a total jerk or just slightly unbearable?"

She smirked. "Depends on the day."

"Do you like him?"

The question hit her too fast, too direct, and she nearly choked. "What? No! John—"

"Just asking," he grinned, throwing his hands up. "I mean, you spend all your time with him."

"It's a job," she said, shaking her head, but even as she spoke the words, something inside her hesitated.

It was a job.

But she had spent more time with him than anyone else these past few months.

And sometimes, when the world outside that penthouse felt too far away, it almost felt like…

Something more.

She pushed the thought away.

Ridiculous.

Why would a man like him—even in a wheelchair, even with his attitude—ever look at a woman like her that way?

"Right," John said, unconvinced. "You're blushing, by the way."

She grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it, laughing.

Because this was home. This was real.

And whatever was happening back at that penthouse?

That was nothing.

At least, that's what she kept telling herself.

When she returned to the penthouse, the air felt different.

She wasn't sure why—maybe because she had spent the past day and a half surrounded by something real. Something hers.

Or maybe it was because the moment she stepped inside, he was already waiting for her.

Not that he would admit it.

He was in his usual spot, sitting by the window, staring out at the city like it held all the answers to the questions he never asked.

"Had fun?" His voice was as neutral as ever, but there was something in the way his green eyes flicked to her—something unreadable.

She dropped her bag and stretched, letting out a sigh. "Yeah. My brothers are doing well."

His gaze didn't waver. "That so?"

She walked over, plopping down on the couch across from him. "John—he's seventeen now, acts like he's already thirty. Thinks he has to take care of everything." She smiled, shaking her head. "He makes sure the younger two are fed, helps them with homework, even reminds me to take care of myself."

He said nothing, but she felt him listening.

So she kept going.

"And Mark—he's a little troublemaker, but he's smart. Too smart, sometimes. He figured out how to fix the kitchen sink better than I ever could."

That earned her a small smile—just the ghost of one, barely there.

But she saw it.

Encouraged, she kept talking, rambling about how Leo had a crush on a girl in his class but refused to admit it, how John had scolded her for not eating enough, how they all still fought over who got the last slice of bread.

The normal, messy, chaotic love of family.

He said nothing for the longest time, just listening.

Then, when she thought he wasn't going to respond at all, he murmured, "They sound good."

She blinked.

Not you're lucky. Not I wouldn't know what that's like.

Just they sound good—like he was trying to hold distance between himself and the life she had described.

Like he didn't quite know how to touch it.

Her heart twisted, but she forced herself to smile. "They are."

Silence settled between them again—not uncomfortable, but heavy with things unsaid.

And when she looked at him again, his eyes were still on her, his expression unreadable.

But softer.

Like maybe—for the first time—he was allowing himself to feel something.

"I want to meet them."

She froze mid-stretch, blinking at him as if she had misheard.

"…What?"

His green eyes held hers, steady and unreadable. "Your brothers."

She let out a nervous laugh. "You—you want to meet my brothers?"

He gave a slow nod, his expression calm, almost too calm. "You talk about them a lot. Might as well see if they're real."

She snorted. "You think I made them up?"

A ghost of a smirk. "I think you could be a very creative liar."

She shook her head, still caught off guard. This wasn't like him. He wasn't the type to ask for things like this.

To invite people in.

But before she could overthink it, he added, "Unless you don't want me to."

The challenge in his tone made her roll her eyes. "Oh, you don't scare me."

Liar.

He absolutely did scare her—but not in the way he used to.

Now, it wasn't the coldness or the sharp words that unnerved her. It was the way he had changed around her, the way he was softer in ways she never expected.

And it was the way she felt when she looked at him too long.

Still, she found herself saying, "Fine. But don't blame me if they ask too many questions."

His smirk deepened, something dangerous curling at the edges. "I can handle a few kids."

She snorted. "Famous last words."

Bringing her brothers to the penthouse felt wrong.

Like two worlds crashing together—one of gold and silence, the other full of life and noise.

But it was too late now.

The elevator doors slid open, and all three boys stepped inside.

John, seventeen, was stiff, eyes flickering over everything like he didn't trust a single inch of this place. Mark, twelve, had zero filter, immediately whistling at the sheer size of the place. "Damn, sis. Your boss lives like a king."

"Language." She smacked the back of his head.

Leo, ten, was quieter, wide-eyed, but clearly fascinated by everything.

And then, he appeared.

Sitting in his chair by the massive windows, watching them with unreadable green eyes.

All three of them stilled.

Because of course they did.

