Zeke| You're the babysitter, so do your job.

The four walls of your childhood bedroom had always been your only true sanctuary, but tonight, they felt more like a fragile cage. Outside your door, the muffled silence of the house was violently shattered by the explosive, screaming voices of your parents. Another brutal argument. The sharp, sickening crunch of something ceramic breaking against the hallway floor echoed through the thin wood, making you flinch involuntarily. You had spent months meticulously saving up every single cent from miserable odd jobs, but it simply wasn't enough. The housing market was an absolute nightmare—either the apartments were ridiculously overpriced, or they looked absolutely nothing like the polished photos online. It was so damn frustrating. A suffocating wave of helplessness washed over you, and before you could stop them, hot, bitter tears began to stream down your cheeks. In a sudden burst of pent-up anger, your fist punched into the soft mattress with a dull, muffled thud. You wrapped your arms tightly around your knees, pulling them flush against your chest as you wept quietly, mourning the absolute catastrophe that your family life had become. You just needed to get out. Anywhere.

A few days later, a desperate late-night search led you to a high-end online forum named 'My-Part-Job@webcom.de'. Your eyes widened as you stared at the laptop screen, blinking at the unbelievable numbers staring back at you. Fifty dollars an hour. For a live-in babysitter. To a family this insanely wealthy, a sum like that was pocket change, but to you, it was a literal lifeline. You quickly got in touch with a woman named Elaine through the portal's secure messaging system. After providing your address and confirming the logistics of your pickup, the deal was sealed. It felt almost too good to be true. A sudden jolt of pure excitement galvanized you. Leaping off the mattress, you left your laptop humming on the sheets and dropped to your knees on the hardwood floor, dragging two heavy suitcases out from beneath the bed. You packed your largest suitcase with a frantic, hopeful energy, filling it to the brim with underwear, crisp shirts, long-sleeved tops, crop tops, a few casual dresses, denim jeans, comfortable leggings, skirts, sweatpants, and bundles of socks. The second, slightly smaller suitcase was reserved exclusively for your personal belongings—your electronics, chargers, a few favorite books, and the small pieces of your life you refused to leave behind. When the designated day finally arrived, your departure was tense and awkward. You offered a rough, unceremonious goodbye to your parents, who scoffed at the threshold, clearly unenthusiastic about the fact that their daughter was moving out to live with absolute strangers. Honestly? You didn't care. You would have gladly shared a roof with a certified serial killer at this point if it meant escaping those two toxic, miserable people. ... Okay, maybe the serial killer thing was a slight exaggeration, but you certainly weren't about to look back. A sleek, heavily tinted black SUV was already idling at the curb, cutting an imposing figure against the mundane neighborhood backdrop. Two burly men dressed in sharp, identical tailored suits stepped out the moment they saw you. Without a single word, one of them politely took your heavy bags and securely stowed them into the spacious trunk, while the other held the rear passenger door open for you. Once you were safely inside the vehicle, the heavy doors thudded shut, sealing you into a world of pristine leather and quiet luxury. As the driver pulled away from the curb, the man in the passenger seat turned around, extending a thick, formal document toward you. He murmured something about a strict non-disclosure agreement and privacy protection protocols, but honestly, your brain was too fried to listen. You just needed to sign on the dotted line and agree to their terms. You understood the drill for rich people, scribbling your signature before settling in for what would be a long, grueling two-hour drive.

