"For managing a household."
"For managing our household." He sets the folder down on my coffee table, the papers fanning out. "Which requires discretion. Flexibility. The ability to handle unusual situations."
Unusual situations. I think about the armed guard who drove us home. The way everyone at dinner moved like they were ready for violence at any moment.
"What kind of unusual situations?"
Nico's expression doesn't change. "The kind you don't ask questions about."
Right. Of course.
I look down at the contract. The numbers swim in front of my eyes. Twelve thousand a month. Plus health insurance for me and Lily. I spotted that line immediately. Plus daily transportation.
This could change everything for a while.
This could also get me killed.
"I need to think about it," I say.
"You have until tomorrow morning." Nico straightens, buttoning his suit jacket with one hand. "I'll send a car at seven. If you're not ready, I'll know your answer."
He moves toward the door.
And then he stops.
Just for a second. Just long enough to look back at me over his shoulder.
Those dark eyes pin me in place. Not threatening. Not warm either.
His gaze drops to the contract on my coffee table. Then back to me.
"Sleep on it," he says. "But don't overthink."
The door clicks shut behind him.
I stare at the empty space where he stood, my heart beating too fast for someone who just had a business meeting.
What was that?
That look. That pause. Like he was trying to tell me something without saying it. Like he was giving me one last chance to run.
Or maybe warning me that running wouldn't help.
I grab the contract and flip through the pages. Legal jargon. Salary breakdowns. Benefits packages that make my eyes water. There's a confidentiality clause that spans three pages. A non-disclosure agreement. Something about "discretionary matters" that I'm pretty sure translates to whatever you see, you pretend you didn't.
Three thousand a week.
I set the papers down. Pick them up again.
They're paying you enough to forget what you see.
Normal households don't pay this much and don't have armed drivers and security gates and family dinners where everyone sits like they're expecting an attack. And most importantly, normal households don't make you sign confidentiality agreements longer than rental leases.
They're criminals?
The word feels too big. Too dramatic. Like something from a movie.
But the contract in my hands feels very real.