Even in a wheelchair, he was intimidating as hell—broad shoulders, cold expression, radiating the kind of power that made grown men step back.

He didn't say anything at first, just assessed.

Then, finally—"You're real, then."

Mark gasped dramatically. "Holy shit, he does talk."

Another smack. "I said watch your mouth!"

She could feel him watching the exchange, could practically hear the amusement he refused to show.

Then—unexpectedly—he looked at John, the eldest, the one already standing too stiff like he didn't trust any of this.

"You're the one in charge when she's gone."

John stiffened at being addressed directly, but he nodded, chin up. "Yeah."

Something flickered in those green eyes. Something like approval.

"Good," was all he said.

It wasn't much.

But it meant something.

And for the first time, she realized—this man, this powerful, broken, infuriating man—was starting to care.

She should have seen it coming.

The way he listened whenever she talked about her brothers. The way his sharp green eyes focused whenever she mentioned their struggles—the things they needed, the things she couldn't always give.

She should have known.

But she didn't expect to walk into the penthouse the next day and see her brothers surrounded by gifts.

"What the—" Her voice died as she took in the scene.

A sleek gaming console sat in front of the TV, a brand-new box with controllers already being inspected by Mark and Leo. Three pairs of brand-new sneakers sat on the table, clearly expensive. A small stack of books rested beside them, titles she recognized from John's reading list.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, slowly, she turned to him.

He was sitting in his chair as usual, completely unbothered, watching her with that same unreadable look.

"You," she started, gripping her hips, "did not buy all this."

"I did."

Her jaw dropped. "Are you serious? You don't even like kids."

"True." His lips twitched. "But I do like quiet."

She blinked. "What does that even mean?"

"It means," he said lazily, "that now, when you visit, they'll be too busy playing to be annoying."

A beat of silence.

And then Mark—who was already plugging in the console—grinned. "Damn, sis, your boss is kinda awesome."

"LANGUAGE!" she smacked him on the back of the head again.

Leo was hugging the sneakers like they were gold. "These are way better than the fake ones at the market."

John, always the skeptic, folded his arms. "Why are you doing this?"

The room stilled.

A fair question.

John wasn't the type to take handouts, not when they had spent their whole lives scraping by.

But instead of answering, he—the impossible man in the chair—just shrugged.

"You're taking care of them," he said simply. "Someone should take care of you."

She felt her stomach drop.

Because no one had ever said that to her before.

Not like that.

Not with no expectations in return.

And she hated—hated—that it made her feel something.

This was weird.

That was the only word she could think of as she sat at the dining table, staring at the scene unfolding before her.

For months, it had always been just her and him. The quiet tension, the cold stares, the long silences that had become familiar.

But now—

Now her brothers were here.

And somehow, they kept coming back.

She wasn't even sure how it happened. It had started as one visit, a single dinner where they met him, accepted his ridiculous gifts, and should have gone home.

But then another dinner happened.

And another.

And now—now it was normal.

The penthouse dining table, which had always been too big for two people, was suddenly full.

Mark and Leo sat across from her, already arguing over who got more food. John, the eldest, sat beside them, stiff at first, but slowly loosening over time.

And then there was him.

Sitting at the head of the table, watching them all with that same calm, unreadable expression, barely participating but never stopping them either.

It was bizarre.

Absolutely bizarre.

Her younger brothers treated him like some weird, cool uncle now.

Mark had no filter and wasn't afraid of him at all—something she never thought possible. Leo, the quiet one, had already decided that this penthouse had better food than home.

And John—John, who was always on guard, always cautious—was finally warming up to him.

Which made no sense.

Because he was still the same man—grumpy, distant, refusing to let anyone in.

And yet, he let them in.

Not fully. Not in the way normal people did.

But this?

Letting them come over. Letting them sit at his table. Letting them exist in his space without pushing them out?

It was something.

She glanced at him, catching the way he listened even when he didn't participate, the way his green eyes flickered over her brothers when they spoke.

He was paying attention.

And when her gaze lingered too long, he caught her staring.

One brow lifted. "What?"

She blinked, snapping out of it. "This is… weird."

He smirked. "You invited them."

"You're the one who keeps letting them back in."

A pause.

He shrugged. "They don't eat much."

She snorted. "That's a lie. Mark alone eats enough for three people."

He didn't argue.

Didn't deny it.

Just watched her.

And for the first time, she realized—this wasn't just weird.

It was dangerous.

Because this—this thing between them?

It wasn't just a job anymore.

It wasn't just friendship.

It was something more.

And she had no idea what to do about it.