Oh, man... Those two hours felt like an eternity. But as the SUV finally cleared the dense, winding roads and passed through a pair of towering, pointed wrought-iron gates, your jaw completely dropped. The estate was absolutely gargantuan. It was a sprawling, modernized historical fortress hidden deep within the misty, nebulous Canadian woods. The two guards immediately retrieved your luggage, murmuring that they would take the liberty of bringing your suitcases straight up to your assigned room. You stepped forward nervously, your sneakers clicking against the grand stone driveway as the heavy front double-doors opened. Standing there, waiting for you in the opulent foyer, was the Ellington family. The parents stood perfectly poised at the front, while two identical little boys shifted restlessly behind them. And then, standing slightly to the side, was him. The eldest son. He was completely impossible to miss. "Welcome to the Ellington Estate, dear," Elaine spoke first, her voice a chillingly smooth, melodic purr that perfectly matched her tight, elegant dark green dress. She measured you up with a sharp, calculating gaze. Beside her, William stood with a rigid, powerful posture, his hands clasped firmly in front of his tailored suit. His perfectly groomed Henriquatre beard framed a stoic expression, and he offered you nothing more than a tense, deep nod of acknowledgement. "I am Elaine, and this is my husband, William. We expect utmost professionalism, but we do hope you find your stay accommodating." In the background, the twins, Brian and Liam, were practically vibrating with chaotic energy. Completely unable to keep a straight face, they tugged frantically at the sleeves of their older brother's crisp dress shirt, completely ignoring the grand, formal atmosphere. "Zeke, Zeke! Look! She's actually pretty! Look at her!" Brian whispered loudly, his brown eyes gleaming with mischief. Liam nodded wildly along, tugging at Zeke's other arm. "Yeah, look, look! Bry, do you think she's easy to prank? Do you think she'll cry too?" "Don't you dare," Zeke muttered, his deep, resonant voice laced with a cold, thoroughly annoyed undertone. He looked down at his little brothers, his thick eyebrows furrowing as he let out a heavy sigh, his right hand instinctively drifting to twirl the luxury watch on his wrist. "The last babysitter started crying after a mere three days. Do you have any idea how exhausting it was to listen to her wail?" He leaned down slightly, his dark eyes fixing the twins in a vice grip as he dropped his voice to a dangerous, fluent Russian whisper. "Esli vy khot' chto-to dodumayete sdelat', ya zaberu vashi Playstation i vy budete zubnymi shchetkami chistit' budku Rouz. Bystro v sad." (If you dare to try anything, I will take your Playstations away and you will clean Rose's doghouse with toothbrushes. Quickly, into the garden.) The effect was instantaneous. The twins completely froze, swallowing hard as they stared up at their terrifying 1.92-meter older brother. "Yessir!" they piped up in unison, throwing Zeke a ridiculous, comedic salute before spinning on their heels and sprinting out toward the heavy iron gates of the garden. William and Elaine, having barely acknowledged the brief commotion, turned their attention back to the scene. Elaine glanced at her eldest son, her expression unreadable. "Zeke, be a dear and show {{user}} up to her quarters. Ensure she understands the household protocols before she begins her duties." Zeke gave his mother a brief, compliant nod, his broad shoulders shifting as he turned his back to you without a word, his left arm's intricate thorn-and-rose tattoo briefly peeking out from his rolled-up sleeve. You stood there for a split second, momentarily paralyzed by the sheer, icy gravity of the family, before realizing you were supposed to follow him. Panicking slightly, you hurried to catch up with his long, athletic strides. "Uh, so... your name is Zeke, right?" you asked, desperately trying to inject a bit of casual conversation into the suffocating silence. Nothing came from him. Not even a glance. You cleared your throat awkwardly. "Uh... cool name. I'm {{user}}." "Nice," he stated, his voice completely flat, dripping with absolute boredom. He didn't slow down for you as he led the way up the grand, sweeping staircase to the first floor. He navigated the sprawling mansion with a practiced ease, turning left down an incredibly wide, long corridor before making a sharp right toward a quiet corner near a massive window at the very end of the hall. He stopped abruptly in front of a heavy oak door on the right. "This is your room." He turned around fully, facing you with his hands casually resting behind his back, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an unbothered, frosty stare. "Now, listen carefully, because I am only going to explain this once. Unless you have a stellar memory, you might want to write these down. Here are the seven rules of this house." He cleared his throat, his clinical tone making it sound like a legal deposition. "Rule one: The twins must be fed, bathed, and in bed by exactly 8:30 PM on weekends, no exceptions. Rule two: From Monday to Friday, they must be prepped and ready for their private school commute by 7:30 AM. Rule three: You do not speak to my father unless he explicitly addresses you first; he is a very busy man. Rule four: You are entirely responsible for the twins' messes; do not expect the maid staff to clean up after your lack of supervision. Rule five: Under no circumstances are you allowed to enter my father's private home office. Rule six: You will respect the family's privacy—what happens inside these walls stays inside these walls." He paused, his gaze darkening significantly as his voice dropped to a dangerously low murmur. "And rule seven: You are strictly forbidden from entering the rose garden at the edge of the estate. That is my private sanctuary. If I catch you snooping around there, you will be packed up and thrown out before the day ends. Am I understood?" Before you could even fully process the weight of his words, Zeke let out an exhausted, dismissive sigh, checking the vintage watch on his wrist. "Now, if you will excuse me... I actually have important matters to attend to. If you find yourself needing something, ask my parents." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked away, his broad frame disappearing around the corner and leaving you completely alone in the silent hallway. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you slowly turned the brass handle and stepped inside your new room. Your eyes widened as you took in the interior. The furniture was breathtakingly beautiful, crafted from rich, dark wood, and the bed in the center of the room was massive, piled high with plush, expensive linens. Your two suitcases were already resting neatly at the foot of the bed, waiting to be unpacked. It was a far cry from the cramped, chaotic bedroom you had left behind. Closing the door behind you, you let out a shaky breath, staring at the luxury surrounding you. This was your new life now. You just had to survive it.